Sweet chestnut leaves, parchment yellow and curled in long, ragged scraps, have drifted across the path. A month ago, the ground here was littered with clusters of green seedcases the size of sea urchins and equally spiny, splitting in quarters to release their harvest. They were eaten by mice, squirrels and deer, and the few that remain have turned brown as burdock burrs.
I’m on the west side of Doverhay Wood, which has trees all along the bridleway, mostly sweet chestnut with some oak. It’s a great contrast to the opposite slope, which was razed bare. Kneehigh stumps are all that remain across the once-wooded hillside. Tracks carve into the red earth, their sides heaped with soil and dead branches.
