Alder – Tree of the Water-Dwellers

River-watcher, what have you 
and your predecessors seen
of the water-dwellers?

Was it from you
the tribe was sprung?

A couple of weeks ago, when I was walking beside the river Ribble, my eyes were drawn to this splendid river-watcher, an alder tree covered with brown-golden catkins and still bearing the dark brown cones from last year. Its trunk was splotchy with a white crustose lichen and bore several mosses.

This got me researching the natural history of alder, its role in myth and folklore, and pondering how it was perceived by the early inhabitants of this land, the Setantii tribe, ‘the Dwellers in the Water Country’, and their successors.

Alder was one of the first trees to re-populate Britain after the Ice Age. A pioneer species, it is able to grow in barren and soggy ground due to its partnership with a bacterium called Frankia alni, which absorbs nitrogen from the air and exchanges it with the tree for sugars produced by photosynthesis. Alder then fixes nitrogen into the soil and enhances the fertility, meaning other trees and plants can follow. The nitrogen-fixing nodules of Frankia alni are visible on the roots.

The wood of alder would have been viewed as particularly sacred across Britain and Ireland, wet and boggy countries, as it does not rot in water. Since prehistoric times, it has been used for the building of crannógs (lake dwellings), in fish sluices, and for building trackways across bogs. 

Near the river-watcher, in the location of Riversway Dockland, a brushwood platform, suggesting the presence of a Bronze Age lake dwelling was found. That the twigs and branches hadn’t rotted away suggests they may have been alder.

Alder was also used to make bowls, domestic vessels such as the Pallasboy vessel, and wooden idols. One of the most famous is the ‘Red Man of Kilbeg’ from Ballykean bog in Ireland. It has been suggested that alder was used to craft this idol because red droplets that resemble blood ooze from the wood when it is cut, associating with the human bleeding and with death. In this context it also interesting that, in early Irish lore, the first human was believed to have been born from alder, a story that might be linked with its flesh-like qualities. The Scottish Ballachullish Goddess was also made from alder. 

Alder was used to make shields. In medieval Welsh mythology, Bran the Blessed, a gigantic son of the sea-god Llyr, carried an alder shield. Bran and his army were compared to trees when they crossed the sea from Britain to Ireland. Bran, like an alder tree, allowed his body to be used as a bridge by his warriors across the river Shannon. His sister, Branwen, had a son named Gwern (which means alder in Welsh) who was cast into a fire. Alder thus seems to be bound up with the mythos of the Children of Llyr. 

Lancashire’s Dwellers in the Water Country were likely, too, to have made their shields from alder and to have traversed the waters between Britain and Ireland. Place-name evidence from my local area such as ‘Alderfield’ and ‘Carr Wood’ (relating to alder carr) suggests that this species has long been held in particular favour and has been abundant. 

I did wonder whether the sluices for the canals and for Riversway Dockland were made of alder but the former is Baltic Pine and the latter is Greenheart. 

Alder is of value not only to human but other-than-human water dwellers. Where it grows beside water, its roots provide shelter for fish and nesting sites for otters. When its leaves fall, it provides food for river flies and aquatic beetles, who are feasted upon, in turn by fish such as brown trout and salmon. 

Its catkins provide nectar for bees and its seeds for finches, such as the charms of goldfinches who can frequently be seen beside the Ribble. It is the food plant of insects, such as the alder leaf beetle, which I have seen on alders on peatland nature reserves. I found a red beetle on the river-watcher’s trunk and suspect it is a leaf beetle from the Chrysomelidae family.

Alder is also the food plant of the larvae of several moths, including alder kitten, pebble hooktip, the autumnal, and the blue bordered carpet moth.

Alder trunks are frequently covered in white splotches which might be mistaken for the colour of the bark but are, in fact, crustose lichens. On the river-watcher, I found a white spotted lichen called Lecidella elaeochroma. Also a patch of Parmelia sulcata. On nearby trees was Trentepholia aurea, a green alga that appears orange and is a photosynthetic partner with Graftis scripta, another lichen that is also often found on alder trees. I identified these with the help of a friend who is studying lichens.

All these factors, together, suggest that alder has long been a special tree to Lancashire’s water dwellers and thus it remains in the hearts of many. 

In the Way of the Buzzard Mystery School it is associated with foundations and with being a spiritual warrior. This fits with it providing a platform for lake dwellings and with Bran’s shield and I will be drawing upon its support and protective qualities as I prepare to take my shamanic offerings further into the world.

