Rain is co-author of our living countryside; it is also a part of our deep internal landscape, […] complain about it as we may, rain is essential to our sense of identity as it is to our soil. (Melissa Harrison, Rain)

I am walking with my mum, Julie, and my puppy, Clyde. Mum has been staying with me this week, helping me with school runs and dog-sitting while I get started with a new academic year at the university, meeting new students and launching new courses. This morning, I am working from home and have time for a walk round the Moss after an online meeting. We head out between downpours, but there is a constant drizzle today, which hangs in the air and frames the town in a thick grey cloud. Because Lenzie Moss is a raised bog, it is sustained by rainwater. While we might grumble about dreich days like this, they bring vital nourishment and keep the wetlands wet. Without precipitation, there would be no Moss. So, with waterproofs and hiking boots on, we embrace the weather conditions and set off to walk through the rain.

It is unquestionably Autumn now. The beech trees at the front of my house are shedding their leaves and Clyde jumps to catch them as they fall. We join the Moss at the end of my road and once again, my anticlockwise route causes a raised eyebrow. Mum has a specific reason for preferring the other direction: as she joins the boardwalk at the southern birchwood, she loves to look out across the bog to see the Campsie Hills. Following this range to the east soon takes you to Kilsyth, where my Great Grandparents had a house on Banton Loch. Mum remembers Sunday drives into the Campsies as a child. I also visited the house as a baby, before my Great Grandmother Aggie passed away. The Campsies connect my family in the other direction, too. When my son is not with me, he lives with his mum in Strathblane, at the west end of the hills. My Great Grandfather spent his childhood summers in the same village. After serving in World War II, he wrote extensively and evocatively about his early holidays. His diaries have a strong sense of nostalgia and loss, but they are full of memorable characters and hilarious stories. When I moved from our family home in Derbyshire to start university in Glasgow at the turn of the millennium, my Mum was happy I would be returning the family to this part of the country. It is a long way from home though, so I am always very grateful for the many trips they make to see us each year.

Mum usually visits with Dad and their black labrador, Henry. But Dad and Henry have stayed back home this week (mainly due to Dad’s busy social life!). As I always task my father with various complex DIY tasks, it is usually Mum who takes Henry on his daily walk. Mum and Henry have walked around the Moss together many times now, which I think gives them both a welcome break from my busy household. Today, Mum takes Clyde on his lead. This frees me up to scribble notes as we chat, but it causes Clyde some confusion as he is used to me walking him and he doesn’t quite know what to make of this change of routine. He stops and checks back frequently, often crossing my path and slowing my progress. He is now used to meeting other dogs along the way and we pause a few times for him to say hello to new friends. Apart from these fellow dog walkers, there aren’t many people out here today. The Moss is quite noisy though: the dense atmosphere sends the excited shrieks of school children across the bog; trains can be heard as they approach from the city; and we are conscious of the line of vans and cars crossing the railway bridge to the west. It feels like we are hemmed in at all sides – including by the ground and the sky.

Before we reach the boardwalk, I point out the holes that I cut in the wire fencing by the neighbouring housing estate – a job I was tasked with when I spent a morning with a group of volunteer conservationists, including Kay. The intention was to make openings for hedgehogs to pass through, but when I told Jill this, she mentioned that hedgehogs are problematic to ground nesting birds, as they love to eat their eggs. Mum and I discuss how every decision that is taken can have unforeseen consequences. She had recently seen a similar problem in New Zealand, where she and Dad had spent three months visiting my sister, Jennie. Areas where kiwis are nesting are heavily protected by traps and fences to prevent stoats and other animals predating on eggs and chicks. Earlier today, we had a family Zoom call for my brother’s birthday. Jennie and her husband Julius joined from Aukland, where they have lived for about the same time as I have been in Lenzie.

Mum says that she likes the Moss in the rain. Over the summer, she walked here on some very hot days when the ground was parched and the peat layer exposed. Mum says the bog ‘wants the rain’ and thinks that it seems ‘happier’ in this weather. She is invested in caring for this place and recognises its ecological importance and fragility.

As we walk along the pathway beside the railway line, we appreciate the way that the Moss has changed as a new season begins. We see lots of birch polypore – a bracket fungus that only grows on birch trees. The bracken is at full height and vibrantly green, even more so against the dull sky and the fading colours of the trees. Blaeberry bushes and deep purple heather remind Mum of their hillside garden, which also reckons with high acidity and elevation above the groundwater. This environment feels familiar to Mum, and she values this sense of connection to home. I hadn’t previously considered how much this is true for me, too. I grew up walking our dogs through the rain, trudging through muddy fields and woods. Now, living by Lenzie Moss means I can give my own children a similar upbringing, fostering a connection to the local environment. Walking on this damp day with Mum has reminded me of how important that is.

