Tree Weaver

by fb page Woodlarking.

The Major oak, one of Europe’s oldest, largest and most celebrated ancient trees, has died.

The huge tree, which has grown in Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, England, for at least 1,000 years, failed to produce any leaves this year, after becoming stressed by a series of hot, dry summers.

Thousands of visitors admire the oak each year, with its great age, enormous 11-metre girth and 28-metre canopy inspiring a forest of folklore. Although the oak would not have been hollow in Robin Hood’s day, it was said to have provided a sanctuary for the outlaw and his gang when fleeing the tyrannical Sheriff of Nottingham.

In the winter of 2010, when snow fell on the tree, it traced an eerily precise image of Friar Tuck on the trunk. In other winters, when snow fell all around, none appeared on the tree’s limbs.

But it was recent summers – and human admiration – that probably hastened the natural end of the tree’s long life.

Like other ancient oaks, the tree has been repeatedly stressed by the heat and drought of global heating, particularly the heatwave of July 2022 when Britain baked under record 40C temperatures.

Robin Hood arrived in an electric van for an impromptu, informal funeral beside the tree after the RSPB, which manages the Sherwood Forest site of special scientific interest (SSSI), announced the tree’s passing.

Robert Brackley, an outdoor educator who has shown thousands of schoolchildren the wonders of the Major oak while dressed in authentic outlaw furs with functioning bow and arrow, said: “The stories it has given us is the legacy. It’s the most famous tree in the world. The legend always lives on. I feel sad but it’s a fleeting moment in time. We must remember how it was and be in awe of it today.”

Visitors from Spain, Sheffield, the US, South Korea and Australia paused beside the tree to pay their respects. “It’s ginormous!” said Carter Jackson, eight, from Sheffield. “It’s a really beautiful tree and it’s sad it’s died.”

Ryan Jackson, his father, added: “It’s a piece of history that’s dying but it was 1,000 years old, you can’t live for ever.”

“Poor tree,” said Kirsty Champion from Adelaide. “I always watched Robin Hood on the TV and read the books. It’s so sad that we tried to help it and conserve it but it probably made it worse.”

England has a unique wealth of very large and ancient oaks: 114 living ancient oaks with a girth of more than nine metres, described by conservationists as “the white rhinos of the UK”, with only 98 found across the rest of Europe, including Scotland and Wales.

Ever since the oak was named in honour of Maj Hayman Rooke, a local historian who described the tree in 1790, it has attracted admirers – these days, 350,000 each year. Although a protective barrier was placed around the tree in the 1970s, the oak was weakened by poor soil health and soil compaction from visitors as well as Sherwood’s wartime role as a military camp.

Well-intentioned historical interventions have not helped its longevity. In 1904, props and metal chains were installed to support its branches. In the 1960s, hollow parts of the tree were filled with concrete to support it, while limbs were clad with lead, then fibre-glass and even treated with fire-retardant paint.

Experts believe that the props that continued to support the tree’s mighty limbs also placed it under strain. Left alone, ancient oaks shed their limbs and “grow down”, retreating into their trunk and thereby requiring less water and nutrients as they age.

Since the RSPB took over management of the site in 2018 and undertook studies and emergency action to address the tree’s failing health, it was discovered that the oak’s mighty trunk was becoming depleted of water as it was pumped to the outer branches, which were artificially supported by props.

The props “probably impacted its ability to sustain itself,” said Chloe Ryder, RSPB Sherwood Forest estates operations manager, but they could not be removed because the tree would have collapsed. She said she was “devastated” by the death of a tree she used to visit as a child.

“It’s heartbreaking. I’m genuinely gutted it’s happened in my lifetime, let alone in my tenure. I’ve almost dreaded coming to see it and have that confirmation, and see no leaves on it. I still think it’s one of the most beautiful trees. We call it a living museum because it’s got so much to teach us, both good and bad.”

