On a just-finished hundred-mile winter walk through West and South Yorkshire, I have felt somewhat tree-deprived – partly because my route lay through open farmland, fen edges and upland pastures; partly because, after the astonishing rain of the autumn, woodland trails are often impassable and, therefore, to be avoided. But on a very cold December day, tracking south between Conisbrough and Tickhill in South Yorkshire, I came through Wadworth woods and found the ground, even under an insulating canopy of bare but mature oaks, solidly frozen. And here, negotiating stiffly rutted rides, I came across a small masterpiece that stopped me in my tracks.
This artless composition of colour, texture and form was lit by a low sun – almost the lowest of the year – sneaking along the ride, picking out sparkling frosted gems. A painter might have called this ‘Still life, winter polypore (I’m no fungus expert), oak leaf, bramble and woodrush.’ If nothing else, it’s a lesson in observation: the artist, like the woodsman, sees beyond woodland and tree to horizons far and near. Even so, the camera image does little justice to the experience: of superb cold and the stillness of the woodland air; its hollow acoustics; the dramatic peachy light and the sense of a season not of death and decay, but of deep-breath pause, reflection and recuperation: nature drawing back, ready to take a running jump in Spring.
This month is also a time for tree planting, for coppicing and pruning; repairing fences and hedges and contemplating the woodland year ahead; for burning last year’s wood on a stove and restocking the woodshed. This, truly, is the woodsman’s season. And, sometimes, the woodsman needs to stop, look and listen.