SO WHAT HAPPENED to our hedging plants, last heard of palely loitering in plastic sacks, delivered at the same time as our new trees? Most we dealt with as soon as we finished planting the trees. Working our way along a rotovated edge, we began by digging two holes. Into the first we popped a hawthorn and back-filled it with earth from the second hole as we dug it, treading the hedge plant in firmly as we went. We continued in this manner, which saves greatly on time and effort, since you only need to move each heap of earth once instead of twice, until darkness fell. Then in desperation we finished the second hedgerow by simply piercing the rotovated soil with a spade, rocking it backwards and forwards until a gap appeared in the soil, slotting in a plant and firming it down as before. It was a wonder the last plants didn’t go in upside down, seeing as we were reduced to working by torchlight for the final dozen. In fact there did not appear to be any appreciable difference in subsequent growth, but I know which method I’d prefer if I was a fledgling hedge plant trying to wriggle my roots into strange soil.
Plants for the third and final hedge we left soaking overnight in numerous buckets of water in our kitchen. Entering cautiously early next morning, it was like stepping into the Everglades or some such moist and impenetrable region. I almost needed a machete to reach the teapot. However, steeling our aching backs, we set to and planted these also. We reckoned that we had dug some eight hundred holes in all for these trees and hedges, which explains why we slept very soundly that night.
Spiders were the first beneficiaries of the new hedges, working through the night to darn the twigs to the neighbouring fences with silken threads, which gleamed in the autumn sunshine. As the hedges grew, so did the variety of their inhabitants, but at first the plants just slumbered on, their thin twigs almost invisible on drizzly days. Eventually spring arrived and so did their leaves, but every plant (in their two staggered rows, each about 9" (23 cm.) from its neighbours) grew in studied isolation. There was no matey intertwining of twigs: we had to wait another couple of years for that, for these little plants had their work cut out just to survive. I don’t know what they’d been led to expect in their previous nursery existence, but life on our north-facing hillside was hard. For clay is an unforgiving soil, baked hard in summer and sodden in winter.
Using herbicides seemed to be against the spirit of a nature reserve, and a combined hedge length of 140 yards is rather long to easily hand-weed, so when the grass began to grow around the hedgerow base, we left it alone. Not for long, mind you, since the hedge became engulfed by mid-summer and only a practised eye would have known it was there at all. I freely admit that we should have had a solution in mind before this became a problem, but at the time we were not fully aware of what our options might be, so we delved further into the intricacies of hedge-growing.
When planting hedges, as indeed with trees, there is the question of keeping down weeds around the new plants until their roots have become established. The most often quoted method, which is undoubtedly effective, is to spray herbicide—possibly annually—around the base of each tree or hedge. Whilst this makes commercial sense for a forester or park keeper, it is not compulsory; many people do not use herbicides or other agro-chemicals for reasons of ethics, health, or both. Creators of wildlife areas may prefer to consider the alternatives, which might require greater patience before the tree or hedge reaches maturity, but which do no harm to the environment.
Rolls of semi-permeable plastic sheeting, approximately 18" (45 cm.) wide, can be bought at garden centres or tree nurseries these days, to be laid down at planting time in order to suppress any weeds before they have a chance to grow. Starting with clear ground after the preliminary digging, this method is often effective. It is reassuring to know that rain can filter through the material, instead of having to rely on sideways osmosis, as with older impermeable plastic sheeting. However it must be added that, after a couple of years, grasses will usually have found a way to sprout through the slits left from planting.
Bark chippings are a popular mulch these days. An excellent way of reusing otherwise wasted wood, they present a pleasantly neat and natural appearance. In a year or two’s time, however, even if these chippings were preceded with a herbicidal spray, grass and the tougher wild plants will have found their way through. These bark chippings incorporate themselves into the soil with seemingly amazing speed, but there is great consolation in the fact that they are improving its fertility and woodland character. Alternatively, you can spread bark chippings over the semi-permeable membrane mentioned above, to gain the benefits of both systems.
Grass or hay mulch is another possibility. With a hay meadow, this seems the logical answer. As with bark chippings, a sackful covers approximately one and a half square yards, so it all depends on whether the appropriate amount of grass or hay is available at the time. It is advisable to use rabbit collars (or plastic Tuley tubes) to keep the damp grass from young tree stems. Hay is probably less of a problem from this point of view, but on the other hand it does contain a large quantity of seeds, which could sprout up the following year.
In practice we have favoured the latter method, finding that the hay suppresses weed growth pretty well, whilst allowing sturdy wildflowers such as primroses and foxgloves to grow through. However our mulch has usually rotted down and disappeared before the new crop is ready to replace it, so some grass grows along the hedgerow anyway. It is easy, though, to keep the mulch topped up around individual trees with grass clippings from a lawn.
It is encouraging to reflect, however, that most hedges will keep on growing, be it two inches (5 cm.) a year or two feet (60 cm.). A short length of hedge can be hand-weeded, but be careful of the hedge roots; longer stretches are sometimes best left to their own devices.
After three or four years the hedge plants intertwine and shade out a good proportion of grasses growing at their base, whilst still leaving life-saving cover for small creatures.