Underground tests revealed “a strangled and starved root system in total disconnect to its surrounding environment,” according to Ryder, in nutrient-poor soil that was starved of microbial life. Over the past three winters, the RSPB gently excavated around the tree’s roots to aerate, feed and restore their health and vitality. Although tests showed life returning to the soil, the Major oak sprouted hardly any leaves last year and has no buds or leaves this year.

Reg Harris, an arborist who has monitored the tree’s health for the past nine years for the RSPB, said it was impossible to isolate a single cause for its decline. “The range of factors affecting it over such a long period of time is very wide and varied, including 200 years of tourist footfall and vehicular compaction, changes to the water table from coal mining beneath it and significant changes to the climate, particularly in the last 10% of its life.

“Sadly, it seems probable the lack of summer rainfall over the last five years, coupled with the unprecedented high temperatures, have had a significant hand in it.”

Although the tree is leafless and lifeless, it will be allowed to continue standing, particularly because its “deadwood” is almost as valuable to other wildlife as a living tree.

“It still has this totally irreplaceable habitat value. It’s still one of the largest trees in Europe and it’s still doing a lot for the ecosystem,” said Ed Pyne, senior conservation adviser at the Woodland Trust. A quarter of all forest species are dependent on deadwood at some point in their lifecycle.

While everything was done to save the Major oak, Pye said other ancient trees were dying or being destroyed without anyone realising, and called for the government to introduce special protection. “We lose a tree like this every year. They have no designated legal protection and we are losing them because they are not being valued appropriately.”

Dame Judi, patron and ambassador for the Woodland Trust, said: “The Major Oak has provided inspiration for countless stories, poems, paintings and people for more than 1,000 years – all the while itself teeming with life and providing a home to an enormous range of wildlife.

“I was lucky enough to plant an oak sapling from Sherwood Forest with Woodland Trust CEO Darren Moorcroft in my garden recently. It has a special place alongside the cutting from the Sycamore Gap tree.

“I hope everyone who has been inspired by the Major Oak or another ancient tree reaches out to their MP and asks them to improve legal protections for these iconic and vital elements of our national landscape.”

Nature minister Mary Creagh added: “It is sad news that we have lost the Major Oak, a much-loved part of Sherwood Forest and our national heritage.

“The loss of this ancient tree is a stark reminder of the pressure that climate change is placing on our woodlands.

“This is why this government is investing in three new national forests and a state-of-the-art tree seed processing centre to protect our forests for the future.”

Sherwood Forest

Within the Sherwood Forest National Nature Reserve area there are over 900 recorded trees classed as ancient veterans. These range from dead remnants to living full canopied trees. Each one has its own role to play for nature. 

Sherwood Forest NNR is noted specifically for its dead wood invertebrate species, these are some of the rarest insects in the UK. They live on the dead and rotting material inside the trunk and branches of trees such as Oaks. When we talk about an ancient tree having died it is part of a natural process that has internally already begun. 

Whilst we are sad about trees such as the Major Oak dying, it is part of the natural process and it is the tree moving into its next phase. Over the next years, decades, potentially centuries the tree will slowly break down, providing food and shelter for lichens, fungi, insect, birds and mammals. 

The Guardian 18th June 2026 by Patrick Barkham

BBC News 18th June 2026 by Asha Patel and David Pittam

The Guardian 1st January 2017 by Gwyn Topham

Edwinstowe Historical Society, Trees of Sherwood Forest & Major Oak

After a period of burnout, I realised that nature knows what you need, and is always ready to offer it – you just have to be quiet enough to receive it.

In 2022 I moved to Clevedon, near Bristol. As soon as I saw the oak tree behind my flat, I started sitting under it. It’s not in some beautiful, remote place – it’s on an urban hill surrounded by grassland – but as a solitary tree on the side of a hill, it drew my attention.

I was burned out. For 10 years, I had run a nonprofit tackling plastic pollution. We had got the government to ban plastic cutlery and polystyrene takeaway packaging, and supermarkets to ban plastic cotton buds. They were major achievements, but it was hard work and I was exhausted. I was transitioning away from activism, and only working three days a week.

