A few months ago, I received an invitation from one of the rangers who works at Lenzie Moss to join a group of volunteers doing conservation work. At various points throughout the year, this group gives up their Saturday mornings to help with maintenance and repair jobs across various sites in the large council area of East Dunbartonshire. At the Moss, this has involved cutting back the birch wood, reinstating barriers over grassland water vole areas, and creating pools to attract dragonflies and amphibians. I signed up and looked forward to the opportunity for a hands-on contribution and a chance to meet people who care enough about this place to come out here in their wellies at the weekend.
When the day came, it was very, very rainy. I met the ranger by her van at the Heather Drive carpark and was immediately handed a hack saw and lopper, and introduced to the other volunteers: a group of six committed conservationists, spanning a wide age range and all with their own reasons for being involved. All of them had travelled from outside Lenzie and were regular volunteers. While it was understandable that the rain had discouraged wider attendance, I was surprised to find that I was the only one from the immediate local area to have joined the group. Then, just as we were about to get started, Kay arrived [1].
Kay was representing the Friends of Lenzie Moss (FOLM), and I had been introduced to her previously at one of their meetings. She is a board member for the organisation and often walks here. After we had said our good mornings, we got straight to work. Some members of the group cut down birch saplings while others, including Kay, blocked pathways onto the bog, or carried them over to the water vole habitat to construct barriers to block access. I chose not to cut any trees and instead worked with two of the other volunteers to extend a barrier near the road. Later, I was tasked with cutting small holes in a wire fence to allow hedgehogs to pass. It was a good experience, and I returned home later drenched to the skin but very satisfied to have been part of the conservation efforts.
When I meet Kay to walk round the Moss some time later, I am keen to ask her about something that happened during the volunteer morning. She had been drawn into an altercation with a dog walker, who had taken issue with the work that she was doing, asserting his right to walk wherever he chose. Kay stayed calm, explaining the reasons behind the interventions and attempting to persuade him of the need to protect the fragile peat layer. But it was clear that his mind was already made up. I stood close by as the exchange ended in disagreement and the walker stormed past the group of volunteers, cursing under his breath. Kay was left frustrated, and I spoke with her then about the tensions that she has met with on occasion here. It was the only time that I have witnessed one of these disputes first hand, although I have now heard a lot more about them. I looked forward to a future conversation.
In much more pleasant weather and in lighter spirits, I meet Kay outside Billington’s, and we enter the Moss through the station car park. It is blaeberry season, and Kay tells me that she loves gathering them to add to gin (like sloe gin). Over the course of the walk, we pick a few blaeberries, raspberries and blackcurrants. I worry about which birds and insects we might be depriving of their food sources but allow myself to make the most of the harvest on this occasion (we only picked about a dozen berries!). The blaeberries are particularly sweet and delicious, with bright red juices that stain our fingers. Kay says that she often ‘disappears into the undergrowth’. She is generously sharing the secrets of the Moss with me, and I am grateful for her lessons in where to look and what to look for.
Kay is from Edinburgh but moved to Lenzie over twenty years ago now, when her son was a baby. She joined FOLM early on after meeting members at a local play-group. Kay is a retired scientist (she was a researcher and lecturer in optometry at a local university), a keen naturalist, and an active member of Lenzie Ladies Curling Club. When there is enough snow, she enjoys cross-country skiing on the Moss. It seems that Kay is out here in all weathers (except rain, usually), and has a strong relationship with this place, which she finds many ways to connect to.
As we walk, Kay points out several wild flowers bordering the path. Sometimes she identifies these easily. Occasionally she uses the iNaturalist app on her phone to confirm a species. I try to join in, but as I recognise relatively little, I defer to Google Images. We note ragged robin, tormentil, lesser stitchwort, broad-leaved and great willowherb, and most pleasingly (since it wasn’t there when I searched with Jackie a few weeks ago), bog rosemary. Crouching down on the boardwalk, we see plenty of polytrichum (commonly called haircap moss or hair moss) and sphagnum (or bog) mosses. In the distance, a line of pink on the other side of the trainline is rosebay willowherb. Kay tells me that her grandmother used to pick sphagnum and send it to be used as a softer alternative to cotton wool when treating wounds during World War I. This reminds her of an older wartime association: apparently, the raised mound of heather beside the boardwalk was used in the eighteenth century for soldiers to train with their muskets. Perhaps there will always be a story of conflict here.
Our conversation turns to the incident during the conservation session earlier in the year. For Kay, it is clear that the bog needs protection and important that nature is given priority here. She doesn’t understand why people can’t appreciate the Moss from the pathways. She bemoans the sense of entitlement that many seem to have here. Kay recounts another time when she came across a dog chasing a deer while its teenage owner stood back and watched. She tried to intervene, to implore the walker to call the dog off, but says it didn’t make any difference. Kay also shares a deeper ecological sadness that all this connects to. She says that ‘nature has worked out a system and we have ruined it’. I think that Kay feels a responsibility to help to keep that system working here.
By now, we are walking south along the boardwalk. We see some small birds at a distance, perched on the very tops of spindly saplings. At first, we are not sure what they are, but I open the Merlin app which immediately identifies their song. And then they are airborne, the silhouettes of their forked tails confirming they are swallows. We pick more blaeberries and raspberries. We listen to the silence between passing trains. And then we are back in the station car park, for now leaving the Moss for others to enjoy, however they might choose to do that.
[1] Kay is a pseudonym, used here on her request.
