Transitional and Transitory

I like these ecology terms so precious to conservationists. 'Transitional' is one of them. It’s about the zone where one landscape type meets another. It could be lowland against upland or woodland against heathland. Mostly ordinary folk have little use for specialised jargon but it must be assumed to have its uses in meetings and other contexts when everyone knows what you mean.
The Sheffield City ecology officer used it when we were putting together a statement or vision of what we valued about Blacka at the Icarus consultation. It then went the rounds from group to group along with other phrases. After a session or two she announced that she wanted to withdraw it ‘because people were misinterpreting it’. In other words some of us who knew nothing of the ecological context thought she had meant ‘a landscape that was evolving, becoming ‘something different’ i.e. heathland to woodland. We of course thought that fine. The changing process was getting rid of uniform boring heather and replacing it with tall shrubs and trees. But she couldn’t have that – it went entirely contrary to the conservationists’ agenda. That has not always been exactly their story; they had started off with it being “in unfavourable condition” but when we spoke up for enjoying it as it was, they side- stepped into: “ Yes we know it’s fine now but it will eventually turn into woodland and nobody wants that”. Our response came back that natural change from the grouse moor had done magnificently so far without managers and we were on balance more inclined to trust nature than the managers we had seen up to now.
And transient or not what pleasure to watch natural change surprise us after man had made such a mess of it before.

The Garden of Eden itself did not last. Paradise was and is transitory, fleeting, not meant to carry on ad infinitum. Simply, we’re not good enough for it. And that’s how it felt this morning. The young trees have an extraordinary appeal at this time vibrant and full of energy all enhanced by the overwhelming swell of birdsong. At the eastern perimeter path next to a wall and wire fence we can look over into another area that has gone totally wild where flowering hawthorn scrub predominates in extravagant style.
Here the warblers sing with a volume and a life force rarely found. Each year it astonishes bringing intense perceptions and a quality of transcendence. One feels privileged. No white powders or dubious substances are needed and within the miracle you still remain in touch with reality. Was there a time in history when we all had easy access to this kind of experience?


And when it was taken away from us and we were expelled from this paradise did they move in with their management plans, apply for grants from the Forestry Commission et al, before bringing along their chain saws barbed wire and grazing plans? Were we then exiled to Burbage?