Looking for more calm in my life, I had a slightly crazy idea: what would it be like to meditate under the same tree every day for a year? I decided to start on the winter solstice of 2023.

The first few months felt heavy and bleak. There was a lot of rain and I was buffeted by storms and intense winds. I always took a little square of sheepskin to sit on, and sometimes a hot-water bottle. Not much was happening under the tree and I felt a bit daunted at the idea of doing this for an entire year. Some days I questioned why I was doing it, but I wanted to stick with the challenge.

I usually spent the first 10 minutes sitting still and looking around to enjoy what was happening. I’d then close my eyes and meditate for 20-30 minutes, come home and write notes and a poem. Looking back at the ones I wrote that winter, they feel quite introspective.

The day the daffodils came out felt like a celebration. I’d watched them coming, and every day I thought, ‘They’re going to burst any moment’

Spring brought a sense of hope. Winter had felt like a period of pause; now it was as though someone had pressed play. The day the daffodils came out under the tree felt like a celebration. I’d watched them coming, and every day I thought, “They’re going to burst any moment.”

Suddenly I had company, this big bright clump of flowers next to me – but after two weeks, they were gone. They had been 50 weeks in the making; it filled me with awe at how transitory life can be. Then the forget-me-nots came, and from there it just exploded. The barren grassland turned into a riot of life and colour.

It was incredible to witness all the micro changes in nature. The buttercups seemed to arrive overnight, as did the crickets – one day there were none; the next, they were singing all around me. Another day, I heard a new bird song. “Ah, the swifts have arrived,” I thought. All this sitting in stillness refined my senses. I’d return home glowing most days.

By summer, it felt as if everything in the meadow was resting – except me. Though I appreciated my ritual, during the day I was still exhausting myself, working, making music and writing poems. But I realised this was about reconnecting with nature, so I should do what nature was doing. It took an effort to slow down, but it was needed.

Everything felt calmer under the tree, and without the usual distractions, my meditation was clearer. Once, I opened my eyes to see a deer in front of me. Then a dog ran across and the deer took off.

I felt my mental and physical health improve. I no longer had backache, and my sense of peace and awe skyrocketed. I felt a happiness I hadn’t experienced since childhood and rediscovered a sense of playfulness.

Sitting with the oak also changed my perspective of time. Previously, I would try to control things, but I had become more patient and trusting of their natural timing.

On a late summer’s day, the swifts were unusually active – they were having a screaming party. The next day they were gone; it was as if they had been announcing their departure. By autumn, the winds had picked up and the leaves had started to turn.

On my last day, on the winter solstice of 2024, I took my guitar and sang my thanks to the tree for offering me sanctuary for a year. The challenge was complete and I had a newfound resilience. I was also relieved to be able to travel and see family.

You don’t need to go far to find a spot in nature where you can sit and reflect. Nature knows what you need, and is always ready to offer it – you just need to be quiet enough to receive it. I still visit the tree most days – though admittedly I tend to skip the rainy ones.

As told to Fleur Britten

An old oak does not look busy from a distance by Echoes of the Earth fb page.

It stands still.
It drops leaves.
It casts shade.
It looks like one tree.

But in Britain, an oak can be a whole living city.

The Woodland Trust says native oaks support more wildlife than any other UK native tree: around 2,300 species use oak, 326 species depend on it, and 229 species are rarely found on trees other than oak.

That life is not all in the leaves.

It is in the bark cracks.
The dead wood.
The canopy.
The roots.
The acorns.
The fungi.
The lichens.
The holes where birds nest and bats shelter.

A blue tit may search the leaves for caterpillars.
A jay may bury acorns and forget a few, planting the next generation.
Beetles may live in decaying wood.
Fungi may feed through roots and old timber.
Moths may depend on leaves most people never notice.

That is why an ancient oak is not just “old”.

It is layered.

Every scar becomes a room.
Every hollow becomes shelter.
Every fallen branch becomes food for another life.
Even decay is not failure. It is habitat.

