Our ancient forests know the secret of growth better than any bureaucrat
Even the most urban of city dolts must notice the difference. On a Scottish moor, you can walk through a forest of gnarled silver birches, their trunks thick with pale green lichen, and feel the presence of slow, complex, intertwined growth. Then you pass from self-seeded woodland into the zone planted by humans. It consists of row upon row of sterile spruces. They grow quickly and neatly. Whereas the birches teem with insects, rabbits and deer, the great, new “Caledonian forest” looks almost inert.
It’s hard to disagree, therefore, with the argument made by the campaign group Rewilding Britain that, left to themselves, trees will reproduce much more effectively than any state scheme will manage. It takes trees longer – annoyingly, for a government with a reforestation target – but generates forests with richer soil, a greater capacity to store carbon
Left to themselves, trees will reproduce more effectively than any state scheme
and a greater resilience to disease, drought and storms. Aside from all that, natural forests are, frankly, more beautiful.
Increasingly, research into ancient woodland suggests that trees have reasons for growing the way they do. Slow growth, for example, allows for dense, hardy trunks that are resistant to hungry parasites. Extensive, intertwined root networks allow trees of the same species to share resources and spread helpful fungi. In some cases, healthy trees that come under attack have even been known to release chemicals warning their fellows of an impending insect invasion. These remarkable abilities are what enabled Eurasia’s forests to survive and spread across the continent for thousands of miles, swallowing armies and inspiring widespread, ancient European cults of tree worship.
It is folly to think that we can replace this lost inheritance in one generation with a target for tree-planting. If instead we are patient, we will surely find that trees plant far better forests than humans ever could.