New Perspectives on People and Forests

New Perspectives on People and Forests

WORLD FORESTS Series Editors

MATTI PALO PhD, Independent Scientist, Finland, Affiliated Professor CATIE, Costa Rica

JUSSI UUSIVUORI Finnish Forest Research Institute METLA, Finland Advisory Board Janaki Alavalapati, University of Florida, USA Joseph Buongiorno, University of Wisconsin, USA Jose Campos, CATIE, Costa Rica Sashi Kant, University of Toronto, Canada Maxim Lobovikov, FAO/Forestry Department, Rome Misa Masuda, University of Tsukuba Roger Sedjo, Resources for the Future, USA Brent Sohngen, Ohio State University, USA Yaoqi Zhang, Auburn University, USA World Forests Description As forests stay high on the global political agenda, and forest-related industries diversify, cutting edge research into the issues facing forests has become more and more transdisciplinary. With this is mind, Springer’s World Forests series has been established to provide a key forum for research-based syntheses of globally relevant issues on the interrelations between forests, society and the environment. The series is intended for a wide range of readers including national and international entities concerned with forest, environmental and related policy issues; advanced students and researchers; business professionals, non-governmental ­organizations and the environmental and economic media. Volumes published in the series will include both multidisciplinary studies with a broad range of coverage, as well as more focused in-depth analyses of a particular issue in the forest and related sectors. Themes range from globalization processes and international policies to comparative analyses of regions and countries.

For other titles published in this series, go to www.springer.com/series/6679

Eva Ritter • Dainis Dauksta Editors

New Perspectives on People and Forests

Editors Eva Ritter Department of Civil Engineering Aalborg University Sohngaardsholmsvej 57 9000 Aalborg Denmark [email protected]

Dainis Dauksta Cefn Coch Builth Wells Powys Wales LD2 3PR UK [email protected]

ISSN 1566-0427 e-ISSN 1566-0427 ISBN 978-94-007-1149-5 e-ISBN 978-94-007-1150-1 DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1 Springer Dordrecht Heidelberg London New York Library of Congress Control Number: 2011926689 © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011 No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording or otherwise, without written ­permission from the Publisher, with the exception of any material supplied specifically for the purpose of being entered and executed on a computer system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work. Printed on acid-free paper Springer is part of Springer Science+Business Media (www.springer.com)

Preface

The idea for this book emerged during a conference for forest policies and ­economics in Padua, Italy, where Dainis and I met for the first time in 2005. While we enjoyed the Italian hospitality, we both found the human aspect lacking in most of the conference talks. Can numbers really explain everything in the relationship between people and forests, and can forest policy help us realise our dependency on forests? We were tempted to look back to the roots of society, cultural evolution and the role which forests and trees have played in the life of people throughout history. We were wondering about ancient values that may have become part of our subconsciousness, but that still influence our relationship to forests and the landscapes they grow within. We discussed how we could collect and combine the knowledge and views from fields other than forestry in order to cast a different light on our relationship with forests. Much later, on a train journey through North Germany, I overheard the conversation of two passengers. While the sandy heathland with its light birch groves passed by the window of our compartment, the woman sighed and said how much this landscape still meant home to her, although she had been married happily in south Germany for more than 30 years. For the other passenger the rather flat topography with the poor soils, uncultivated meadows and scattered trees was obviously much less attractive, if not boring. Maybe he came from the Central German Uplands with their forested mountain ranges and fertile valleys, or he was used to the dark spruce stands in the Black Forest. What is it that makes us choose our favourite landscape – the one we feel most connected to? Apparently, the perception of landscapes is based on more than pure visual experience. It is also formed by cultural links, livelihood and spiritual and emotional bonds. Like forests, landscapes represent a variety of values that let different people perceive the same landscape differently. Many of these values are connected to or supported by the presence – or absence – of trees and forests. Understanding our relationship to forests may therefore help us reconsider our place in landscapes. In writing this book, we wished to reveal the variety of human-forest relationships from the very beginning of human impact on forests to the importance of present forest functions and values in our lives today. Forests and trees have been essential in the history of European societies. They have contributed to the v

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d­ evelopment of civilization not only by being an important natural resource, but also by challenging our understanding of the place of humans in nature. Moreover, the use of trees has had a strong influence on the development of European landscapes. When exploring our relationship to trees and forests, we should always bear in mind the landscapes which form the stage for this story. Unfortunately, the human-forest relationship has very often resulted in the destruction of forests. The loss of forests from European landscapes has not only been a problem in terms of environmental quality and the supply of resources in the course of history. It has also resulted in the loss of cultural and spiritual values and life quality bound to the presence of trees and forests. However, we will also show examples of how forest exploitation has lead to the first initiatives of forest protection. We wish to outline the role of trees and forests in human culture, a role which is both practical and symbolic. The focus of the book is on the European region, but its general idea could be transferred to many other forest region of the world. Forests have been a natural resource for many essential products in the daily life of human beings. Without wood, and the fire generated from wood, technological development would have been almost unthinkable; the axe with its wooden handle was one of the first tools to pave the way for the modern human being. Agriculture and the plough followed and marked the great step that took mankind from huntergatherer cultures to agricultural societies. With the development of social hierarchy, forests came to represent places of authority, often banned for the common man, but owned and exploited by the rich or royal. Furthermore, forests also meant power. Wood has been the material for the ships in which nations explored and conquered the world and fought great wars; those who had access to forests, hence, wood, could build ships, conduct wars and build empires. European naval powers such as the Dutch and the English were lacking enough of their own forest resources for shipbuilding very early on in their development – they had to go east to Scandinavia and Baltic States, especially for masts. The English later got timber from the east coast of America. This link has been so strong that the word for wood and forest is interchangeable in many languages. Even industrialisation, a development that seemed to have turned people away from nature, depended in the beginning on forests for fire wood and charcoal production for the many furnaces and machines. Today, modern society is built upon buried forests of another era, as coal and other fossil fuels are energy source and base material for most modern products. Most of these links are well known to us. However, there is also another strong link between people and forests. It can be found in the symbolic role that trees and forests have had through human history. Forests have a central place in our spiritual relationship with nature. Trees have been worshipped in many religions. The tree of life and the tree of knowledge are not only known in Christianity. The oak is just one example of a tree species that is central in many religions and the national symbol of different countries worldwide. Many nations identify themselves with forests and the culture and history related to them. Unfortunately, this has sometimes been exploited by extreme national romantic political movements to justify nationalistic ideas and actions. However, it illustrates the strength that these rather

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intangible forest values can have in our lives. As a symbolic place, forests represent the forbidden or the wild, and people living in forests are considered as being ­different. This perception of forests and their inhabitants is central in many legends and myths. Furthermore, forests and trees have inspired artists through history. As forest cover declined and trees became scarce through overexploitation, artists and writers increasingly turned their gaze on the natural world and expressed societal angst through the medium of Romanticism. Last but not least, our fascination of trees may be related to their size, age and form: their upright position with branches that reach out like arms. The multiple links between people and forests may have changed through time, but there is also a continuous validity of certain values. Some of the mentioned subjects have already been described in depth in other books, while others are little represented in literature or not discussed from the point of view which is our major concern. While forest resources are typically managed under scientific, economic, political and ecological regimes, in this book forests are also viewed within cultural contexts; through spiritual, philosophical, metaphorical and national “filters”. We do not claim to come anywhere near covering all perceptions of the forest, and we cannot describe the whole range of links that exist between people, forest and landscapes. However, we hope to reveal some new aspects and help our readers think in a different manner about forests and rediscover the fundamental values and ­functions that forests have in our lives. The book is divided into four parts that are dealing with the introduction to the topic (Chaps. 1–3), forest use and forest ownership (Chaps. 4–7), forest perception and symbolic values of forests and trees (Chaps. 8–12) and the development of forest landscapes (Chaps. 13 and 14). The last part (Chap. 15) is the conclusion of the book. The Chapter 1 provides examples of the early significance of wood and trees in human culture and religion, the use of forest symbols for national identification and the exploitation and alteration of forests in Europe. It gives an introduction to the influence of philosophical views, e.g., during the Age of Enlightenment and Romanticism, on our attitude towards forests. The Chapter 2 describes the changing impact of human activity on forests. The interactions between people and forests can be traced back to early human settlements. First mimicking natural processes, human impact gradually changed towards the management and even destruction of forests. From being interwoven with the rhythm of nature, people became more and more a disturbing factor, profoundly changing natural forest ecosystems and the landscapes in which they are located. Against a common understanding of forests as the last wild places and sites of untouched nature, almost all forests in Europe have at some point been subject to human activities. They may even be human creations using introduced tree species, e.g., strategic or industrial timber plantations, parklands and arboreta. In Chap. 3, people’s affinity towards forests and nature is discussed from a philosophical point of view. During the Age of Enlightenment, the dominating attitude was to bring order in nature, with forests being considered as the last realms of chaos and disorder. This was criticised by later philosophers who wanted to strengthen the emotional and spiritual link