So when we remove dead wood too quickly, cut old limbs without thought, or replace ancient living structure with decorative planting, we may not just lose a tree.

We lose a tower of homes.

An oak is not valuable because it is perfect.
It is valuable because it has lived long enough to become a world.

They grow roots. They become grounded and they know where they belong.

They know their forest. They use their branches and embrace their tribe.

They are strong and powerful, but not aggressive or forceful. Roots grow deep from their battled bones and their veins flow rivers of wisdom.

They seek the river, the roots of others, the struggles of ancient trees who lived in a world of injustice.
That old world was not a world of love. There was no compassion. No kindness. No generosity. Just blood and fire. Women had to walk on fire to prove their innocence. To prove that they are not the daughters of darkness.

This world of injustice is deeply ingrained in the fears and doubts of every woman who chooses to be seen in her full authenticity. No conscious leader can escape the curse of ancient DNA.

But like any tree with strong roots and deep convictions, she takes on this challenge and driven by the desire to do good, she looks doubt, fear and uncertainty in the eyes and stays committed to her mission no matter what. In the end, she will shed the antiquated myth of creation and fully embrace the power of sovereignty.

The conscious leader of today does the sacred inner work to shed herself from the wounds of her ancestors. She now leads with love, peace and gratitude. She is the real deal. Grounded in truth and integrity.

Vulnerability is a trait of the strong. The trait of a conscious leader. Not a leader who only seeks profit. There are plenty of those in the market place. Those who agitate the pain of the tribe and offer false hopes to courageous messengers who have not found their place in the market place yet. Be aware of that leader. Stay away. Be strong and say no to their ways. Because that is pure indoctrination clothed in the skin of sacredness.

But the conscious leader, the mission-driven woman is like a tree with deep roots and a canopy reaching out for truth, compassion and service. Find your own voice. Craft your message and write on the pages of heart. Take out the pen of truth and tell your story as it is. Wounds and pain. Sorrows and defeats. Because it is not about the story in the end. It is about the meaning you give to your stories and the deep knowing you are called to share with your tribe.

So yes, women are like trees. Wise, deep, vulnerable to the elements, but ready to offer shade and protection to any traveler seeking to rest and find ease.

There are poetic metaphors shared in this message. Sit with these words, look within and let them make sense for you in your own unique way. You know where you are in your journey as a mission-driven woman.

Be honest with yourself and no matter where you find yourself, you will come back to the path of the conscious leader with strong roots and deep convictions.

If you see yourself as a conscious leader and have not found your place in the market place, if you have not given a name to the transformation you offer your tribe, you are invited to join our community of “Wordsmiths of the Soul”. Come and write with us. Learn how to Language Your Message. Connect with Soul Deep Women. Put together the pieces of your business and gather the confidence to speak your truth with confidence, conviction and courage. Find your Voice and share it to stand out, stand up and make an impact with the way you walk the face of the earth.

https://archaeologyforthewomanssoul.com/language-your-message/

Eastbourne Borough Council has declared a climate emergency, and has set a target of 2030 for the town to be carbon neutral. In Eastbourne, we’re especially affected by the loss of thousands of ash and elm trees to disease.

We are focussed on getting trees planted, on both public and private land. We’re working with the council, and independently, to find sites – large and small – where we can plant trees. We’re also raising the money to buy them, enlisting the volunteers needed to plant them, and planning and managing the planting projects.

Founding principles

1. Trees must be the right trees – in the right place. Projects should not be displacing other ecologically valuable habitats (e.g. priority, semi-natural or other habitats that may also or could provide significant carbon capture and/or biodiversity benefits). 

2. Wherever possible, sites/projects should, alongside Greenhouse gas capture, look to maximise native biodiversity.

3. Projects should encourage community engagement from people of all socioeconomic backgrounds; and look to engage schools and schoolchildren where possible.

4.  There has to be a resourced or costed plan (with evidence of funding) for aftercare of trees for usually a minimum of 3 years (depending on the nature of individual planting sites, this aftercare period may be longer). This aftercare usually involves weeding, control of competitive scrub, tree guard maintenance and subsequent removal, or for street trees –  watering.