SOURCES

Alder, The Wildlife Trusts, https://www.wildlifetrusts.org/wildlife-explorer/trees-and-shrubs/alder
Alder, Woodland Trust, https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/trees-woods-and-wildlife/british-trees/a-z-of-british-trees/alder/
Alder, Trees for Life, https://treesforlife.org.uk/into-the-forest/trees-plants-animals/trees/alder/alder-mythology-and-folklore/
Alder, Tree Explorers, https://www.ucc.ie/en/tree-explorers/trees/a-z/alnusglutinosa/
‘The Company of Alders’, Salish Magazine, https://salishmagazine.org/in-the-company-of-alders/
The Way of the Buzzard Mystery School, https://thebuzzardtribe.com/

Running on a Treadmill in an Arctic Blast

I am running on a treadmill because the roads and pavements are too slippery in this man-created world in a harsh and early unexpected winter.

I am running because I want to see my heartrate come up, to know I have a heartbeat, a pulse, after the shock of thinking climate change means warmth.

I am running because this is the only thing that keeps my feet warm, “Warm feet, warm feet,” my mantra, one foot, then the other, slowly the layers come off.

I am running to summon the heat from within not the electric heater.

I am running for endurance, I am running for  strength, I am running for salvation, breaking down my nine miles into inclines and sprints and imagining I am escaping grenades and bombs in some underground city of ice.

I am running because I am safe, I am privileged, I can afford to go to the gym.

I am running to escape my guilt.

I am running because keeping goals is the only dignity this world allows us.

I am running to escape my flaws, which are without number, cannot be counted.

I am running, but going nowhere, wondering if I might set foot on the spirit paths, if other runners go elsewhere and there is a place where treadmills meet.

I am running on a treadmill because no path is ever dark or challenging enough.

I am running the tread off the treadmill, aiming for the stars, hoping if I get to the North Star in this bitter cold I might be able to reset my compass, start again.

I am running on a treadmill in an Arctic blast and my feet cannot keep my pace.

*For over a week, due to an Arctic Blast, we experienced temperatures down to -6°C here in Lancashire and colder in other parts of the UK. As it snowed and then froze the icy conditions made it very difficult to walk on the pavements let alone run.

**With thanks to my local JD Gym in Preston for providing somewhere to work out (and run when the weather is awful) for a reasonable price.

The River Did Not Burst Her Banks

You did not burst your banks today…

River goddess your fearsome torrent pouring
from here to the sea how many times do I have to stand in you,
no, to drown in you, to know you are never the same?

What rites would you have me keep, Riga Belisama, as I walk beside you?

Long have I kept this piece of your humble mudstone close to my heart
(which I must give back should I ever leave), renewed your waters,
lit your candle, created for you a little temple

and cleared Fish House Brook – just one of your dirty daughters
running from one of the estates to the sea.

I have seen your many colours –
red, blue, green, grey as concrete bollards.

What is a river without a goddess or a goddess without a river
meandering, twisting, to the sea, like our own blue blood to our heart?

Sometimes I see you as a goddess but most often you are being a river,
fulfilling your purpose, delivering water, divine water-bearer.

To be one with your flow on days like this is a blessing,
to walk so close to the edge knowing I could be carried away

by your rush of waters, by your rush of deadly words,
but you did not burst your banks today.

I wrote this poem after my daily walk beside the Ribble yesterday during Storm Christoph. Contrary to the flood warnings the river did not burst her banks but came very close, the water lapping at the edge, at high tide. It’s not often we can walk so close to a force of nature, to a mighty goddess, whose might could destroy us if we take a false step – an experience awe-inspiring and humbling.

We were lucky, here in Penwortham, that the river did not burst her banks. Upriver Brockholes Nature Reserve has been forced to close due to the access road flooding. People from Didsbury and Northenden in Manchester, Maghul in Merseyside, and Ruthin and Bangor-on-Dee in North Wales have been evacuated. This must be a doubly awful experience during a pandemic. The combination of the virus with flooding feels like an ominous portent of decline and I fear worse is to come.

The first time I saw major floods on the Ribble was 2015 and she has flooded almost every winter since. In response, the Environment Agency and Lancashire County Council have implemented the Preston and South Ribble Flood Management Scheme, which will raise the current flood walls from 1.2 metres to up to 2.2 metres, with a glass screen at the top so people can see the river, and build new ones.

Some of the trees on the banks, such as the row of elms near the Continental pub, will be dug up to make way for the defences. Five new trees will be planted for each tree removed, but it will be forty to fifty years until they are the size of the original ones. Local people have asked for the old trees to be made into benches.

More positively, some of the area, which is now Preston Junction Nature Reserve, rather than housing, due to the Save the Ribble campaign, is going to be kept as flood plain. There are plans for the creation of a new wetland habitat with ponds with dipping platforms, species-rich wildflower meadows and grasslands, wet woodlands, and orchard trees.

My local stretch of the Ribble, where I have been walking for nearly forty years, is going to change dramatically. How long the defences will keep people’s homes safe I don’t know. As this past year has shown, our safety from the forces of nature, small and large, is very much illusory. The climate and the world are changing. The river will burst her banks again. Yet, on her banks, we find the very first snowdrops, who have weathered the floods. A small sign of hope in these apocalyptic times.