It is great privilege – one I will lose sooner or later – to wander alone in my little forest; even more of a pleasure to tread on strictly private paths as a sandals-only rambler. Apart from the odd poacher, I can only encounter nymphs and statyrs.
Some people cannot understand why one should want to live in a biggish place like mine. After all, it is not a farm which produces an income. I would be happy enough with the couple of acres of garden around the house. The wood is an extra gift from the gods. I wasn’t looking for anything as extensive when I arrived in Chile with the intention of buying a plot to sow the rare tomato seeds I smuggled through the customs but “La Ermita” seemed cheap, so I snapped it up, wild woods and all.
The two distinct woods lie on a gentle slope above the house, in keeping with the principle of permaculture (known by countryfolk throughout the world long before Australian ecologists gave it a name) of hauling timber down rather than up and drawing water by gravity instead of by electric pump. The lower wood is an inherited mistake which I have not yet rectified: eucalpytus, which sucks up all the water and leaves the soil good for nothing else. The previous owner took advantage of a government subsidy to plant euchies on two hectares on land which yielded tobacco forty years ago. I will admit that my feelings towards the interloper are ambivalent: the scent of its leaves, which alleviate bronchitis, is pleasant to breath in and the bark is a beautiful blueish-green. Furthermore, you can fell it every two or three years because its branches sprout up vigorously from the stump and are soon thick enough for the fireplace and stoves. Alive, eucalyptus is an ecological villain but dead it is a renewable source of energy, almost unique due to stringent laws against felling native trees. Dead branches can be lopped, however, and as logs burn slower than eucalyptus, giving off more heat and leaving embers to do a steak or bake bread.
The lower plantation is useful but the larger, higher wood is the one I enjoy. The views of distant mountains are spectacular, the trees ever a darkish green and the spring carpet of wild flowers a joy to behold. These three or four hectares are well stocked with fine specimens of the central region – also to be found in the nearby La Campana park which Darwin explored in 1834. The most numerous are quillay and boldo, which at first glance look almost alike. However, the oblong leaves of quillay (Quillaja saponaria) are lighter and shinier while those of boldo (Peumus boldus) are darker, slightly curled, dry and crisp. The white flowers of the former attract honey-bees and the bark is great for shampoo, leaving your hair a fluffy mop; the leaves of the latter are excellent for stomach troubles. Some people munch it and spit them out like coca in Bolivia but it is usually taken as an infusion or tea.
Rather similar to quillay is peumo (Cryptocarya alba) which can grow taller (up to 20 metres) and bears red berries. I have one standing in front of my bedroom patio, which attracts flocks of gayly chattering blackbirds in summer. Many of these in the wood had been cut down to make barbecue charcoal (illegal but in great demand). They have since grown up from their stumps, like eucalyptus though much slower.
A softer-leaved tree which gracefully sways in the wind is maiten (Maytenus boaria), a suitable garden tree soothing to the eye and, like all natives, needing little if any watering when new. The shrub-like litre is best avoided for its yellow-veined leaves: some people (not me) have an allergic reaction to contact which lands them in bed for a week.
Alerce, of which there are a few in my wood, can live to be 3,000 years old but they can hardly be expected to reach this age because they are much in demand for their hardness and so make excellent fences and supports for vines.
Another, increasingly scarse Chilean tree is the belloto – easily distinguished from some of the other natives with rather dry leaves by its smooth thick trunk. Its fruit is a round edible nut which can be cooked like a chesnut. My donkeys like it more than I do. It is a sign of copious water and several can be found on ythe banks of the stream which runs round the house.
These lovely evergreens - hosts to insects which are a vital part of the ecological system – are in theory protected by law but private woods like mine have become unusual owing to plantations of avocado taking their place. Permission, sad to say, is easily granted to those with friends in the right place.
Wild flowers that would otherwise by obliterated by industrialized agriculture thrive in the remaining woodlands. Hosts of Alstroemeria greet me as I “wander lonely” up there in spring. Discovered by the Swedish Baron Alstroemer in 1753, this showy lily has long since been bred bigger and exported to florists in Europe. Even the euchalpytus wood is covered in a resistent little yellow flower which springs back when you walk over it. Then there is a sort of buttercup which looks exactly like a pair of dwarfish slippers. So beautiful are these flowering grasses and “weeds” with their delicate shades of blue and violet that I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to leave gardening to nature, spend less time on watering and more on reading books in the shade.
Foxes hole up in the wood, where they find quail and partridge if they are quick enough, and barn owls glide above the canopy on a moonlit night. I have seen a big country rat there, creeping out of its nest hidden by a giant cactus, not a rat of the dirty sort but a “guaren”.Far from being dangerous to human health, this rodent was introduced from Norway to drive out black rats, which it does with zeal. Despite its benign presence, my cats like to hunt it as it rustles in the bamboo hedge.
The woodlands of La Ermita change from one month to the other just as much as the garden, making one think one has not yet explored them fully. Some parts are so dense that they are visited only by birds and animals unless you want to scratch your face or break an ankle. That way, my wood remains as much a nature sanctuary as a very private park.
