Ages ago, an area of Sherwood Forest was bulldozed to plot the land I now live on. Indeed, deforestation and regeneration of Robin's 'hood has been taking place for centuries. During medieval times, 100,000 acres of oak and birch included designated 'Forest' and the region's valuable timber and game was protected by Royal Law. Today, patches of forestland remain, scattered across only 450 acres of the Birklands.A great deal of logging during wartime and replantation of foreign trees, including Pine contributes to the changed landscape. It is a shame. And what remains is starkly less enchanting than I had hoped because of its lack of depth. It is hard to get lost in unless you tap into your inner child and really put your imagination to work.
A area of conservation set aside today holds the most ancient portion of Sherwood Forest and is home to the Major Oak, famed because of its girth and age. The tree is over 800 years old and has grown rather decrepit. A 10 metre waistline feeding arteries of thick branches no longer supports the thickened 28 metre spread. Today the heaviest limbs rest on a system of timber crutches.
Watching the tree draws out the tie-dye wearing, granola-eater in me. It could use a therapeutic hug.
Several hundred ancient oaks cover the remaining land of Sherwood. I was especially impressed by this one. The enchanted forest may have lost its lustre, but each individual tree, its branches turning and twisted, reaching out to you is remarkable. A facade of rings and hollows distinguish each bark, mouth wide open, eyes spying. The thinned forest is penetrated by a breeze that rustles the leavy limbs, breathing life back into the old oak.