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between forests and human beings. The chapter looks at the view of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Friedrich Nietzsche as two critics of the ideas of modernity. The second part of the book deals with forest use and forest functions in the daily life of people. This is closely linked to the question of ownership which determines many rules and rights of forest use. Examples given in the four chapters reach from medieval times to recent developments in forest planning and management. They illustrate how people have made or make use of forests as a natural resource and how this affects the development of forests, for example by leading to overexploitation or protection. This development can be seen in the history of hunting, as shown for Medieval England in Chap. 4. The recreational activity of the aristocratic class contributed in many countries to the protection of forest areas which elsewhere suffered from overexploitation. This chapter also illustrates how closely the use of forests is bound to the question of ownership. While Royal forests were forbidden terrain for the simple peasant, other woodlands were open for common use; indeed, the English word “forest” historically implied aristocratic ownership. Today, different rules can be found in private compared to state-owned forests. However, ownership does not only affect the activities that are allowed for people in a forest. It also affects the values and attitudes that people have to forests. This may result in different management strategies and finally affect the development of a landscape, for example increasing forest fragmentation. The history of forests as commons and the modern development in forest ownership towards small-scale forestry and private forest owners with often urban background are discussed in Chaps. 5 and 6, respectively. Today, the recreational function of forests is experiencing a renaissance, but now for the whole population rather than the aristocratic few. With the development of multifunctional forestry, new forest functions have been introduced. In Chap. 7, the example of Denmark is used to illustrate how the recreational use has become a major economic and health aspect in the planning of new forests. The third part of the book is focussed on more intangible values, theories and philosophies, in other words on non-productive forest values. It illustrates the symbolic function of forests and trees and how trees influence our sense of belonging and identity. The development of the role of wooden posts, from utilitarian objects to symbolic pillars, and even to their petrified forms of the Classical column (a symbol of power), is described in Chap. 8. It also elaborates the meaning of the thunder gods and their link to oak trees and the sacred pillar as a metaphor, using archaeological, iconographic, etymological and written evidence. Another good example for the use of trees and forests as metaphors can be found in the art of painting. Landscape painting emerged relatively late in history. Although the first recorded description of a painting as a “landscape” can be dated back to the sixteenth century, trees and forests placed in symbolic landscapes could already be found in earlier pieces, often in connection with classical mythology or religious motives. In Chap. 9, different aspects of landscape paintings, including factual and symbolic landscapes, are described by giving examples from various times. The symbolism of trees and forests in paintings and their interpretation is analysed and contextualised. In the following two chapters, the role of forests as place for the

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identity of people is explored. Chapter 10 deals with changing historical and ­geographical perceptions of forests as space and the understanding of forests as places apart and different from our everyday lives. Forests may be regarded as magical places or places of danger. Their inhabitants have often developed a different way of life and cultural system than their neighbouring agricultural societies. It is shown how the cultural understanding of forest has changed relatively little over time, in contrast to many production-oriented forest values. The contribution of forests and their rich materiality to the development of identities is elaborated in Chap. 11. This includes aspects of sounds, light and smells. The discussion reaches from global identity, considering Earth as our home planet, to regional and individual senses of identity and their cultural and political role. Chapter 12 gives a theoretical approach to the terms landscape and forest. The terms are multi-layered, and their meaning has changed through time, almost like the development of landscapes that can be observed in the physical world. Essentially, the use of these terms is still highly dependent on the individual context. A short introduction to their etymology is given together with examples of their use in a present context. Finally, in the fourth part of the book, changes of forest landscapes are described and related to the use of forests and trees. In the history of agricultural societies, forests occupy a central role in many European countries. Chapter 13 is about the development of a landscape related to changes in land-use, population density, and the use of tree resources in a rural area in south-east Sweden. It illustrates how the presence and form of trees and forests in landscapes are highly dependent on the value and benefit which they have in the life of people. In Chap. 14, visual characteristics of forests landscapes in Europe are identified in order to give the reader an idea of the diversity of forest landscapes, but also their general similarities. From densely forested landscapes to open agricultural lands with few wooded landscape elements, the importance of tree-related land use as a landscape forming factor is discussed. Based on landscape attributes such as complexity, contrast, and the degree of openness, different forest landscape types are described. The aim is to illustrate how the cultural use of forests has formed the visual appearance of landscapes; a knowledge that should be used in future ­landscape actions. The book ends on a concluding note, summarizing the major points of the ­different chapters with focus on the changes that have occurred in the relationships between people and forests through time and the contrasts and contradictions that can be found in the definition and understanding of forest and landscapes. It gives perspectives on future developments regarding our use of forests and the role of non-productive functions in our relationship with forests. Aalborg, December 2010

Eva Ritter



Contents

Part I   1 Introduction – The Crooked Timber of Humanity............................... Dainis Dauksta

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  2 Forests in Landscapes – The Myth of Untouched Wilderness............. Eva Ritter

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  3 Overcoming Physicophobia – Forests as the Sacred Source of Our Human Origins............................................................................ Roy Jackson

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Part II   4 Royal Forests – Hunting and Other Forest Use in Medieval England................................................................................ Della Hooke

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  5 Forests as Commons – Changing Traditions and Governance in Europe...................................................................... Christopher Short

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  6 New Forest Owners – Small-Scale Forestry and Changes in Forest Ownership................................................................................. Áine Ní Dhubháin

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  7 Forests and Recreation – New Functions of Afforestation as Seen in Denmark................................................................................. Carla K. Smink

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Contents

Part III   8 From Post to Pillar – The Development and Persistence of an Arboreal Metaphor........................................................................ Dainis Dauksta

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  9 Landscape Painting and the Forest – The Influence of Cultural Factors in the Depiction of Trees and Forests................... 119 Dainis Dauksta 10 Space and Place – Popular Perceptions of Forests................................ 139 Carl J. Griffin 11 Materiality and Identity – Forests, Trees and Senses of Belonging.......................................................................... 159 Owain Jones 12 Definitions and Concepts – The Etymology and Use of the Terms Forest and Landscape....................................................... 179 Kirsten Krogh Hansen and Hanna Byskov Ovesen Part IV 13 Tree Use and Landscape Changes – Development of a Woodland Area in Sweden............................................................... 193 Mårten Aronsson and Eva Ritter 14 Forest Landscapes in Europe – Visual Characteristics and the Role of Arboriculture................................................................. 211 Eva Ritter Part V 15 Conclusion – Towards a Symbiotic Relationship.................................. 233 Eva Ritter and Dainis Dauksta Index.................................................................................................................. 241

About the Authors

Mårten Aronsson is Expert in Ecology at the Swedish Forest Agency. His work includes topics like plant ecology, landscape history and ecology, the management of natural and cultural values in agriculture and forest landscapes. He has published two books, a number of articles and has written a television manuscript. Mårten has worked at the Universities of Lund and Uppsala, the Swedish Board of Agriculture, the National Heritage Board, the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency, the Swedish Farmers Union and the Swedish Society for Nature Conservation (SSNC). During his spare time, he works with the use of natural and cultural values of landscape as a tool for rural development. Dainis Dauksta first trained as a sculptor, completing commissions for the National Museum of Wales and various churches throughout Britain. Simultaneously he worked as freelance forester and gained his MSc in Forest Industries Technology at Bangor University. He specialises in wood science and the use of UK grown softwoods in the built environment. Project work has included the design of laminating processes for window manufacture using radio frequency curing, design and manufacture of prototype stress-laminated panels with Welsh School of Architecture, and he has worked on many historical building restoration projects. He lectures occasionally at the City & Guilds London Art School and sometimes writes for the Forestry Journal. Carl J. Griffin is a Lecturer in Human Geography at Queen’s University, Belfast. He trained as a historical geographer at the University of Bristol and held post-doctoral positions at the universities of Bristol, Southampton and Oxford. His research embraces studies of popular protest as well as labour regulation and cultures of unemployment (funded by the British Academy), human-environment interactions and the history of political economy. He has published papers in, amongst other places, Cultural Geographies, Rural History, International Review of Social History, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, and Past and Present. His examination of the Swing quasi-insurrection of the early 1830s (The Rural War: Captain Swing and the Politics of Protest) will be published by Manchester University Press in 2011.

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About the Authors

Kirsten Krogh Hansen obtained her MSc in Integrative Geography from the Department of Development and Planning at Aalborg University. Her research is multidisciplinary with focus on landscape ecology and the management of nature and landscape. She is particularly interested in the sustainable balance between recreation and landscape protection. Kirsten has worked with the implementation of the first national park in Denmark. She is currently employed as a part-time lecturer at Aalborg University and teaches at the Department of Development and Planning as well as the Department of Health Science and Technology. Della Hooke (PhD, FSA) is a Fellow of the Institute for Advanced Research in Arts and Social sciences at the University of Birmingham. She was formerly a Research Fellow at Birmingham and subsequently a Senior Lecturer at Cheltenham College of Higher Education (now the University of Gloucestershire). She has also worked as a free-lance consultant in Historical Landscapes for many years. Della has published numerous books on early medieval landscape history and on pre-Conquest charters as sources of landscape evidence; her most recent book is Trees in AngloSaxon England (Boydell Press 2010). Her interests cover all periods, however, and she was commissioned by English Heritage to write the West Midlands volume of their England’s Landscape series (HarperCollins/English Heritage 2006). Roy Jackson is currently Senior Lecturer in Religion, Philosophy and Ethics at the University of Gloucestershire. He has previously lectured in Philosophy and Religion at various universities, including Kent, Durham, and King’s College London. He has a doctorate from the University of Kent and a PGCE from Roehampton University. He specialises in Philosophy of Religion, Nietzsche, and contemporary Islamic thought in relation to ethics, philosophy and politics, and he has written a number of books on Nietzsche, Plato, Philosophy of Religion and on Islam. More recently he has published Fifty Key Figures in Islam (Routledge 2006), Nietzsche and Islam (Routledge 2007), Mawdudi and Political Islam (Routledge 2010) and Nietzsche: Key Ideas (Hodder 2010). Owain Jones has a MA, MSc and PhD in geography. Since completing his PhD at the University of Bristol, he has worked as a post-doctoral researcher on various projects funded by the Economic and Social Research Council and the Arts and Humanities Research Council while, working at the University of Bristol, the University of Exeter and the University of the West of England. His research interests include landscape, nature, place, memory and nature-society relations. He has published numerous academic articles in peer-reviewed journals, edited books and other ­outlets. He is currently a Senior Research Fellow at the University of the West of England, Dept. of Geography, Countryside and Community Research Institute. Áine Ní Dhubháin is a Senior Lecturer in Forestry in the School of Agriculture, Food Science and Veterinary Medicine at University College Dublin, Ireland. She has been involved in a wide range of international and national research projects over the last 20 years, covering topics such as forestry and rural development; the socio-economic impacts of forestry; characteristics of Irish farm forest owners as well as research into low-impact silvicultural systems. She has recently been appointed to the editorial board of Small Scale Forestry.

