At the edge of autumn, nature has reminded me, all these years later, that it’s back-to-school time. When I was young, my family usually spent the last gasps of summer in the west of Ireland, and it’s around this time, in August, that starlings gather in small groups along telephone and electricity wires; their endless chatter is like a school bell in my mind, triggering memories of pencil cases, lunch boxes and a new term. The sight of invasive hedgerow perennials – montbretia’s astonishing burnt orange colour and the blood-red fuchsia with its ballerina-shaped flowers – is a sign that the summer holidays are drawing to a close.
I’ve been in the wilds of west Kerry, in an old farmhouse that faces a minor road. It’s been a while since I saw cows on the roads, and the days are marked by a small herd of 20 animals that use this stretch as their bóthar. Every morning at 8.15am, they plod by the kitchen window, their tails swishing high to keep the insects at bay, on their way around the side of the mountain to a grassy field. The farmer walks patiently behind with his sheepdog, wooden stick in hand. By 5pm, their udders weighed down with milk, they pass the house in the opposite direction, on their way downhill towards the parlour.
Walking the back roads is a joy, but with cars it can be unnerving. Seeing the herd of cows ambling along the road twice daily gives me some reassurance that the drivers around here are used to sharing this space with other, slower creatures that go through life at a more leisurely pace.
They need our close attention to appreciate their full glory, and in return, hedgerows can offer us a visceral experience
And so I take to the lanes and roads and spend some time looking at Kerry’s famous hedgerows, which wind around this landscape, in places, like thick veins. From afar, hedgerows can put on a remarkable show; earlier this summer, the hawthorn blossom was so intense across the country it seemed like the hedgerows had been heavily dusted with layers of snow, forming endless white ribbons around the landscape.
Generally, as a driver, it’s hard to think of hedgerows as anything other than functional barriers between road and field. They need our close attention to appreciate their full glory, and in return, hedgerows can offer us a visceral experience. Glossy, deep purple blackberries and the sweet lemony nectar in the flowers of the fuchsia are both delicious to eat; the wild honeysuckle, which enfolds itself around the hedge, gives off an alluring, woody scent that deepens as the day goes on.
It’s hard to overstate the importance of diverse, flowering hedgerows to wildlife – they are where species nest, breed, feed, hide, hibernate and die. For birds of prey such as the sparrowhawk and the barn owl, vibrant hedgerows are like a restaurant. When allowed to thrive, they are nature’s kitchen larder, bedroom, livingroom, secret chamber and funeral parlour all in one.
[ The Irish Times view on Ireland’s hedgerowsOpens in new window ]
The warm sun brings out the insects, and a red-tailed bumblebee is stuck deep in the florets of the pink-purple thistle-like knapweed. I tell my youngest that for many insects, knapweed is like a cup of rich hot chocolate topped with marshmallows; they cannot get enough of it. Within a square metre is a thicket of purple loosestrife, great willow herb, hedge woundwort, scaly ferns, blood-red rosehips, and glossy, spiky holly leaves. The intertwined blackberries, heavy with juice, look like they will fall off and disappear into the plants below.
Meadow brown and small white butterflies appear. A hairy, auburn caterpillar of the tiger moth appears from a patch of nettles underneath and crawls straight across the road. Caterpillars are pacy movers, which is a wise strategy, because just above them the house martins and swallows are flying low in search of something to eat.
More than a third had gaps, which is deeply problematic for wildlife because they need these strips of mini-woodlands to be continuous as a wildlife corridor
At a crossroads, I turn the corner and everything changes. On both sides, the hedgerow has been hacked back so severely that the sandy bank is exposed. The road looks bare and undressed. A quick check of Google Street View from 13 years ago throws up a photograph of this spot, showing a vibrant hedgerow delicately spilling over into the road. The hedgerow is all but gone today, and this obliteration continues around another bend.
Active removal isn’t the only pressure on our hedgerows. In 2010, hedgerow expert Neil Foulkes surveyed 12,845km of hedges in Monaghan and published what he found. This survey was repeated in 2021 by ecologist Billy Flynn, who reported that hedgerows, increasingly soaked in nutrients, had lost diversity and were becoming more fragmented. More than a third had gaps, which is deeply problematic for wildlife because they need these strips of mini-woodlands to be continuous as a wildlife corridor.
Nearly all of the ash trees in the hedgerows displayed signs of dieback disease and overall, the number of “unfavourable” status hedgerows increased to 87.9 per cent. This data, however troubling, is invaluable if hedgerows are to be restored.
Hedgerows need advocates such as the Ballyboughal Hedgerow Society (thehedge.org) in Dublin, the only one of its kind in the country, which was set up by Ann Lynch. The group runs workshops with local youth clubs and scouts, and hosts hedge laying and foraging trips, all to draw attention to these living boundaries. We could do with a hedgerow society in every parish.
