Kirkcudbright Chronicles: Unveiling Nature’s Ingenious Engineering After My Hedgerow ‘Laying
At Fairy Hill Croft in the enchanting Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, where nature orchestrates its own symphony, the troglodytes – embodied by the wren and the badger – stepped into the spotlight last week. Following my meticulous ‘laying’ of the hawthorn hedge, a theater of life unfolded.
The once-overgrown hedges, a tapestry of hawthorn, beech, holly, and grapevines, had veiled my panoramic view, obscuring the picturesque landscapes of forests, hills, and stone walls that intricately lace the pastures. With the hedge trimmed back, the jack-in-the-box wren made its grand entrance, a tiny marvel emitting a melodic “chip, chip, chip” from the now-exposed hawthorn. Its lively dance, reminiscent of a wagtail, added a playful note to the newfound openness.
Sharing the Croft’s stage are the badgers, guardians of two expansive setts flanking the land. One sett rests on the burn side beneath an oak, while the other lies towards the westward woods, under the watchful eyes of buzzards and red kites. Positioned at the heart of it all, I witness the badgers’ regular visits – whether passing through or indulging in the tidbits I leave out. A large male, unfazed, strolled past me at dusk, his snuffling melody blending seamlessly with the tranquil rhythms of life at Fairy Hill Croft.
As the steward of my croft, I donned multiple hats – a gatherer of logs, an alchemist creating charcoal for drawing, and the maestro behind a secret hawthorn and rowan syrup. In my quest, I inadvertently unlocked nature’s pantry, a haven cherished by both wrens and badgers, leading to an unexpected overnight digging fiesta.
With the dawn, the landscape bore witness to the emergence of HS2, a subterranean masterpiece crafted by badgers. Holes adorned both sides of the hedge, a testament to their prowess in civil engineering. One side cascaded into a field, where curious Aberdeen Angus cows inspected an ancient conglomerate boulder, a relic from the last ice age.
Undeterred by the morning light, the badgers returned, delving into tubers and gnawing hawthorn roots. Yet, their nocturnal revelry spared the grapes, nestled safely beyond their reach. As stones returned to their slumber, tunnels were filled, and the banking stood strong, the badgers had etched their claim on the ‘herbage’—rights of pasture on another’s land—adding a chapter of intrigue to the nightly saga in my enchanted croft.