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Hanna Byskov Ovesen obtained her MSc in Integrativ Geography from the Department of Development and Planning at Aalborg University. Her research is multidisciplinary working with land use and landscape planning. She is particularly interested in landscape analysis and planning and has also previously worked with the Danish National Parks. Since finishing her degree, Hanna has developed her project management skills, and she now counts this as one of her major research interests. Eva Ritter has lived, studied and worked in several European countries. Her research interests comprise biogeochemistry of forest ecosystems, landscape ecology and human-landscape relationships. Trained as a geoecologist (MSc) at Bayreuth University, Germany, Eva received her PhD in Forest Ecology from Forest & Landscape, Denmark (now part of the University of Copenhagen). She had a Lecturer position at the Agricultural University of Iceland, followed by a Leverhulme Fellowship at the University of Gloucestershire, UK. Today, she is a Lecturer in Physical Geography at Aalborg University, Denmark. In addition to papers in international journals, her publications include contributions to scientific books. Christopher Short is a Senior Research Fellow in the Countryside & Community Research Institute at the University of Gloucestershire, UK. His background is in geography and natural resource management which combines a social and ecological approach, especially in the areas of collaborative and multi-objective land management. He is a recognised researcher in the areas of common property and collective action, most especially within a UK context concerning common land. Over the past decade, he has informed the governance of these legally complex and diverse areas through new legislation and wider discussions. He has hosted over ten national and international conferences, mainly to inform and encourage discussions between academics, policy makers and local resource managers. He has published over 20 research reports and articles in this area. Carla K. Smink (MBA, PhD) is Senior Lecturer at Aalborg University, Department of Development and Planning, Section for Technology, Environment and Society. Carla is educated as an Environmental Geographer from Nijmegen University in the Netherlands and has a MBA in Environmental Business Administration from Twente University in the Netherlands. As an environmental geographer, Carla’s main interests are concerned with the interaction between nature and human activities.



Contributors

Mårten Aronsson Swedish Forest Agency, 55183 Jönköping, Sweden [email protected] Dainis Dauksta Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales LD2 3PR, UK [email protected] Carl J. Griffin School of Geography, Archaeology and Palaeoecology, Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast BT7 1NN, Northern Ireland, UK [email protected] Kirsten Krogh Hansen Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark [email protected] Della Hooke University of Birmingham, 91 Oakfield Road, Selly Park, B29 7HL Birmingham, UK [email protected] Roy Jackson Department of Humanities, University of Gloucestershire, Swindon Road, GL50 4AZ, Cheltenham, UK [email protected] Owain Jones Countryside and Community Research Institute, University of Gloucestershire, Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Langlevens, Gloucester, UK [email protected]

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Contributors

Áine Ní Dhubháin Agriculture and Food Science Centre, School of Agriculture, Food Science and Veterinary Medicine, UCD Dublin, Belfield, Dublin 4, Ireland [email protected] Hanna Byskov Ovesen Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark [email protected] Eva Ritter Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57, 9000 Aalborg, Denmark [email protected] Christopher Short Countryside and Community Research Institute, University of Gloucestershire, Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Longlevens, Gloucester, UK [email protected] Carla K. Smink Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark [email protected]

Part I

Chapter 1

Introduction – The Crooked Timber of Humanity Dainis Dauksta

A Russian proverb tells us: He who looks backwards to history is blind in one eye but he who looks only forward is blind in both eyes (Anon)

It is impossible to look objectively at European society’s relationship to the ­forest without first examining the history of ideas which have influenced our perception of nature, landscape and the forest. Some of those ideas are somewhat discomforting because, of course, the history of our interaction with the forest reflects human nature. The instinct to kill drives our intimacy with nature according to art historian Kenneth Clark (Clark 1949). The hunter-gatherer closely observes nature and her cycles; he sees nature as saturated with moral, mystical and mythical significance (Green 2007). The hunter is focused upon the flora, fauna and condition of his native environment and is acutely aware of changes caused by wind and fire in the forest; sunlit openings promote fresh growth and regeneration thus attracting the browsing animals he hunts. One word sums up man’s own action on the forest. That word is disturbance, and man employed fire as his principal agent of disturbance in three great phases; as hunter-gatherer, as agriculturalist and ultimately as industrialist (Williams 2003). Fire, especially at forest-grassland edges, created favourable environments for maximising rewards (Williams 2003). What is more, utilising fire in the cooking of food increased metabolic efficiency allowing man to develop with smaller digestive organs and larger brains than his primate cousins (Wrangham 2009). Did early man first encounter cooked food by chance whilst foraging in the wake of forest fires? If so, then that moment changed the course of human history. Fire, the stone axe and language were the main catalysts for man’s evolutionary progress (Williams 2003). According to German philosopher Johann Gottfried Herder language, self-awareness and capacity for reflection ­separated us from D. Dauksta (*) Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales LD2 3PR, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_1, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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a­ nimals; man can explore possibilities and decide between alternatives. Herder placed the use of metaphor as central to language and human consciousness (Barnard 2003), and metaphorical imagery has embedded fire and axe deep within mythology. Painter Piero Di Cosimo’s The Forest Fire c. 1500 symbolically describes man’s discovery of fire through the accidental rubbing together of branches (Clark 1949). He also suggests the dawn of agriculture by juxtaposing images of fleeing wild animals, burning forest, domesticated animals and man. Agriculture emerged through observation, mimicry and modification of nature’s processes with the simple act of burning wood at the heart of change. Fire is sacred, whether terrestrial or celestial, and plays a major role in many rituals and religions. Even the domestic hearth fire has been venerated and especially so by the Indians, Slavs, Ossetes, Balts and Germans (West 2007). Perpetual sacred fires were kept burning at shrines in Italy, Lithuania and Russia (Frazer 1922). The hand-axe is a beautiful, fundamental, iconic object. As a tool for cutting wood and meat it was manufactured throughout the 1.5 million years of the Acheulian period. Until the industrial age the hand-axe was the most geographically scattered object in the world (MacGregor 2010b). The axe was also one of man’s most important symbolic ritual objects, connected with sun worship, the oak, sky deities and the European thunder gods such as Thor, Donar, Jupiter (Gelling and Ellis-Davidson 1969) and also Perkons, Perun and Taranis. Fire was said to be lodged within oaks by Perkons/Perun (West 2007). The axe as thunderweapon was itself an object of worship and veneration. Stone axes were sometimes called “thunderstones” and highly decorated axes in silver, bronze and amber have been used as religious ornaments (Gelling and Ellis-Davidson 1969). Highly polished axes made of jade from a particular mountain top in Northern Italy have been found all across Europe. These precious, elegant objects are charged with metaphor, power and status; one example was placed as an offering underneath a wooden trackway in Somerset, Britain which has been dated to around 4,000 BC (MacGregor 2010a). Axe marks found on felled timbers from this area show that trees were felled by cutting chips from around the base of the trunk progressively tapering it like sharpening a pencil (Bradley 1978). Early man almost certainly learnt this technique by observing expert woodcutters in nature, namely beavers; they employ an identical technique. The burning of wood has played a central role in man’s progress from hunter to farmer and then to industrialist, but the full ramifications of this simple act are rarely acknowledged in historical narratives. In seventeenth-century Britain, John Evelyn, author of Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees (1664) was already warning of the destruction of forests due to the appetites of “voracious iron-works” (Percy 1864). The shortage of wood available for charcoal production led iron makers to experiment with coal, and by 1735 Abraham Derby at Coalbrookdale had succeeded in producing coke suitable for iron smelting by emulating the process of charcoal making. He heated coal on a fireproof hearth whilst limiting oxygen availability (Percy 1864). Thus, fire brought about the conditions necessary for massive industrial change. Concurrently, the Age of Enlightenment had brought reason and scientific method with a sceptical approach to the study of nature. This rational

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scientific culture gave society the tools for increased mechanisation and accelerated change; unleashing the Industrial Revolution and bringing factory-based mass production with its associated mass urbanisation and mass consumption. In England and Wales, the enclosure acts between 1760 and 1800 alone brought 100,000 ha of common or “waste” land into a more intensive agricultural regime (Hoskins 1981). The resultant Agrarian Revolution was accompanied by a near doubling in population (7.48 to 13.9 million from 1770 to 1831) with concomitant population movement to the industrial towns (Prickett 1981). The articulate “peasant poet” John Clare bemoaned the loss of his native Northamptonshire landscape: The spoiler’s axe their shade devours, And cuts down every tree. Not trees alone have owned their force, Whole woods beneath them bowed, They turned the winding rivulet’s course, And all thy pastures ploughed. (Hoskins 1981)

The impact of industrial, agricultural and economic development wrought ­ assive changes on the physical landscape of Europe. Meanwhile the monistic m Christian and Cartesian Enlightenment conception of a Newtonian universalist reality wrought massive changes on the intellectual landscape of Europe, precipitating a vociferous backlash (Mali 2003). British and German thinkers reacted passionately against this largely French Enlightenment thinking. English painter and visionary William Blake wrote: I turn my eyes to the Schools & Universities of Europe And there behold the Loom of Locke whose woof rages dire Washd by the Water-wheels of Newton. black the cloth in heavy wreathes folds over every nation; cruel Works Of many Wheels I view, wheel without wheel, cogs tyrannic Moving by compulsion each other. (Blake 1804)

Blake cried out against the rationalists of the eighteenth century: Art is the tree of life…….Science is the tree of death. (Berlin 1999)

German philosopher Johann Georg Hamann defended the intuitive, the concrete and the personal and attacked the opposing attributes of the Enlightenment thus forging the principles of modern anti-rationalist and Romantic movements (Wokler 2003). This “Magus of the North” preached a mystical, vitalist doctrine whereby the voice of God speaks to us through nature. But for Hamann ordinary words were too rational and taxonomic to express God’s mysteries; myth and symbolism were for him nature’s messengers (Berlin 1999). Turning against the grey uniformity of mechanistic total solutions offered by universalism and deductive reasoning, he denounced Descartes’ mathematical process. Hamann’s doctrines presage modern environmentalist ideas in protesting against the Neoclassical ­scientific-philosophical establishment.

