THE ENCHANTED WOODS

MUCKING IN… FARM AND FAMILY LIFE

’ve TOLD you to STOP picking FLOWERS.” I’m down at eye level with the three-year-old. She’s clutching two big handfuls of petals. “But I picked them for you, Daddy,” she said, stamping her foot and bursting into tears. What’s a man supposed to do? She’s been on a month-long spree decimating the entire garden in the name of love, turning all the prettiest plants into potpourri. “Come on, let’s go and see some flowers,” I said. “We might just be in time. But no picking, OK?” On the other side of the valley there’s an unsignposted farm track full of potholes and puddles that leads to a beech forest. I didn’t think the boys would be interested in bluebells and I hadn’t told them where we were going. “This is where we came to forest school,” said the eight year-old, “BRILLIANT.” They had all been very excited about forest school, part of their curriculum this term, and had come home muddy, exhausted and happy. “Ah, very good. Did you see the owl boxes?” I asked. “They’re not owl boxes. They’re bat boxes. Each holds a pipistrelle.” “Really?” “Yeah. Bats are nocturnal,” he said, proudly. We waded into the woods – less than a mile from home as the bat flies, but completely and utterly another world. We were all stunned to silence by the sun blistering through the trees: so colourful and perfect, the luminous blue floor and the trees just coming into leaf, a zippy lime green. What a monument. The little girls clapped their hands and tiptoed through the flowers. The boys found a bivouac and sat in it. The rest of us joined them and I held my wife’s hand. That was all that happened, but it was an enchanted hour that will carry me for many weeks to come.