The woods are still bursting at the seams with exercising visitors. In most cases, we’re all careful to keep our distance and appreciative when others do.  But there’s a cost to us avoiding each other.

Over the last few weeks, a network of minor paths has become established. It’s not that they weren’t there before, but rather like ink over pencil drawing, they’ve become more defined and trodden.

Where there are brush fences built by London Wildlife Trust volunteers, the off-path straying is being contained. Where there are no barriers, the ground flora is suffering.

This morning I’m sad to see trampled bluebells, wild garlic and wood rush.

Gently defiant and so far undamaged, a quiet American is flowering at the edge of the over-tunnel path. Fringe cups, with elegant racemes of green bell flowers and lobed leaves, are in the Saxifrage family and native to North America.  I suspect these plants may have been in the garden of a house called Oakover which was on this site at least until the start of the 20th century and probably longer.

I love bluebells as much as the next person, but it’s these less spectacular plants which I particularly enjoy in our suburban woodland.  Even better with a hint of local history.