As with all living things, a little tender loving care is required now and then. Watering is a prime example of this; unfortunately rain was in extremely short supply, since during our first two summers there was a local drought. Our little field had no water supply, and not even in my most optimistic moments could I envisage carrying sufficient buckets of water up the lane to provide our leafy hedges with what they so clearly craved. We hoped for the best and learned to study weather forecasts from a new perspective. No longer would we applaud the prospect of further sun-filled days; instead, approaching depressions would be tracked with interest and cheered on if they showed the slightest sign of heading in our direction. Eventually, of course, the weather did break, and in fact two years later the area suffered flooding. Our sloping field was not actually submerged, but every footstep produced squeaks and bubbles from fallen rain with nowhere to go.
Our ‘rural hedge mix’ consisted of fifty per cent hawthorn, with an assortment of dogwood, field maple, spindle and viburnum, plus a generous scattering of dog rose plants. Amongst all these the dogwood fared worst, its leaves curling up and dying at the first sign of prolonged heat. The field maple did nothing the first year, so we cut back the dead twigs and it sprouted new shoots merrily the following spring; thus proving the wisdom of advice that is often given but hard to accept: when all you want is for a hedge to grow, you should defy logic and cut it shorter. Spindle and viburnum settled in comfortably, with fresh green spindle leaves boldly putting in an early appearance from square sectioned branches, and viburnum saving its most impressive display until the autumn, when its leaves turn fiery red.
Our hawthorn was the star performer, though, providing what we needed in a rural hedge, namely twiggy thorny branches, hopefully destined to make an impenetrable boundary in years to come. However, dog rose also deserves a special mention and would in some circumstances make an excellent hedge by itself. Sturdy of growth and responsive to pruning, it does not take long before these plants are covered in a mass of beautiful pink blossom—and you are having to make a detour to avoid being speared by their thorny branches.
We had planted a beech hedge in preference to hawthorn along the southern aspect of our field, to avoid miscellaneous prickles and berries intruding through the school playing-field fence. We realized that beech would be relatively slow-growing, but were encouraged by massive beech hedges bordering the gardens of neighbouring houses. Admittedly these particular hedges had the advantage of a thirty year head start, but when you’ve just planted oak trees for possible future great-grandchildren to enjoy, thirty years waiting doesn’t appear unreasonable.
The hawthorn hedge began to put forth new leaves in early April, but the beech hedge waited till the end of the month before unfurling—on warm sunny days we could almost watch this taking place before our eyes. For several days each pointed and polished brown bud would become more and more swollen, until bursting point was reached. Then a naked white shoot would emerge, snaking its way free, with several sets of embryo leaves alternating along its length. As these new shoots strengthened, so their fresh green leaves ventured forth to flutter in the gentle breeze. During their first few days they display a special transitory beauty, as the sun’s rays shine through them with luminous intensity. Where a young copper beech tree is planted along the hedgerow its leaves also shine, but with a ruby glow—a rich centrepiece to the emerald tints beneath. The apparent delicacy of beech is deceptive, since these same leaves turn crisply bronze each autumn and hang on through wind, hail and snow until the following spring, when the whole process begins again.
There are almost as many opinions about the different ways to prune a hedge as there are different hedge plants. We proceeded with caution, snipping some three inches (7.5 cm.) off the tops initially, then pruning all twigs over about four inches (10 cm.) long in subsequent years. As the thickening and intertwining process begins to take place, we have progressed to an annual trim with shears. It is our intention to grow our hedges only as high as their accompanying fences, namely five feet (1.5 metres) tall. The prospect of climbing shaky step-ladders, shears in hand, as we grow progressively more shaky ourselves in future years, does not appeal.
Another challenge arises when we are strimming grass paths beside our hedges. Experience has shown that it is less traumatic to work with the hedge on our right, if right-handed (vice-versa if left-handed), so that the natural swing of the cutting head does not veer alarmingly towards the hedge itself.
With all this to deal with, one could perhaps be forgiven for wondering whether hedges are worth the initial effort. However, given sufficient space, hedges produce a time capsule effect around a flowering meadow, shutting out everyday hustle and bustle and instilling a sense of calm. Hedges are a lifeline for all kinds of wildlife, providing a wide range of food, foliage and habitat. As corridors for wild creatures they give safe access from one area to another. Bird nesting densities are proportionately greater in hedges than in woodlands, and they give shelter and warmth to whatever is growing within their boundaries. All told, hedges are worth their weight in gold.
Fences
Newly-planted hedges often require the protection of sturdy fencing. Our northern and eastern boundary fences are barbed wire, the original posts of which, although in better condition than their erstwhile southern companion, we found to be in various stages of decay. This gave us no immediate cause for concern, since the adjoining fields are mainly used for arable farming. However, one autumn when both our sons (Rory and Cormac) were returning home, we took advantage of their extra muscle power to replace the weakest fence posts.
We consulted the farmer first, who not only gave us his permission, but lent us the tools to do the job. He advised us to take out the old posts and insert new ones in exactly the same position, using a heavy metal stave some four feet (120 cm.) high to open up the hole. This method worked extremely well, for an extracted post leaves a cavity behind it, rather than a snapped off wooden block, as I had previously imagined. There are distinct similarities between fencing and dentistry.
We rammed home the preservative-treated posts, appropriately enough, with a heavy post-rammer, a contraption resembling a giant tin can with two vertical handles (a sledgehammer could be used instead, but it is more liable to split the wooden pole). However, on occasions when we have been inserting an odd post or two, perhaps as tree stakes, we have used a home-made wooden mallet, as described in the ‘Meadow Crafts’ chapter.