5. We should only plant native species, ideally locally grown or at least UK provenance  – unless there are exceptional circumstances  – e.g. it is impossible to find alternatives – eg disease resistant Elms; or there is strong evidence that a particular tree species is the most suitable for a location/soil type under future climate change scenarios.

6. Planting sites or projects should be sustainable – not require undue use of resources or carbon to enable planting, and onward maintenance of new trees. 

7. Sites should be safe, and if at all possible accessible for all ages and abilities  – with a presumption that volunteers can reasonably access the sites via foot, cycle, or public transport. Any risks to volunteers can be adequately controlled. 

8. Treebourne as an entirely volunteer run organisation, has sufficient capacity in its core team, and volunteer base, to work on and successfully complete the project.

Greening Eastbourne streets – Treebourne has been awarded a major grant by the Urban Tree Challenge Fund to plant 1,000 streets trees over the next two years. Encouraging community involvement was a key part of our successful bid and so we are inviting people to suggest where the trees will be planted. Will will also be launching a Tree Champions scheme giving volunteers the chance to look after the trees as they grow.

Sevenoaks Rec
Our first site, identified by the council some time ago as a park that would benefit from complete regeneration, with vast, poorly used open spaces, low tree cover and limited wildlife. By planting thousands of trees in Sevenoaks Rec, we can not only help the battle against climate change, but massively improve the park and the quality of the natural environment for local residents.

THE NEW LIFE MAY BE GROWING MORE THAN YOU THINK ✨ NOT EVERY SACRED SHIFT SHOWS ITSELF RIGHT AWAY, BUT IT CAN STILL BE DEEPENING WITHIN YOU ✨ APRIL 21, 2026

“Dear friends, one of the most important parts of any real transformation is learning not to measure everything by immediate outer proof. There are days when the energy moves clearly, the signs feel obvious, the responses come quickly, and the path seems to shine back at you. And then there are other moments, when the movement becomes less visible, but no less real.

These spaces can be deeply meaningful. Because they often reveal whether we are willing to remain with what is true even when it is not being immediately confirmed from the outside. They show us whether we can continue honoring what has begun, even when the next sign has not yet arrived. They ask whether our faith in the shift depends only on momentum, or whether something deeper is beginning to root within us.

With the Sun now in Taurus, there is wisdom in this slower and more grounding rhythm. Taurus does not rush to prove what is growing. It roots. It stabilizes. It gives life time to gather substance. It reminds us that not everything sacred is loud, and not everything real is immediate. Some of the most important changes begin beneath the surface, then deepen through steadiness, patience, and repeated self-honoring.

And if the past hours have felt a little more stirred, sensitive, restless, or energetically charged, that too may be part of a G1 geomagnetic solar storm moving through our planet. But even when the atmosphere feels stronger, the deeper invitation remains the same: to stay close to what is true, to move more gently with yourself, and to let steadiness become part of the medicine.

For many, this may be part of the deeper lesson now. The new life may not need to perform in order to be trusted. The next chapter may not need to announce itself in dramatic ways in order to be true. Sometimes the soul is simply asking you to stay close to what has already been shown, to keep choosing what feels more aligned, and to stop assuming that a slower rhythm means nothing is happening.

This is where deeper maturity begins. It is easy to believe when the signs are bright. It is more transformational to remain devoted when the process becomes less visible, more interior, and more subtle. This is often where the becoming deepens. Where the roots go down. Where the nervous system begins learning that stability itself can be a kind of grace.

So if things feel less visible right now, do not rush to assume that nothing is moving. Not all sacred growth is dramatic. Not all confirmation arrives right away. Sometimes the new life is deepening more than you realize, asking only that you remain honest enough, patient enough, and faithful enough to keep meeting it where it is already growing. Have a beautiful day. Much love” 💖

WE ARE ONE ♡
Diego E. Berman ©2026
http://www.diegoberman.com

Johnson’s Willow stands beside Stowe Pool in Lichfield. Planted around 1700, the original tree became famous for its great size and its connection with Lichfield’s most famous son, Samuel Johnson {1709-1784}- author, lexicographer and humanitarian. When Johnson was young, he would have often seen the Willow, which stood next to his father’s parchment factory, and whenever he returned to Lichfield in his later years. He is reported to have described it as the delight of my early and waning life.

