Welsh Country - Issue93 - Mar-Apr 20

Where the Wild Things Are
has become a bit of a buzz word, no
pun intended, with the issue lately receiving increasing
exposure from the mainstream media. A
‘Rewilding’
wide-ranging and far-reaching subject, the basic premise is
that we can all do our bit for wildlife by allowing our gardens
and other outside spaces to become wilder and less ‘controlled’,
allowing nature in to create valuable oases of hope
for insects and other wildlife, whose natural habitats are
under increasing and seemingly unrelenting pressure.
This more relaxed approach to gardening is one I have
long practiced, latterly in my small patch in Cilcain, North
East Wales. Besides planting hawthorn and rosa rugosa
hedging in recent years as well as a few small trees, we sow
native wildflower seeds annually to encourage pollinators
and other insects into the garden, and allow weeds like
nettles, cleavers and buttercups to grow, although admittedly
these are largely confined to the back of the borders. We have
provided log piles, dug and planted a tiny pond, in reality
little more than a deep hole and allow autumn's leaves to
lie where they fall. A flourishing ivy across the front of our
house provides habitat, shelter and food for scores of birds,
and we never use any sprays or chemicals whatsoever.
As a result, our garden teems with glorious, vibrant, life.
The air is filled with bird song and the busy flurry of wings,
bees fly in and out of the low eaves just above head height,
wasps attend their exquisite papery nest inside an old
abandoned bird box and gangs of sparrows squabble and
bicker in shuddering shrubs. A mouse scavenges bird seed
beneath the apple tree in darting runs from its home among
the stone steps, toads hide from the sun under the cover of
dark-dappled green, and water snails sail across the pond,
tiny submariners of this particular deep. Come the quiet cool
of evening, a blackbird delivers a virtuoso performance from
his usual spot on the roof ridge, as midges dance to his song
in the softly falling dusk. Later, bats swoop and circle the
garden, hawking for unwary moths, while in the church yard
across the way, rooks throng in the canopy of a towering
sycamore, settling in amid raucous croaks and a shuffling of
feathers, before the drawing down of the night. It is a wildlife
sanctuary in miniature, a haven for the wild things who visit
and all are welcome here.
Words: Sonia Goulding
Illustration: Katie Radburn
Website: turningthestones.com
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