Some people cannot understand why one should want to live in a biggish place like mine. After all, it is not a farm which produces an income. I would be happy enough with the couple of acres of garden around the house. The wood is an extra gift from the gods. I wasn’t looking for anything as extensive when I arrived in Chile with the intention of buying a plot to sow the rare tomato seeds I smuggled through the customs but “La Ermita” seemed cheap, so I snapped it up, wild woods and all.
The two distinct woods lie on a gentle slope above the house, in keeping with the principle of permaculture (known by countryfolk throughout the world long before Australian ecologists gave it a name) of hauling timber down rather than up and drawing water by gravity instead of by electric pump. The lower wood is an inherited mistake which I have not yet rectified: eucalpytus, which sucks up all the water and leaves the soil good for nothing else. The previous owner took advantage of a government subsidy to plant euchies on two hectares on land which yielded tobacco forty years ago. I will admit that my feelings towards the interloper are ambivalent: the scent of its leaves, which alleviate bronchitis, is pleasant to breath in and the bark is a beautiful blueish-green. Furthermore, you can fell it every two or three years because its branches sprout up vigorously from the stump and are soon thick enough for the fireplace and stoves. Alive, eucalyptus is an ecological villain but dead it is a renewable source of energy, almost unique due to stringent laws against felling native trees. Dead branches can be lopped, however, and as logs burn slower than eucalyptus, giving off more heat and leaving embers to do a steak or bake bread.
The lower plantation is useful but the larger, higher wood is the one I enjoy. The views of distant mountains are spectacular, the trees ever a darkish green and the spring carpet of wild flowers a joy to behold. These three or four hectares are well stocked with fine specimens of the central region – also to be found in the nearby La Campana park which Darwin explored in 1834. The most numerous are quillay and boldo, which at first glance look almost alike. However, the oblong leaves of quillay (Quillaja saponaria) are lighter and shinier while those of boldo (Peumus boldus) are darker, slightly curled, dry and crisp. The white flowers of the former attract honey-bees and the bark is great for shampoo, leaving your hair a fluffy mop; the leaves of the latter are excellent for stomach troubles. Some people munch it and spit them out like coca in Bolivia but it is usually taken as an infusion or tea.
Rather similar to quillay is peumo (Cryptocarya alba) which can grow taller (up to 20 metres) and bears red berries. I have one standing in front of my bedroom patio, which attracts flocks of gayly chattering blackbirds in summer. Many of these in the wood had been cut down to make barbecue charcoal (illegal but in great demand). They have since grown up from their stumps, like eucalyptus though much slower.
A softer-leaved tree which gracefully sways in the wind is maiten (Maytenus boaria), a suitable garden tree soothing to the eye and, like all natives, needing little if any watering when new. The shrub-like litre is best avoided for its yellow-veined leaves: some people (not me) have an allergic reaction to contact which lands them in bed for a week.
Alerce, of which there are a few in my wood, can live to be 3,000 years old but they can hardly be expected to reach this age because they are much in demand for their hardness and so make excellent fences and supports for vines.
Another, increasingly scarse Chilean tree is the belloto – easily distinguished from some of the other natives with rather dry leaves by its smooth thick trunk. Its fruit is a round edible nut which can be cooked like a chesnut. My donkeys like it more than I do. It is a sign of copious water and several can be found on ythe banks of the stream which runs round the house.
These lovely evergreens - hosts to insects which are a vital part of the ecological system – are in theory protected by law but private woods like mine have become unusual owing to plantations of avocado taking their place. Permission, sad to say, is easily granted to those with friends in the right place.
Wild flowers that would otherwise by obliterated by industrialized agriculture thrive in the remaining woodlands. Hosts of Alstroemeria greet me as I “wander lonely” up there in spring. Discovered by the Swedish Baron Alstroemer in 1753, this showy lily has long since been bred bigger and exported to florists in Europe. Even the euchalpytus wood is covered in a resistent little yellow flower which springs back when you walk over it. Then there is a sort of buttercup which looks exactly like a pair of dwarfish slippers. So beautiful are these flowering grasses and “weeds” with their delicate shades of blue and violet that I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to leave gardening to nature, spend less time on watering and more on reading books in the shade.
Foxes hole up in the wood, where they find quail and partridge if they are quick enough, and barn owls glide above the canopy on a moonlit night. I have seen a big country rat there, creeping out of its nest hidden by a giant cactus, not a rat of the dirty sort but a “guaren”.Far from being dangerous to human health, this rodent was introduced from Norway to drive out black rats, which it does with zeal. Despite its benign presence, my cats like to hunt it as it rustles in the bamboo hedge.
The woodlands of La Ermita change from one month to the other just as much as the garden, making one think one has not yet explored them fully. Some parts are so dense that they are visited only by birds and animals unless you want to scratch your face or break an ankle. That way, my wood remains as much a nature sanctuary as a very private park.
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