Sep 17, 2025

I receive a message from Andy, who has found my blog while searching for information about the recent fire in an old school building, near where he lives on Boghead Road. He tells me that around 35 years ago, he participated in an inquiry along with Bea Ray (who now has one of the paths named after her). This resulted in the preservation order that still protects the Moss from housing developments. Andy now walks his dogs on the Moss most days. He also mentions that he has ‘some views’ on the approach that has been taken to dissuade walkers deviating from the main path. I am keen to hear more, so I gratefully accept his offer to walk with me. We arrange to meet early one Wednesday morning at his home.

Andy invites me inside while he gets ready and I meet a friendly red setter called Juno. Their other red setter, Jimi, is away with Andy’s wife at the moment, so we will be accompanied by the calmer of their dogs. We exit the house through the back door into a cosy garden, which leads directly onto a parcel of grassland adjoining the Moss. We walk past the rugby fields, where a tractor is aerating the pitch. A flock of gulls roosts on the grass. Andy leads me and Juno onto the perimeter path, where I walked with Richard and Caladh a few weeks ago.

Andy tells me about moving to Lenzie in the 1980s. He grew up in the east end of Glasgow and met his wife when they were teenagers. When they first lived together, a series of upsetting incidents, including a break-in, prompted them to look outside the city. They were drawn to Lenzie because of its proximity to nature: its open skies, meadows and woods. As dog owners (they have always had red setters), they needed green space and fresh air. All of this is encapsulated in the Moss. More than once, Andy tells me, ‘this is why I live here’.

In his twenties, recently moved to the area and with a new baby, there was the prospect of major housing development on the section of Moss close to where they now live. Andy attended all the meetings and got to know Bea Ray, who has been mentioned to me several times now as a key figure in the history of the Moss. He found himself acting as witness at an inquiry into the impact of building on the site. Andy told his story to the panel, evoking the connection that local people have to the Moss. As he mentioned that he was a new parent, from the gallery, his baby boy made a well-timed cooing noise. This certainly helped their cause, but in the end, Andy says it was the environmental argument put forward by Bea that won the case. To this day, the site is recognised as ecologically important, with rare species such as bog rosemary and water voles needing special protection. As I learnt from Paul, the threat of new housing developments never goes away, but there have been a series of successes since that early campaign, culminating in 2009 when the site was designated as a Local Nature Reserve.

Andy is deeply invested in the Moss. It is an extension of his home, a place he visits almost every day, and somewhere that is full of stories and family memories. And for all these reasons, he has become quite upset by recent work undertaken. Andy takes me on a tour of the felled and broken trees that line the path round the Moss. As a method of discouraging access, Andy believes this is at best amateurish and at worst dangerous. His grandson recently asked him, ‘who killed all the trees?’ and he didn’t know how to respond. Andy has two major objections to the tree cutting: first, he believes there was ‘zero consultation’ on this specific work and that residents’ views have not been taken into consideration; second, he has researched this approach and has concluded that it is an ineffective, discredited practice. Andy has many unanswered questions about the decision-making and evidence base that led to this work. He is concerned about a lack of transparency and wonders about governance and accountability. He has also had some unpleasant encounters with the contractors undertaking the tree removal. He recounts one incident when an aggressive foreman attempted to block his way as he walked with his dog. I have heard similar stories before. These interactions have done little to bring the community on side with the conservation work here.

As we walk through the southern woodland, I have almost forgotten that Juno is with us. She is quiet and forges her own path. This is what it is like to have a well-trained, intelligent dog who can be trusted to stay close. I tell Andy about my new puppy, Clyde, who is learning quickly and has recently enjoyed his first walks on the Moss. Andy tells me that they recently lost a 30-year-old horse, also called Clyde, whom his wife had for the past 25 years, stabled up at Mugdock Park. I sense that the Moss has helped Andy with the difficult times as well as contributing to the good ones.

We arrive at the apex of the triangle of woodland that reaches out into the bog. This spot seems to draw people to it and others have mentioned it to me as a special place. Andy says that he comes here to write music. He is in a rock covers band called Shardlake and is a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter. Andy comes here with his ear buds in and works on new tunes and arrangements. He invites me to future gigs and kindly offers me a place on the guestlist, which I will accept enthusiastically! As we look out over the bog, Andy points out the conspicuous wooden fencing to the north. There are many such interventions that he feels have been poorly thought through and badly executed.

We return to the main path and pass a line of cycling school children following their instructor. Andy stresses that he is not advocating unlimited access across the bog. He understands the need to protect a sensitive environment and believes that there are ways that this could be achieved more carefully and effectively. This would start with signage and education, rather than barriers and prohibitions: especially not by destroying the trees and causing such a negative visual impact on the nature reserve. Andy also mentions the boardwalk as an example of positive interventions that have opened up access, protecting a fragile section of the site and making safe passage possible.

As we reach the end of our walk, I reflect on the depth of connection to the Moss that Andy and others like him have shown me. I think back to my walk with Ada, when we talked about the need for conservation of the land to include fostering relationships with it. My walk with Andy has helped me understand more about the relational complexity that characterises the Moss. Perhaps this needs to be better understood and considered when decisions are made about the site’s future.