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He declared nature to be our “old grandmother” and promoted an existence rooted in local life. He had spent time in Riga learning Lettish folk poetry and encountering a rich mythology with the “mother earth” figure of Māra as a leading player. Hamann saw the phenomena of the natural world as divine energies and ideas; the world is God’s language and God thinks in trees, rocks and seas. On the loom of human history, nature is the weft and the human agent is the warp (Berlin 1994). Prophet-like, Hamann led a variety of disgruntled German thinkers, artists and writers into a vortex of irrational passion; the Sturm und Drang (Storm and Stress) movement. His ideas later resurfaced in the works of Nietzsche and the existentialists (Berlin 1994). Isaiah Berlin suggested Romanticism was born largely out of Hamann’s pathological hatred of and reaction to his own time (Berlin 1994). Anticipating William Blake by a generation, Hamann wrote; The Tree of Knowledge has robbed us of The Tree of Life. (Berlin 2003)

Goethe claimed that he and Schiller first used the term “Romantic” as the opposite of “Classical”. The former suggests wild, natural and spontaneous qualities described by Nietzsche as “Dionysian”; the latter suggests control, order, reality and “Apollonian” qualities, but; Nature has her revenge. The instincts that find their right and proper outlet in religion must come out in some other way. You don’t believe in a God, so you begin to believe that man is a God. You don’t believe in Heaven, so you begin to believe in a heaven on earth. In other words you get romanticism. (Prickett 1981)

Religious mysteries were transplanted from church to the natural world, and during the late eighteenth century artists started seeking sites where wild nature elicited overwhelming awe and divine revelation; the “sublime” (Rosenblum 1975). Kenneth Clark argued that Romanticism is an expression of fear, quoting Edmund Burke’s proposition regarding the role of pain, danger, darkness, solitude and destructive power as sources of the sublime (Clark 1976). Goethe’s somewhat overwrought Werther exclaimed: Must it ever be thus, that the source of our happiness must also be the fountain of our ­misery? The full and ardent sentiment which animated my heart with the love of nature, overwhelming­ me with a torrent of delight, and which brought all paradise before me, has now become an insupportable torment, a demon which perpetually pursues and harasses me (Biese 1905)

German Romantics believed that France and her influential culture of universalism, reason, scientific enquiry and obsession with the Latin classics had damaged the native German character; although ironically it was the classical writings of Roman historian Cornelius Tacitus in his Germania that had recorded the early history of the Germans in their “land of bristling forests and foul bogs”. The Romans’ hatred of untamed nature was embodied in this territory inhabited by oak-worshipping ­barbarians who performed human sacrifice in their sacred groves, hanging the corpses from great oaks; recalling Wotan’s self-sacrifice on the cosmic ash tree Yggdrasil

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(Schama 1995). Punishment for harming oaks sacred to German thunder god Donar was a ­horrific ritualized, slow death by disembowelment (Frazer 1922). Johann Gottfried Herder, following the path of his mentor Hamann, repudiated deductive reasoning and uniformity (“it maims and kills”); he defended deeply rooted regionalism (the local) against scientific advance of the universalist machine. The savage singing in his hut was preferable to the empty cosmopolitan. This recurrent theme at the heart of Romanticism would be taken up by (amongst many others) William Blake, John Ruskin and William Morris (Berlin 1976) and much later by the hippy movement of the 1960–1970s. More disturbingly, Herderian Romantic notions were utilized by Alfred Rosenburg and Richard Walther Darré, German National Socialist idealogues. Anna Bramwell in Blood and Soil even suggests that Darré, largely responsible for the Nazi Blut und Boden doctrine, is the father of the green movement (Brüggemeier et  al. 2005). Herder is considered the father of nationalism and the notion of Volksgeist, believing that to be fully human and creative, you must belong somewhere. You need to be at home in a free society generated by natural forces, moulded by its environment, climate and history with exile bringing the noble pain of nostalgia. (Berlin 1976). Nostalgia is an essential ingredient of ethnicity and embodies the desire to return to a mythic, simple “golden age” (Smith 1986). The modern German Romantic social construction Heimat is inspired by Herder, and the notion is underpinned by sentimental language of a Golden Age: Heimat is first of all the mother earth who has given birth to our folk and race, who is the holy soil, who gulps down God’s clouds, sun and storms…..the landscape we have experienced…. that has been fought over, menaced….the Heimat of knights and heroes, of battles and victories, legends and fairy tales…..land fruitful through the sweat of our ancestors….. (Morley 2000)

Twentieth-century völkisch writers portrayed ancient Germans emerging from ­forests east of the Elbe, reinforcing the notion of Drang nach Ost (Smith 1986), and echoing the meaning in the fifteenth-century spelling of Heimat as Heinmut; Hein meaning grove and Mut courage (Bickle 2002). Romantic nationalist constructions of “organic” history portray societies as subject to natural laws of birth, growth, flowering, decay and rebirth; like plants and trees (Smith 1986). The National Socialist propaganda film Ewiger Wald of 1936 used “organic history”, Heimat and metaphor in the context of the forest to powerful and sinister effect. While the camera dwells on an ancient oak, the narrator solemnly says “ewiger Wald, ewiges Volk” or “eternal forest, eternal people”. German foresters were amongst the first to use scientific forestry to systematise the planting of fast-growing species in planned, even-aged single-species management blocks. These areas could be periodically felled in order to create a Normalwald or “normal forest” consisting of graduated age classes providing a calculable, sustainable yield of industrial timber. This system was at first considered ideal for the restocking of war-ravaged, overexploited forests, but by 1850 problems with wind-throw, snow and pest damage led German foresters to explore silvicultural theories incorporating use of local or “native” species in “back to nature” uneven-aged, mixed forests. By 1920, Professor Alfred Möller was proposing his system of Dauerwald or “perpetual forest” which utilised continual selective felling and natural regeneration to grow multi-storeyed,

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mixed, native species forests. In other words, Dauerwald was the Romantic, “organic” silvicultural backlash against the scientific, mechanistic, monotonous monoculture of the Normalwald. In 1934, Dauerwald was mandated as the official silvicultural doctrine for the Reich, and self-appointed Reichsforstmeister or Reich master of forestry Herman Göring (Brüggemeier et al. 2005) was ready to exploit the vision of the eternal forest to capture the hearts of the eternal Volk with manipulated metaphors drawn from forest mythology. The Kulturfilm “Ewiger Wald” ruthlessly exploited Romantic images of the heroic German Volk living idyllic lives in the primeval forest, dancing around a wheeled-cross to honour the solar deity, using the forest to nourish their eternal, sustainable, culture. Roman invaders are repelled by the brave deep-rooted forest Volk in a Classical versus Romantic battle. Juxtaposed images previously used by the painter Caspar David Friedrich of vaulted forest and vaulted Gothic interior symbolises German architectural achievement. The forest is destroyed by war, restored by Frederick the Great, and destroyed again after the First World War by the hateful French (Richards 1973). Herder and Hamann had originally spoken out against the French as Romanticism emerged to counter the Age of Enlightenment. The film shows the forest rising again with the National Socialist nation, rooted deep in Blut und Boden; blood and soil (Richards 1973). Men think in symbols; myth, ritual, worship and poetry, their nation is expressed through their language (Berlin 1976). Herder stressed the spirit of metaphor or Metapherngeist as the humanising influence in language; without metaphors language would be robbed of its precious cultural cargo (Barnard 2003). National Socialist metaphors drew clear pernicious parallels between Dauerwald forestry and human society, pointing to future evil intentions embedded in Ewiger Wald: “eradication of stands of poor race….cast out the unwanted foreigners and bastards that have as little right to be in the German forest as they have to be in the German Volk.” (Brüggemeier et al. 2005)