The Willow also attracted the interest of the Lichfield poet Anna Steward {1742-1809} and the American poet Elizabeth Graeme Fergusson {1737-1801}.

In 1781 Johnson asked Dr Trevor Jones of Lichfield to write a detailed description of the tree, which is still an important source of information.

This engraving of the Lichfield Willow, based on a drawing by Edward Stringer, appeared in The Gentleman’s Magazine for August 1785

In 1787 Fergusson wrote two long ‘Odes on the Litchfield Willow’, in which she celebrated Johnson and other cultural figures who might have walked and studied under the Willow’s boughs. To further boost the tree’s claim to fame, she created for it an ancestry stretching right back to the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden, and passing through the gardens of classical Greece and Rome before arriving in Lichfield. In this way she made the history of the Willow a metaphor for the transmission of civilisation and the arts from the ancient world to modern Britain. She expressed the hope that the Lichfield Willow’s ‘Emblematic Boughs’ would ‘ages Hence wave ore the Brows/Of true Poetic Swains’. 

Three stanzas from Fergusson’s first Willow ode are quoted below.

In her second ode, she expressed the hope that a cutting of the Willow would one day reach America to symbolise the spread of cultures from Britain to the New World; this hope was finally realised in 2024 by the planting of cuttings at Graeme Park near Philadelphia {Fergusson home}, Vassar College {New York State} and other locations in the USA.

Oh may we hope some tender twig,
The Willow well can Spare
Some thriving, blooming, verdant, Sprig;
May yet be wafted Here!

Elizabeth had hoped that her Willow odes would (like a number of her other compositions) appear in The Columbian Magazine; for some reason, however (possibly because of difficulties in deciphering her handwriting), this did not happen. Brief extracts were quoted in books and articles, but the full text of the odes remained in manuscript until the appearance of the first complete edition in 2020.

The tree eventually became decayed, and in 1829; however, a cutting from it was planted on the site in 1830 to become the Second Willow, which was itself blown down in a great storm in 1881.

The Third Willow – again a true descendant – was not planted out beside Stowe Pool until 1898; in 1956 it was found to be unsafe, and was felled after cuttings had been taken to raise a new tree.

The Fourth Willow was planted in 1959 as part of the celebrations of the 250th anniversary of Johnson’s birth. Because of decay and concerns over safety, it was felled on 8th October 2021, after being pollarded in 2014, 2016 and 2018 to prolong its life.

The importance of preserving the tradition of Johnson’s Willow had, however, been recognised by both Lichfield District Council and the Johnson Society, who had been working together to repeat the replanting process once again. In 2018, cuttings were taken from the current tree; these were tended and raised by the District Council’s Parks Department, and one of the saplings grown from them became the fifth incarnation of Johnson’s Willow.

The Fifth Willow was planted on 2nd November 2021 with a ceremony which included the reading of a new poem about Johnson’s Willow by Sarah Dale, hers was the winning entry in the Johnson Society’s Willow poetry competition.

Today, Johnson’s Willow is an important part of Lichfield’s heritage, and remains, for residents and visitors alike, a much-loved link with Johnson and his age.

Johnson and His Willow
Sure Phoebus’ Son was Johnson named
He various talents Shared!
Verse, Genius, Knowledge, Wisdom claimed
A Genuine Bard Declared!
His native Soil he oft Retrod,
which Reared this wondrous Tree;
With filial Love marked the abode
Of Both their Infancy.
Thus when in Future each is known
to Bloom with lengthened years
He like His kindred Willow Shown
yet Vernal both appears!

