Change

Until very recently my 1970s house, with its pebble-dashed exterior and white UPVC windows, came accessorised with another suburban cliché - the leylandii hedge. Leylandii (Cupressus × leylandii) is a fast growing conifer hybrid. It is almost always sterile and so all the plants we see in garden centres  will have been propagated by cuttings. This is a plant that humans have encouraged into life, wanting a rapid thick hedge to protect from the prying eyes of the neighbours. The tallest example of this relatively young species is said to be a 40m (130ft) specimen at Bedgebury National Pinetum in Kent. However, its ability to quickly reach height is also one of the downsides, with leylandii hedges often cited in disputes, including gruesomely in 2003 becoming implicated in a murder, where a man allegedly shot his neighbour after an argument about a hedge. Boundaries are touchy subjects it seems.

Around the same time as these sad happenings, we were house hunting. I remember viewing our house for the first time, and the dark conifer hedge that ran all the way down the external boundary made the front garden seem dark and enclosed. But as first time buyers desperate to put down our own roots, and find somewhere affordable to live, it wasn’t a top priority. Over the years I’ve called in the tree men regularly to trim the hedge, keen to keep on good terms with those around me. Then around ten years ago I plotted an incursion, arranging for several of the trees to be cleared from the front garden so that I could install a heavy duty bike shed on a concrete plinth in their place. The front garden became a little lighter, I dug up some of the lawn and seeded it with wildflowers, letting it loose a little from 1970s cul-de-sac strictures.

But then came the moment where the tree man, after a regular Leylandii trimming session, shook his head, sucked his teeth, and told me that “It’s dead basically”. Large brown patches had appeared in the hedge sides, the outlook was terminal. And so there it stood, something on my gardening list that I really meant to do something about, while all of the everything happened inside my family home and it was all I could do to hold things together indoors. Spring came, and I started the Grow Leader course, and having the stirrings of ideas again. One day I was walking down the passage at the side of my house, looking at this dying hedge and I had a moment of insight. If I finally had the dying Leylandii removed, I could create room for a whole empire of compost bins, or I could plant a native hedgerow. It was a very matter of fact reminder that change is possible.

Last Wednesday there was a flurry of sudden activity, chainsaws were deployed, a whole heap woodchip was created. I cycled home from work in the sunshine to be met with a row of stumps, everything looked different, so much possibility. I took myself out for a miniature field study of my changed environment, using my newly downloaded apps to help me identify the other plants that seek to colonise this newly cleared site. I found two hazel saplings, an Italian arum (Arum italicum - need to be careful if I dig that up, it's related to Lords and Ladies and is poisonous, we've just been warning the children at Forest School), Herb robert (Geranium robertianum), Garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolate) and Large-leaved Avens (Geum macrophyllum). Oh, and a tiny holly sapling. There are practical considerations for the space, as sadly local dog walkers have a habit of slinging poo bags over the wall, so a fence in place of the hedge is probably the most sensible solution. But I have been engaging in some daydreaming too, indulging the wild plans and crazy ideas. I’ve realised that living a small and stressed life rather stifles dreaming. Dreaming is necessary.

The photo shows Large-leaved Avens, herbalists use it for diseases of the intestinal tract. I downloaded the Pl@ntnet app this week, iNaturalist is another useful one for species identification. I've been consuming a fair amount of media about media this week and what it's doing to our society, including Everything is Fake on BBC Sounds (wild), Louis Theroux: Inside The Manosphere on Netflix (deeply depressing) and as a bit of resistance, a real paper book from the library: Attensity! A Manifesto for the Attention Liberation Movement (2026) by The Friends of Attention. This last one I read in one sitting, lots of ideas provoked...

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