Romantic metaphors retain their currency; in James Cameron’s contemporary populist film Avatar a forest-dwelling hunter-gatherer culture clashes with a greedy, scientific-militaristic corporate culture. The hunters’ society is centred within an immense tree, eerily echoing ewiger Wald, ewiges Volk. The enduring attraction and influence of this “noble savage” theme on the urban masses is reflected in the fact that Avatar is now the top-grossing film ever (Serjeant 2010). From Germany to Russia, Herder is seen as the father of nationalism. His focus on the “local”, revival of folk tradition, literature, song and indigenous languages, is exemplified in the Slavic revival (Barnard 2003) although this folk idealism is tempered somewhat by the accompanying nationalist resentments (Berlin 2003). The German homeland concept Heimat is called dòmovina by Serbs, Slovenes and Croatians, Russians say rodina, which translates into English as “motherland” or “Mother Russia” (Bickle 2002). Peter the Great started the process of modernising Mother Russia by bringing European art and architecture to St. Petersburg and in doing so opening Russian culture to Classical and Enlightenment themes

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(Schmidt 1989). For a century from the inception of the Russian Academy in 1764, Classical rather than Russian themes abounded in paintings (Jackson 2006). It was the influence of Herder and Romanticism through a radical group of anti-academy artists calling themselves Peredvizhniki or “The Wanderers” who brought the Slavic revival to Russian art; presenting the Russian landscape as the sacred foundation for Russian nationalism, Ivan Shishkin and Isaac Levitan’s exact representations of rivers, oak trees, birch trees and Russia’s vast forests became sacred icons of Mother Russia (Barnard 2003). Romantic notions of untrammelled wilderness, myths of Golden Ages and noble savages have coloured peoples’ understanding of forest history, but one simple fact remains; man has altered landscapes, sometimes radically, since he first used the hand-axe on a tree. The actions of fire, agriculture, industrialisation and domestication have marked the forests of Europe for at least 6,000 years. George Perkins Marsh said: Man is everywhere a disturbing agent. Wherever he plants his foot, the harmonies of nature are turned to discords. (Williams 2003)

Society is moulded by very few, sometimes obscure, individuals whose ideas may be espoused without conscious knowledge of their names (Bernays 2005). Although Hamann and Herder are hardly obscure, they are not exactly household names either. However, their ideas have rippled through the centuries and counterbalance rationalist thought to this day. Even if Romantic notions of a spiritual sublime found in nature were necessary in order to fight scientific reason in their time perhaps we need another approach now. Furthermore, Romantic philosophy was generated by a reaction born out of urban culture. Poet John Clare was an exception in being a rural worker, but Hamann, Herder, Friedrich, Blake, Ruskin and their ilk were essentially city dwellers self-consciously gazing back at nature. In order to find a pragmatic, fully-rounded reading of the interface between urban/industrial culture and nature we need a holistic analysis of that relationship. The full spectrum of our views is necessary bearing in mind Kant’s dictum “out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made” (Hitchens 2002).

References Anon “If you have one eye on the past, you are blind in one eye. If you forget the past, you are blind in both eyes” Barnard FM (2003) Herder on nationality, humanity, and history. McGill-Queens University Press, Montreal Berlin I (1976) Vico and Herder two studies in the history of ideas. The Viking Press, New York Berlin I (1994) The magus of the north J.G. Hamann and the origins of modern irrationalism, vol. Fontana Press, London Berlin I (1999) The roots of romanticism. Pimlico, London Berlin I (2003) The crooked timber of humanity. Pimlico, London Bernays EL (2005) Propaganda, vol. Ig Publishing, New York

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Bickle P (2002) Heimat; a critical theory of the German idea of homeland. Boydell & Brewer Ltd, New York Biese A (1905) The development of the feeling for nature in the middle ages and modern times. Routledge, London Blake W (1804) Jerusalem the emanation of the giant albion. William Blake, London Bradley R (1978) The prehistoric settlement of Britain. Routledge & Keegan Paul Ltd, London Brüggemeier F, Cioc M, Zeller T (2005) How green were the Nazis?: nature, environment, and nation in the third Reich. Ohio University Press, Athens Clark K (1949) Landscape into art, vol. John Murray Ltd, Edinburgh Clark K (1976) The romantic rebellion romantic versus classic art. Futura Publications Ltd, London Frazer JG (1922) The golden bough. MacMillan and Co, London Gelling P, Ellis-Davidson H (1969) The chariot of the sun and other rites and symbols of the northern bronze age. J. M. Dent & Son Ltd, London Green CMC (2007) Roman religion and the cult of Diana at Aricia. Cambridge University Press, New York Hitchens C (2002) Unacknowledged legislation: writers in the public sphere. Verso, London Hoskins WG (1981) The making of the English landscape. Penguin, Harmondsworth Jackson DL (2006) The wanderers and critical realism in nineteenth-century Russian painting. Manchester University Press, Manchester MacGregor N (2010a) Jade axe a history of the world. BBC, London MacGregor N (2010b) Olduvai handaxe. BBC, London Mali J (2003) Isiah Berlin’s enlightenment and counter-enlightenment. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Morley D (2000) Home territories; media, mobility, and identity. Routledge, London Percy J (1864) Metallurgy. John Murray, London Prickett S (1981) The romantics. Methuen & Co, London Richards J (1973) Visions of yesterday. Routledge and Keegan Paul Ltd, London Rosenblum R (1975) Modern painting and the northern romantic tradition: friedrich to rothko. Harper & Row Publishers Inc, New York Schama S (1995) Landscape and memory. HarperCollins, London Schmidt AJ (1989) The architecture and planning of classical Moscow: a cultural history. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Serjeant J (2010) “Avatar” becomes highest-grossing movie. Reuters, New York Smith AD (1986) The ethnic origins of nations. Blackwell Publishers Ltd, Oxford West ML (2007) Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford University Press, Oxford Williams M (2003) Deforesting the earth; from prehistory to global crisis. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Wokler R (2003) Isiah Berlin’s enlightenment and counter-enlightenment. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Wrangham R (2009) Catching fire how cooking made us human. Profile Books Ltd, London

Chapter 2

Forests in Landscapes – The Myth of Untouched Wilderness Eva Ritter

Landscapes can be considered as the cradle of culture, but culture has also formed these landscapes (Nassauer 1995)

In the cultural landscapes of Europe, forests are often regarded as the last wild places and vestiges of untouched nature. However, forests have been affected by human activity from the early beginning of human settlement. In fact, the availability of forests and their products has been an essential precondition for the development of human culture and civilization. One of the most important transitions in human history is the change from hunter-gatherer cultures to the early agricultural ­activities of Neolithic people (Edwards 1988). This change in human culture is closely related to an increasing exploitation of forests, and while agriculture marks the rise of modern civilization, it was often the overuse of forests that contributed to the downfall of cultures (e.g., Thirgood 1981). Hence, many regions of Europe have repeatedly been subject to deforestation, abandonment and afforestation (Behre 1988). Russell (1997) divides the history of forest use into three stages: • hunting, gathering and shifting cultivation • primarily agricultural uses • commercial intensive use for industrial products and processes In the following, human impact on forest ecosystems in Europe is described from the Upper Palaeolithic period to the introduction of agriculture in the Neolithic period and during early historic times. Consequences for forest distribution and species composition are discussed along with the growing awareness of people of the protection of this natural resource.

E. Ritter (*) Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57, 9000 Aalborg, Denmark e-mail: [email protected]

E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_2, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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2.1 People and Forests in Prehistoric Times Early hunter-gatherer societies have altered the flora and fauna of natural ecosystems all over the world, but today it is hard to judge how great their impact has been. Indirect and direct effects were most likely restrained until the dawn of agriculture about 10 millennia ago. With the development of civilizations based on agriculture, the exploitation of the forests was intensified and expanded. This development started in the Near East and spread from the Mediterranean region across Europe. The use of forests became soon an integrated part of the agricultural economy, and exploitation and clearances contributed to the change in European vegetation and a reduction in forest cover. Mather et al. (1998) have estimated that up to one third of the global land surface has been deforested.

2.1.1 Hunter-Gatherers in Europe The first settlements in Europe are known from the Mediterranean region about 800,000  years ago. These early settlers were presumably not able to adapt to environmental conditions above 41°–42° North (Hoffecker 2004). A second stage of human colonisation took place about half a million years ago and can be traced as far north as 50° in Britain and as far east as the Danube Basin (Hoffecker 2004). Modern humans first appear in continental Europe about 40,000 years ago (Fagan 2001). Living conditions and the diet of the first settlers were affected by changing climatic and environmental conditions. The extinction of larger carnivore animals about 500,000 years ago may have reduced the competition for prey, leaving more carcasses for scavenging (Turner 1992). However, it is difficult to reconstruct how much of the meat consumed by hominids was hunted or scavenged. During warmer climatic intervals (interglacials), many parts of Western Europe were covered with temperate oak woodland. Vegetation flourished and more plant food was available. During glacial periods, living conditions declined, and humans adjusted to the change in the environmental conditions by having a higher proportion of meat as part of their diet (Hoffecker 2004). However, in the early hunter-gatherer societies, gathering was often still more important than hunting. Plants contributed with up to 80% of weight to the consumed food, especially in the southern regions of Europe, while the consumption of plants compared to the amount of meat decreased with increasing latitude (Boyden 1975, cited in Russell 1997, p 114). The role of plants as natural resource was closely related to the spreading of forests in Europe at the end of the Pleistocene. Forests were important for many necessities in the life of forest-dwelling hunter-gatherers. In addition to being a source for food, forest plants were used for shelter, medicine, arts and dyes and other products; and although possibly feared, as places of wild animals or spirits, forests were generally less regarded as a hindrance than in later periods of human culture (Russell 1997). Palaeolithic and Mesolithic cultures were still very much