Sep 10, 2025

I leave my house and walk down Kirkintilloch Road to meet Kat at the station. It is early morning, and I join the procession of commuters marching wearily along the pavement. Kat is travelling today too, but she has kindly made time to join me on the Moss before catching her train to Edinburgh, where she runs Action to Protect Rural Scotland (APRS), Scotland’s longest established environmental charity. I met Kat a couple of years ago when I joined a residential for SHARE (Science, Humanities and Arts Research Exchange) at Auchinreoch, where Kat and her husband Ruedi have created a woodland retreat in the foothills to the north of Kirkintilloch. Kat and Ruedi are ecologists and Kat has worked for Scottish Natural Heritage (now NatureScot) and the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. She recollects doing some work with Friends of Lenzie Moss two decades ago. I am hoping to learn about peatlands and understand more about the importance of this place.

It turns out there is another reason why Kat is an ideal person to walk with. She tells me that she has also written a blog, for which she spent a year exploring Glasgow’s green belt. Over 27 excursions at weekends and on her days off, Kat covered 300 kilometres, skirting the city’s edges and offering a first-hand account of diverse and fragile environments, many of which have been impacted by heavy industry. In one entry, on discovering a bog by a birchwood between the towns of Cumbernauld and Airdrie, Kat calls herself and her walking companion ‘bog-trotting, tussock-hopping peri-urban adventurers’. I very much hope I will come to be described in such terms.

We have lots to talk about and we join the Moss with our conversation in full flow. Initially, we catch up on work and discuss our various projects, with the site itself as a backdrop. Then, in the north birchwood we step off the path and look out across the heather. Kat talks about raised bogland, stressing that this is one of the last remaining fragments of an ecosystem that was once found all over the Scottish Lowlands. She explains how raised bogs are formed by dead plants such as sphagnum moss, which can hold a tremendous amount of water. These layer up on top of each other, filling hollows carved out by ice age glaciers, and eventually the peat rises above the level of the surrounding land. This means that unlike fens, which are fed by mineral rich groundwater, bogs like Lenzie Moss rely on rainwater, which is low on nutrients. In these conditions, the slow decomposition of organic matter makes the bog acidic. Many of the species that I have encountered on these walks – the carnivorous sundews, the spiky bog heather, the rare bog rosemary, various mosses and grasses – are unique to these places. Raised bogs are of vital ecological importance and hold vast amounts of carbon. And yet, peat extraction persists at many sites, often due to irrevocable licenses than counter the government’s commitment to reach net zero by 2045. Kat describes this as ‘a total environmental disaster’.

Kat tells me about some of the bogs that she has encountered on her walks. These include Cardowan Moss, where there is ‘almost nothing left’; and Drumshangie Moss near Greengairs, which has been hit by waves of peat extraction, coal mining, waste incineration and landfill. Kat has spoken with members of local communities, who have experienced these impacts as a series of relentless ecological injustices. We examine the ariel view of some of the bogs on Google maps, and I immediately recognise the striated patterns that evidence a history of commercial peat cutting. During Kat’s wanders around the edgelands of the city, she saw many of these places. She says that the intact raised bogs pose a particular challenge as ‘they are very, very special and unusual, and next to huge quantities of people’. While this dynamic makes some of these greenbelt environments precarious, Kat’s blog also captures unexpected moments of enchantment:

The dry woodland, where the track was marked, made way for bog, and the sturdy 20 foot high birches made way for trees twisted and dwarfed by a lifetime with their roots in peaty sphagnum. We came across a flush full of flowering Bog Asphodel – a field of yellow stars – this gorgeous bog could have been anywhere in the wilds of the Highlands, Finland, or even Canada. But, instead, we were between Airdrie and Cumbernauld with the roar of the dual carriageway only 100m to the East.

I often feel this way about Lenzie Moss: it is so close to the city with the main trainline only meters away, but sometimes it feels that you could be thousands of miles away in some unchartered wilderness.

We sit on David Lee’s bench and take in the view. A kestrel hovers over the boardwalk. I have been troubled by biting midges for much of this walk and they are particularly bothersome now. Kat seems oblivious so I do my best to ignore them. She tells me about her work at APRS, which has become increasingly challenging as the right-wing media have become more adept at shutting down environmental initiatives. Two significant examples of this are the creation of a new National Park in Galloway and a bottle deposit return scheme, both of which have stalled after years of hard work. Kat feels that environmental campaigning will now need to change in an age of reactionary forces and media campaigns waged in bad faith. The charity continues to work on greenbelt protections and community empowerment in environmental projects. Kat has a lot to do and it is time for her to get to work.

As we return to a busy station car park, I have the feeling we could have walked several laps of the Moss this morning and would still have had more to discuss. Kat offers to walk again with me some time and although I still have 88 circles to complete, I will look forward to our next meeting. Kat sets off on her way east and I walk back home feeling energised and inspired. We need people like Kat, I think: people who will walk hundreds of miles to raise awareness about green spaces; people who will take on governments and champion communities; people who will keep going despite adversity, because they care.

Sep 3, 2025