The poet Molly Holden celebrated edgelands like this footpath, where the passage of the plough never quite reaches. “The pieces of unprofitable land,” she wrote, “are what I like best.” The narrow path, between steep riverbank and farmland, links uncultivated triangular corners of the field, each headland bordered by the sweeping arc of waterlogged tractor ruts and hedges. They’re refuges for mugwort, docks, goosegrass and brome grass, now withered, weatherbeaten and run to seed, providing food for birds and replenishing the soil seed bank for the future. These are Holden’s “memories of former wilds”, the frontline in the annual tussle between arable and nature.
In winter the frontier, tilled and seeded, moves close to the edge of the path; any closer and the tractor might topple down a gully. Within weeks a counteroffensive begins, as red dead-nettle and speedwell seedlings appear among regimented rows of sprouted wheat. Come spring, the wild bridgehead advances further into arable territory. By next summer this path will be bordered with wild flowers, concealing runs of field mice that pilfer ripening grain.
When we walked past this morning, our coats brushed against last year’s dead burdock stems. Hooked burrs clung to my sleeve and, as I picked them off and tossed them away, I realised this is why the plant is so abundant here. Most ramblers will surely do the same, dispersing its seeds as they go. An ambush awaits along this narrowest section of the path; profitable land for burdock, its burrs ever ready to hitch a ride.
A flash of scarlet and black in the centre of a burr catches my attention. A seven-spot ladybird with an unlucky choice of hibernaculum. If I hadn’t disturbed it with my sleeve, it might have slept there, secure, through winter; now it must find another refuge.
We pause by the stile into the woods and look back, across the field’s undulating contour lines drawn in drilled rows of wheat. In its wild borders of “unprofitable land” there must be legions of ladybirds, butterfly and moth caterpillars; larvae of flies and beetles; hibernating queen bees and countless other insects, dormant through the coldest months, waiting for the wild flowers to return.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