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dominated by nature, and their way of living was strongly connected to spiritual belief. In their dependence on plants and animals for subsistence, the life of the people was closely interwoven with the cycles and seasonal rhythm of nature (Russell 1997). Between 11,500 and 9,000  years ago, after the retreat of the glaciers, trees occupied most of the land suitable for forest growth (Pott 1993). However, already in the early stage of forest expansion, humans may have modified the natural vegetation by preventing trees from colonising certain sites, by gathering plants, setting fires and hunting animals. Today, it is difficult to prove how much this actually resulted in a change in ecosystems, but against the romantic view on preagricultural societies, recent research indicates that setting fires and eliminating species by overhunting may well have modified the environment in major ways (Goudie 2006). Hunting seems to have aggravated the negative impact of changes in climate and habitat for megafauna species and thereby have contributed to their extinction. This could have altered the vegetation that was less disturbed by grazing or trampling but also less dispersed in the landscape (Martin 1984). However, human use of forest resources was still characterized by being locally restricted with little active management. Changes in the nutrient cycle of the ecosystem remained limited in contrast to the impact of later agricultural societies (Emanuelsson 1988). Human impact on nature may therefore have been similar to that of other big omnivores. From the late Mesolithic Period, traces of human impact throughout Europe become more numerous. On the British Isles, charcoal and pollen data give evidence for recurring fire disturbance of forests both in the uplands and the lowlands (Innes et al. 2003). The manipulation of vegetation and the opening of forests by settlers affected growth conditions and created space for new plants which could be used as food (Zvelebil 1994, cited in Innes et al. 2003). Generally, abrupt changes in pollen frequencies and especially the increase in pollen from species such as hazel (Corylus avellana) or birch (Betula sp.) on formerly densely forested sites are taken as signs for human impact. While birch is extremely light demanding and hence grows best on open areas, hazel is more shade tolerant and can also be found at forest edges and as undergrowth in open forests. Therefore, the abundance of pollen from these species indicates that clearance or at least the opening or thinning of forests had taken place; a possible result of the change in human culture from hunting-gathering to a more settled way of life.

2.1.2 The Mid-Holocene Elm Decline One of the greatest changes in arboreal vegetation during prehistoric times was the decline of the population of elm trees (Ulmus sp.) about 5,000 14C years BP. It has been recorded for most parts of northern and northwest Europe by the analysis of pollen frequencies (e.g., Smith and Pilcher (1973)), stretching from Scandinavia, Ireland and the British Isles to the Netherlands, the northern part of Germany and

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the Baltic countries. Some cases have also been recorded from France, Austria and the Czech Republic (Berglund et al. 1996). In southeast Europe, evidence of elm decline has been traced earlier in time (Huntley and Birks 1983). Interestingly, the decline seems to have taken place almost synchronously throughout this part of Europe. A review of pollen data from 138 sites in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland showed that the mean dates of these four areas were lying within just 104 years of each other, on sites located from 2 m below sea level to altitudes of 500  m above sea level. According to these data the elm decline occurred on the British Isles around 5,036 14C year BP (±247 years) (Parker et al. 2002). Up until this period, the lowland forest cover of at least Scotland and Ireland was presumably still complete (Rackham 1988). The relative synchronicity of the event has been reason for many discussions and hypotheses of the actual cause of the dying back of the tree species. Human beings are generally not considered as the only factor, as this would have meant a synchronous cultural development throughout northwest Europe. However, it is assumed that human utilization of the environment has aggravated other natural factors that contributed to the reduction of the elm population, such as climate, soil changes and especially the influence of the elm bark beetle (Scolytus scolytus F.). The beetle is carrier for a fungus (Ceratocystis ulmi (Buis.) Moreau) which causes Dutch elm disease. Fossil records of the beetle from just before the beginning of the elm-decline were made at West Heath Spa near London (Girling and Greig 1977). As the beetle thrives best in clearings, hedges and on isolated trees rather than in dense forests, its distribution may be related to the presence of human communities. Practices such as foliage or bark-stripping from elm trees and the creation of clearings may have weakened trees and opened up the forest. In western Ireland, the disease was found to have had a lower impact on the elm populations than in other places of Europe, despite the presence of human disturbances. Lamb and Thompson (2005) attributed this partly to the absence of the most diseasesusceptible ecotypes of elm on the island and the limit of the range of the distribution of the pathogen. They emphasize that presumably a combination of human impact and the disease was necessary for a permanent decline in local elm populations. Hence, the mid-Holocene elm decline may be seen as the first record of how human activities can aggravate negative environmental effects on vegetation. Interestingly, also the latest wave of elm disease seemed to have reached Ireland later than mainland Britain. Long after elm trees had disappeared from Britain, British timber merchants travelled to Ireland to purchase the last elm trees in the 1990s (Keith Curtis 1994, personal communication). Apparently, elm trees have again been more resistant on that island than in the rest of the disease affected regions of Europe. The boundary of the elm decline is also considered as marking the line of the advance of agricultural societies, i.e. the change from the Mesolithic to the Neolithic Period. However, records of cereal pollen have actually been recorded at settlements already prior to the elm decline (Edwards 1988). The alteration of vegetation, indicated by a consistent rise in alder (Alnus) pollen in sediment dated about 7500 BP, has been associated with forest disturbances by Mesolithic people through

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much of the British Isles (Chambers and Elliott 1989). The recovery from the elm decline occurred at different times in Europe, but at some places never. In Ireland, elm trees seem to have recovered on fertile soils already around 4,500 14C years BP (O’Connell 1980), while in areas like the Upper Thames and Norfolk the elm population never came back to its original strength (Peglar and Birks 1993).

2.1.3 The Great Transition The Great Transition describes the change from hunter-gatherer societies towards peasant farming societies. It started in the Near East about 8,000–6,000 BC and is one of the most important developments in human civilization and of great significance for food procurement, land use and settlement (Edwards 1988). The development of agriculture had a great impact on the natural vegetation. The composition of plant communities was changed in favour of those species that were considered suitable for nutrition. Furthermore, land had to be cleared to enable the cultivation of the favoured crops. This started forest clearances and the development of cultural landscapes that form most of Europe today. In the temperate zone, the shift from hunting to farming and the first significant impacts on forests by human beings can be traced back to the Stone Age (Probst 1991). However, it is difficult to draw a clear line that shows the advance of agricultural societies though Europe. There seems to have been a co-existence of hunter-gatherer societies and agricultural societies in many regions, for example in Denmark (Iversen 1941). The arrival of forest farming techniques and early agricultural cultivation in the British Isles and north-west Europe may well have occurred within a period of 200–300  years at the beginning of or soon after 6,000 years BP (Innes et al. 2003). Other records from ca. 4,000 to 6,000 BP indicate that there was a co-existence of the two lifestyles within Britain and Ireland. Presumably hunter-gatherer activities continued on marginal soils while good soils supported the development of agricultural societies (Edwards 1988). Especially the fertile loess soils of central Germany have a very early cereal pollen date (Pott 1992). However, the first settlements were not necessarily placed on good soils, but rather on soils that were easy to clear from forest cover. These were typically dry and sandy places or calcareous soils. It is therefore possible that on these spots, no natural vegetation has ever been able to develop after the last ice age owing to the very early human activity (Remmert 1985). Records from the British Isles indicate that no major tree removal occurred before or during the cereal pollen phase. Low intensity forest exploitation and farming characterized the earliest agricultural activity in northwest Europe rather than the higher intensity of woodland clearings, slash-and-burn practices and fields in the fully developed Neolithic times and later (Innes et al. 2003). The development of agriculture changed human attitudes towards forests. While still necessary for many products in daily life, forest became partly a hindrance, and trees had to be destroyed in order to create space for crops.

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2.1.4 Early Agricultural Impacts on Forests The Great Transition was only the beginning of an increasing impact on and manipulation of vegetation by human beings. Although 70–80% of the land area was still covered with forests in the last century BC, hardly any forest had escaped human impact (Huttl et  al. 2000). Agricultural land use and husbandry became essential for the food procurement of Neolithic societies. Life conditions improved and subsequently the human population grew. Forests were removed to obtain more arable land, and the remaining forests were often heavily exploited; much more than by pre-agricultural societies. Hence, the development of agriculture must be seen in the context of two major processes: • the reduction in forest cover • the increase in and intensification of forest use The immediate consequence of the expansion of agricultural land use in Europe was a massive deforestation. In England, the destruction of forests in order to create farmland can be traced back to about 4500 BC. While forest cover may still have been about 50% during the Iron Age, early documents indicate that it had decreased furthermore to 15% in 1086. With time, forests became more integrated in the agricultural economy, providing a variety of products in the daily life of human beings. They were used as a source of materials such as firewood, fencing, and lumber (Innes et al. 2003). Domestic animals were brought into the forests for grazing, a practice which has been known since the later Stone Age. In the oceanically influenced area of the temperate zone, initial deforestation started in the coastal areas where food supply was covered by fishing, intensive agricultural and silvo-pastoral management (Ellenberg 1990). As wood-pasture, litter raking and burning continued over long time periods, natural forest regeneration occurred only locally. In many areas of Europe, woodland was eventually replaced by heath and moorland, for example in western France, England, Ireland and Scotland (Walter and Breckle 1994). Much of this was related to the overuse of forests for wood and charcoal production and the impact of grazing animals. Hence, overexploitation of forests resulted often in their destruction. Thereby, forest use contributed to the deforestation of the land. In most countries, woodland survived only on steep or poor land. Only during times when cultivation decreased and ecological control was lost, secondary woodlands could develop on a local scale. The impact of people on the landscape changed in parallel with the development of tools and an increase in population. There are different theories whether technological inventions led to larger human populations or the invention of tools occurred independent of increases in population. One result of better technology was that more people could be supported by less land area. With the development of the iron-tipped plough, farmers were able to cultivate larger fields and less favourable soils (Ellenberg 1996). Emanuelsson (1988) suggests four main steps between five technological levels. These had a marked effect in changing the natural ­environment into a cultural landscape. The different levels are characterised by an increasing number of persons

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who can be supported per square kilometre and a change in the net balance of nutrients. He proposed, based upon different studies, that in the fertile parts of Scania, southern Sweden, 0.5–2 persons of a hunter-gatherer society could survive on 1  km2. With the development of agriculture and the introduction of shifting cultivation or pastoralism, this number increased to about 20 persons per km2. At the same time, a net loss of nutrients from the cultivated area occurred, and restoration was only possible during periods of non-exploitation. Farming in permanent fields during early agricultural use with manure application allowed about 50 persons to survive on 1 km2. For Sweden, this type of agricultural use is assumed to have existed already 2,000 years ago and may have continued in some regions until the eighteenth century. Despite the overall net loss, nutrients were already better used than during the state of shifting cultivation and pastoralism (Emanuelsson 1988). A distinct change in the nutrient balance was first achieved during the Agricultural Revolution, eventually resulting in a nutrient excess after the introduction of artificial fertilizers in the twentieth century.