Elizabeth Graeme Fergusson,
‘Two Odes on the Litchfield Willow’
(extract from first ode,
transcribed from manuscript,
with modernised spelling)

Johnson’s Willow stands on the north side of Stowe Pool in Lichfield. To
reach it from the cathedral end of Dam Street, turn down Reeve Lane, then take the path nearest to the pool, which runs along the embankment; the Willow is located next to this path, at the point where the parallel lower path is joined by one running from Gaia Lane (see map).

Johnson’s Willow crosses the pond

The Johnson Society – which co-ordinated the project as a whole – presented bronze plaques for the cuttings at Vassar College and Graeme Park. Ceremonies were held at both sites in September 2025; these were attended by representatives of the Johnson Society, who were grateful for the hospitality shown to them, for the appreciation of the work that had gone into the project, and for the care being taken of the young willows.

The Johnson Society wishes to thank Paul Niven of Lichfield District Council, Dr Sage Thompson and Dr Joseph Foster of the United States Department of Agriculture, Professor Robert DeMaria, Jr and his colleagues at Vassar College, and Carla Loughlin and Beth MacCausland of Graeme Park for their support and participation in this project. Thanks also go to the staff and volunteers at Vassar College and Graeme Park who devotedly care for the young willows.

Further reading: John Winterton, ‘“This vegetable and unparalleled wonder”:
Johnson’s Willow’, The Transactions of the Johnson Society 2017, pp. 30–49
(updated in subsequent editions of Transactions).
For the Johnson Society (Lichfield), visit http://www.thejohnsonsociety.org.uk.
Text © John Winterton, 2019, 2022 and 2025.
Cover: the Fifth Willow on 12 July 2025 (photo © John Winterton).
Page 3, top left: Samuel Johnson (© Samuel Johnson Birthplace Museum).
Page 3, top right: the First Willow (European Magazine, September 1804).
Map © OpenStreetMap contributors (www.openstreetmap.org/copyright).

Why You Must Stop Cutting the Ivy

In the stark, grey woodlands of a UK March, Common Ivy (Hedera helix) provides the only dense splash of green climbing our trees. To a casual observer, it looks like a hostile takeover.

The greatest gardening myth is that ivy is a blood-sucking parasite slowly strangling the forest. In scientific reality, ivy uses its aerial roots purely for grip; it does not penetrate the bark or steal the host’s sap. Rather than harming a healthy tree, it acts as a thermal “scarf,” protecting the trunk from the severe freeze-thaw temperature swings of late winter.

Right now, its ecological value is peaking. March is the notorious “hungry gap” in the UK—a brutal period when winter food stores are depleted, and spring insects have not yet emerged. During this critical window, ivy is heavy with ripe, fat-rich black berries. These berries are an absolute lifeline for our resident Blackbirds (Turdus merula) and declining Song Thrushes (Turdus philomelos). Furthermore, its thick evergreen canopy provides the only reliable, weather-proof cover for early-nesting birds like the Wren to build their sanctuaries safely hidden from predators.

Ecological Action: Stop severing the thick ivy vines at the base of healthy, mature trees.

Ivy isn’t a weed choking our woods; it is the very architecture of spring survival.

Echoes of the Earth fb page.

The text is a famous quote attributed to the character The Lorax from the Dr. Seuss book of the same name, emphasizing environmental conservation.

Dr. Seuss (Ted Geisel) was inspired to write it after seeing eucalyptus trees being cut down near his home.

The book was written in 1971, just as the environmental movement was gaining momentum in the US.

The Lorax’s Appearance: The character was inspired by the patas monkey, which shares the Lorax’s mustache and depends on whistling thorn acacia trees.

The Lorax’s Role: The Lorax acts as a guardian, standing up against the Once-ler, who cuts down the Truffula Trees for business.

The phrase has become a slogan for environmentalism, but it also reflects the work of people like Diana Beresford-Kroeger, a botanist and author of “To Speak for the Trees,” who blends scientific knowledge with ancient Celtic wisdom to advocate for the protection of forests.

The full quote is:
“I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.”