When I mowed around my walnut trees recently, I was surprised to note that some of the happiest trees were those in head-high bracken and brambles. They had shared their water, light, and nutrients, and seemed to have done better for it. While helping my son forage for samphire, we saw that the biggest, strongest plants were not those standing alone on the marsh, but those growing in marginal areas amongst the taller ‘goose tongue’ grass. And my brother has just cut his crop of silage; the establishment of a perennial understory of grasses, clover, and herbs was actually aided by the protection of the barley that grew above. The prevailing ideology of competition in nature and agronomy (and, arguably, society) ignores the evidence that sharing and community can deliver more.
As a young man, I fought to impose my will on my fields; to keep them tidy and free of competition from weeds. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. When I failed, at the end of a long day, I might be seen weeping on my knees and cursing the heavens that threw down weeds along with drought, downpours, or pestilence. The older I get, the less I am up for a battle with nature. Battling with what you love is confusing and exhausting. But as much as I support the growing assertion that farmers should work with nature, this brings its own compromises. Barn owls and buzzards provide some control over the voles that are attacking our hazel and walnut trees, while small fields and biodiverse hedgerows encourage the predatory insects that control aphids in our strawberries and artichokes. However, growing populations of deer and hares have ravaged the strawberries and purple sprouting broccoli, and my neighbour is reasonably concerned that ragwort (toxic, especially to horses), which is a rich source of pollen and nectar and the only food for cinnabar moths, will spread to his land and poison his livestock.
Last winter, I ate most of the pheasants that had moved in from a neighbouring shoot and spent their summers eating successive plantings of peas. As a result, our yield of peas this year is up by 50% and we have a surplus. Raw in salads, stirred through risotto at the end of cooking, or mixed into a carbonara, they bring a sweet freshness that frozen peas cannot compete with. I encourage you to enjoy them before the season ends in mid-August.
Nice opinion piece from Guy – we’ve conversed before over ‘permaculture’ that is morphing on a larger scale into ‘regenerative agriculture’ (not those ridiculous chip adverts though) and here there is a comparison between RA and agroforestry from his brothers approach and his experience of possibly ‘re-wilding’ with his Walnut understory of bracken and brambles – both approaches need a degree of management to maintain good crop returns – eating the pheasants being a part of that strategy (what is the approach regards squirrels and the walnuts Guy?) and the deer and hares are a real challenge to stop.
Regards the neighbour and the Ragwort prior to mechanisation farm workers would remove ragwort before it became a threat in those paddocks hosting horses and cattle but a tractor struggles to deal with the stray plants on banks and slopes that remain accessible to live stock. As well as cinnabars, ragwort is a food and nectar plant for many insects – i let it grow in my forest garden as it poses no threat to animals where i live.
Thank you Guy, as ever for an informative and thought provoking read. I suppose there will always be compromise when farming land to encourage nature and biodiversity while trying to be sustainable yet make a profit. With regard to Ragwort, in her book Wilding, the author Alice Tree claims that Ragwort is only poisonous to Horses if eaten in very large amounts, so open to debate I suppose. Wilding is a good book for those that haven’t read it, but I felt cheated and disappointed when I discovered that fox hunting (we all know trail hunting is a smokescreen for illegal hunting) was allowed on the Knepp Estate, which the book was about.
Do you mean Isabella Tree?
I keep coming across this idea that cinnabar moth caterpillars only eat ragwort, but the ones on my allotment do very well on groundsel. Once one plant is stripped of leaves, they move on to the next, and I often find them in the grass between plants. The yellow & black striped caterpillars remind me of Beano characters.
And on perhaps a more serious note, there seems to be a concerted attack recently on the idea that plants share resources via mycelial networks. They are hard-nosed neoliberals concerned only with competitive advantage, apparently.