2.2 Forest Development in Historical Times The process of deforestation accelerated during the time of Charlemagne (about AD 800) with concomitant pressure on natural ecosystems. While culture was related to the cultivation of land, forests were considered as a synonym for wilderness; a myth that somehow has survived until today (see also Chap. 10). However, much more than agriculture, the demand for timber as building material and in armed conflicts became an increasingly important factor in the deforestation process. The consequences of this hunger for timber were most disastrous in arid regions. A well known example is the great deforestation that took place in the Mediterranean region during Greek-Roman times, but a similar development occurred later in Central and Northern Europe. At the time of the Industrial Revolution (c. 1790–1900 in Europe), forests in many European countries had been subject to clearances (Kaplan et  al. 2009). The recovery of forests from the massive human impact was only possible after periods of pests or great wars that resulted in a significant reduction of the human population, or to a minor extent when new technologies helped replace the need for timber. However, human population is not the only factor that has an effect on the change in forest cover. Cultural and political factors, e.g., forest laws and regulations for land use and landscape management, play an important role as well.

2.2.1 The Great Deforestation of the Ancient World The Mediterranean Region has a long history of manipulation of trees, forests and landscapes, and the exploitation of forests reached its first remarkable peak during Greek-Roman times. The long-term consequences of the overuse of the forests

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that once covered the Mediterranean region are still present today. Human settlers and their herds of domestic animals caused the virtual disappearance of most climax forests. Development of agricultural innovations such as the iron ploughshare increased food production, hence, population, and thus the need for more forest clearances. Wars and especially the demand of timber for shipbuilding had a major impact on the Mediterranean forest (Thirgood 1981). Like in other parts of Europe, Greek-Roman civilizations used timber for energy production and construction. Timber was also an important subject of inter-regional trading. To meet the high demand of timber, the exploitation of forests was not restricted to the easily accessible lowland forests, but stretched even to upland forests, for example in the Apennines with their vulnerable site conditions (Meiggs 1982). Especially during the Roman times, intensive settlements caused large-scale transformation of forest into arable land (Huttl et al. 2000). With the cultivation of land, human impact also included the introduction of new species for nonwood products. The consequences of ruthless forest exploitation were dramatic. Erosion reduced agricultural productivity, resulting in further forest clearance to make new areas of fertile land available for agriculture. Industries depending on timber supply developed, such as iron smelting, pottery and shipbuilding, only to be hit hard later by an increasing shortage of wood. Already by about 400 BC, Plato noted the damage to soil resources resulting from the deforestation of Attica (Hamilton and Cairns 1961). In his description, he compares the treeless hills of Greece with skeletons. The overuse and loss of forest cover resulted in severe soil erosion, especially in steep mountain regions. Today, shrub landscapes dominate where forests used to cover the hills and lowlands. The remaining forest stands are altered and more or less intensively managed. Although it is sure that forest cover was more extensive in the Mediterranean regions 2,000 years ago, Thirgood (1981) points out that it is not clear to what extent and of which type the forests were; what was described as forest by classical writers may very likely have been close to today’s marquis, i.e. a resistant type of dense scrub formation. On the other hand, in his book Folklore and the Old Testament (Vol. III), Frazer (1918) quotes several descriptions of the landscape of the Mediterranean region from Palestine to Syria during the nineteenth century. The abundance of different, partly very old, oak (Quercus) species forming park-like landscapes to “impressive oak forests” has been recorded by the writers, like W.M. Thomson who travelled the plain of Sharon and published his observations in 1881: It is conducting us through a grand avenue of magnificent oaks, whose grateful shade is refreshing to the weary traveller. They are part of an extensive [oak] forest which covers most of the hills southward to the plain of Esdraelon. (W.M. Thomson 1881, in Frazer 1918, p 32–35).

Apparently, there may have been more forests present than we may assume when looking at the Mediterranean landscapes today. In general, only a few forests escaped intensive use through time. In Ancient Greece, sacred groves were protected from felling. These forests could be considered

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as precursors to “national parks”; vestiges of pristine wilderness. However, already by the fifth century BC wood shortages had become so acute that religious sanctions were no longer enough to protect these forests from human impact. Instead, secular regulations were introduced with the aim of protecting the groves, like a decree in Athens that prohibited even the removal of twigs (Farrell et  al. 2000). Timber became a symbol of power. Macedonia overtook Attica while it still had great resources of unexploited timber, just until it was in turn overpowered by the Roman Empire. However, with Roman civilization, over-exploitation of the forests continued. The later collapse of the Roman Empire resulted in profound changes in land use. Cultivated land was abandoned owing to the reduction in human population and consequent loss of available manpower, and forest regenerated in the areas where agricultural production ceased (Darby 1956). However, during the postclassical era, exploitation continued and even increased. Shipbuilding remained the greatest consumer of timber and later became a political factor from the midseventeenth to the mid-nineteenth centuries when appropriate timber became scarce in many regions (Thirgood 1981). First forest laws limiting or prohibiting the use of forest products by local people were introduced with varying success. The destiny of forests often depended on whether a nation needed material for war. In addition, increasing architectural demands and the progressing use of wood for fuel and charcoal production contributed to the degradation and extinction of forests. Mediterranean vegetation has never recovered completely from the impact of long-term deforestation, and unfortunately much of the knowledge of the severe environmental consequences got lost during the following generations (Meiggs 1982). Hence, the evolution of the interaction between people and forest landscapes that occurred in the Ancient World was later paralleled by developments in Central and Northern Europe.

2.2.2 Impacts on Forests in Northern and Central Europe The expansion of agriculture in Northern and Central Europe contributed to a growth in population and the need of timber for construction, production and energy. The impact on forests and trees was intensified, and more and more forests were removed or modified by human use. By the beginning of the Middle Ages, forests in Central Europe were already under the control of human activities. Only in remote areas some primary forests may have survived. Cultural landscapes developed and formed a mosaic of fields, pastures and wooded areas, characterised by a higher degree of fragmentation. During the Late Middle Ages, forest cover in Central Europe had been reduced to less than 30% owing to energy demand and the need for construction wood (Grossmann 1934; Hammel 1982, cited in Huttl et al. 2000). For the reduction of forest cover, duration of human settlement seems to be less important than the vulnerability of the forest ecosystems against human impact.

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In the Central European Chernozem (black earth) areas of the lowlands, first ­farmers settled during the early Neolithic periods in the second half of the sixth millennium BC (Kreuz 2008). Despite this long-term intensive agricultural use, there is still a considerable forest cover of about 25% providing a relatively high timber production. In contrast, in the north-western regions of Scandinavia, the British Isles, Iceland and the Faroe Islands, overuse of the natural tree vegetation quickly reduced the original forest cover. Iceland was one of the last places in Europe settled by human population, about AD 874, and yet this country has one of the least forested landscapes in Europe (UNEP 2000). It took the first settlers less than 200 years to reduce the natural forest cover from c. 25% to less than 1% of the land area (Anonymous 2001). Something similar is seen in the history of the Scottish Highlands when people with pastoral life style occupied the uplands from the eleventh century onwards. They practised the shielding system, a regional form of the seasonal movement of livestock used in other places in Western Europe, and hardly any woodland has been left unaffected by the influence of this grazing management (Holl and Smith 2007). The Faroe Islands are one of the places where deforestation was basically already complete 1,000 years ago (Hannon et al. 2001). In these regions, natural regeneration of trees is strongly hampered due to short vegetation periods and difficult environmental conditions, poor soils and grazing of domestic animals. Consequently, wide areas are nowadays marked by soil erosion and the loss of valuable fertile land. The impact on forest ecosystems was not only caused by agricultural land use. Natural tree species composition was modified by the preferential use of certain species and the avoidance of natural disturbances. In villages, lime (Tilia) and especially oak trees were planted to prevent the spreading of fires between the thatched roofed houses. In addition, the acorns were used as fodder for domestic animals, while the honey of lime trees was an important sugar source (Remmert 1985). Many new tree species have been introduced throughout the centuries because of their aesthetic values, independent of their timber value. Thus, exotic species came to play an important role in the development of parks and gardens in Europe. Other trees came as invasive species introduced through human activities, e.g., trading and travelling. In northern Scandinavia, Norway spruce (Picea abies) competed better against Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) when human beings started to control wild fires. The Scandinavian spruce forests that nowadays may be considered as “natural” are therefore actually a plant community that, although not introduced or planted, was caused by human control of natural ecosystem processes. In Central Europe, the major impact of human activity can today be seen in a change in tree species. Natural beech (Fagus sylvatica) forests have converted to mixed oak-hornbeam (Quercus-Carpinus) forests or replaced with spruce (Picea sp.) and Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga sp.) (FAO 2000). Today, coniferous trees account for 68–88% of the temperate forest area that naturally would be dominated by deciduous species (Ellenberg 1996). The natural vegetation of deciduous broadleaved tree species has been substituted with coniferous forests in production-oriented forest management that started with industrialization in the eighteenth century. However, the

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quality of these stands is often very variable as the trees do not grow on their natural site conditions. This has resulted in major losses of timber during storm events like the ones in December 1999 when 165 million m3 of timber were windblown in Europe (mainly France, Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Denmark and Poland), which was about 43% of the annual average harvest (European Forestry Commission 2000). Another important function of forests through history was energy production. Close to settlements, forests were managed for firewood. As a well functioning saw was not known before modern times, trees had to be felled with the axe. Therefore, thin stems and branches were preferred. People thereby made use of the ability of most native tree species to grow shoots from the cut stumps or the root system, either by coppice or suckers. For the practice of coppicing, young trees were cut at their base and recovered by developing multi-stems that could be cut again after a few years. Typical tree species suitable for this practice are ash (Fraxinus excelsior), wych-elm (Ulmus glabra) and beech (Fagus sylvatica). Today, old coppice forests (in German: Niederwald) can still be recognised by their multi-stemmed trees. In the vernacular, their bizarre forms are often associated with witches, spirits or fairytales. When trees are cut higher up, the practice is called pollarding. Pollarding can increase the life time and health of trees. It also made it possible to combine woodpasture with wood production because grazing livestock could not reach the young shoots of the trees as opposed to the coppice. Burnham Beeches west of London is a good example of this type of forest use. Coppicing and pollarding were not only used to obtain firewood and wood for charcoal production but also material for hop vines and fences. Ash was typically used for hop poles, while hazel was preferred for weaving into fences. In many European countries, coppicing was still practised during the nineteenth century (Austad 1988). In England, some former coppiced forests can still be traced back to medieval times by their names. When forests became part of husbandry practices, in addition to the already well known and widely practised habit of using forests for grazing, this resulted in major impacts on the ecosystems. In regions with difficult climate like in northern Europe, livestock was kept in stables during the long and cold winter period. Farmers started to collect leaves and twigs and used them for winter fodder. Leaves and needles were furthermore used for fillings of mattresses and beddings (Roth and Bürgi 2006). The removal of litter from forests had a profound effect on the nutrient status of forest ecosystem. It could change the plant community, result in substantial soil impoverishment and reduce the neutralization capacity of the soils. Dzwonko and Gawronski (2002) showed that current vegetation composition in mixed oak-pine woodland in Poland can still be related to past biomass removal by people. The collection of litter was very popular during the Agricultural Revolution, at the end of the eighteenth century (Bürgi 1999). Different studies have estimated a removal of 0.5–3 t litter per hectare from forests stands in different regions of Switzerland (Bürgi and Gimmi 2007). However, the actual extent of this practice is debatable owing to ­missing written records. An important role in the fattening of pigs was played by the acorns of oak trees. Since oaks do not have acorns every year when growing in

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closed forest, they were often grown as solitary or scattered trees within wood-­ pastures (in German: Hütewald). This enabled the fattening of pigs every year. The improvement of food production contributed to an increase of the population in central Europe. Towns developed and crafts improved. More wood was needed for fuel, production and as building material. In the Auverge in France, forests in the lowland areas were so much depleted that people had to use straw for fuel already by the seventh and eighth century. Only in the mountains, forests survived because they were protected for hunting. This protection continued with the settlement of German immigrants, in contrast to the south of France where deforestation was almost complete. The settlers in the south of France, coming from the Mediterranean regions, did not establish hunting preserves (Devèze 1864/1965, cited in Russell 1997, p 119). The anthropogenic influence has locally changed environmental conditions for tree growth and is often stronger than the natural effect of the bedrock or the local soils (Pott 1993). Many land sites have lost their original fertile conditions through erosion, drifting sand or podsolization after the removal of a closed forest cover or the introduction of new tree species. Reforestation with exotic tree species has affected soil conditions through the impact of litter quality, nutrient cycling or the filter effect of the canopy. Furthermore, forests have an effect on the local microclimate of landscapes (Brown and Gillespie 1995). If forest management was stopped, it would still take a long time for the original site conditions to be re-established and for potential natural vegetation to regenerate. As a recent development, it can be observed that human induced climate change may have an effect on the distribution and spreading of tree species in Europe (e.g., Bradshaw et al. 2000).

2.2.3 Forest Protection and Forest Expansion It was the overuse and the loss of many necessary forest functions that resulted in the first approaches to the protection of forests in Europe (Farrell et al. 2000). The oldest protective regulations are recorded from Switzerland in 1339 (Muotathal) and 1387 (Altdorv) (Anonymous 1983, cited in Farrell et al. 2000). In these mountainous areas, forest protection was driven by the fear of avalanches and landslides. Simultaneously, authorities in England tried to counteract the local lack of timber by enclosing forests and preserving them for firewood production (Glasscock 1976). Timber shortages also stimulated the first reforestation activities on felled sites, such as the planting of the state forest at Nurnberg (Nürnberger Staatswald) in south Germany in the fourteenth century. However, it was less the human initiative to protect shrinking forest resources but rather natural factors that resulted in the last great expansion of forests in Europe. This was when the human population declined significantly during the time of the Black Death and then after the 30 Years’ War. Agricultural land could no longer be cultivated by the reduced population, and the exploitation of forests diminished. Hence, forests could recover from human impact, and natural regeneration started to

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occupy the abandoned land. Also during the Germanic migration, ­secondary forests developed on former cultivated land (Farrell et al. 2000). Many of the forests that today are considered as old growth forests or “natural forests” are actually secondary forests that had developed on the fields that people left uncultivated during the Early Middle Ages (Peterken 1996). However, this break in human impact on the European forest vegetation did not last long. With exploration of the world’s seas and the expansion of shipbuilding, the hunger for timber grew and then outpaced former fellings. From the seventeenth century onwards, when the Industrial Revolution spread from England, the demand for timber to fire the many furnaces increased further. Industrial centres, such as Ironbridge near Telford in England, were therefore often sited close to forests which were managed for firewood production, mostly utilising the practice of coppicing. By the early nineteenth century, forest cover had reached its lowest point in historic times in many Western European countries. For example, the minimum forest cover in Denmark (in the 1800s) and Portugal (in the 1870s) was 4% and 7%, respectively, and even Switzerland had only 18% forest cover left (in the 1860s) (Mather et al. 1998). Kaplan et al. (2009) have used a preindustrial anthropogenic deforestation model to generate historical land clearance maps of Europe. It illustrates clearly the increasing loss of forest cover in many European countries from 1000 BC to AD 1850. Since the mid-nineteenth century, forest cover started to increase again and, for the first time in forest history, this happened despite a continuing population growth (Mather et al. 1998). In 2005, forest cover in Denmark, Portugal and Switzerland was back at 11.8%, 41.3%, and 30.9%, respectively (FAO 2006). The total forest cover of Europe (without the Russian Federation) is today 32.6% of the land area (without inland water) (FAO 2006). This change in the interaction between population and forest cover can be explained by several factors, among others a decline in the proportion of rural population, but also a change in the perception of forests and a development of new philosophies and political thoughts which led to new (scientific) approaches to forest management (Mather et  al. 1998). In many European countries, this development started with the time of Enlightenment and the rise of Romanticism: “Belief in the power of rationality and science to solve problems led to silvicultural advances; romantic notions provided a lens through which forests could be viewed positively by urban élites” (Mather et  al. 1998). Furthermore, the development of technology helped increase processing yields during the twentieth century. Hence, forests can be used more efficiently now when it comes to the consumption of wood products in society. For many decades, afforestation efforts aimed primarily at increased forest productivity. Plantation establishment often involved the replacement of deciduous with coniferous tree species, especially Norway spruce. While native in the boreal region, Norway spruce grows outside its natural range in most other European regions. It is therefore sometimes not sufficiently adapted to the local climatic and edaphic features, and as a result management difficulties can occur (Huttl et  al. 2000). Trees are more often weakened by drought stress and forest damage which makes them susceptible to insect attacks and windblow. Windblow accounts for 53%

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of the total damage to forests in Europe (Schelhaas et al. 2003), and the frequency of windblow damage has increased during the last decades of the twentieth century. However, no increase in storm frequency could be observed for Europe; storm frequency has on the contrary been remarkably stable for the last 200 years (Carretero et al. 1998; Heino et al. 1999; Bärring and von Storch 2004). Increased windblow damage may therefore probably not be attributed to stronger and more frequent storm events. For Norway spruce, it is suggested that higher losses occur because a larger proportion of trees has reached the age class when they become susceptive to windblow damages, and because trees are grown in monocultures instead of mixed stands (Schlyter et  al. 2006). However, the negative experiences of the past have changed this trend. Today, more native tree species and those adapted to the actual growth conditions at the forest sites are increasingly used in forestry.

2.3 Conclusion The intensity of human impact has varied temporally and spatially, and the exploitation of forests has not passed without leaving a mark on forest ecosystems. Human use of forests may have started as the mimicking of natural processes, but it soon became more distinctive. In contrast to most natural processes, except natural wild fires, many human activities are characterised by removing forest products from their source. With the development of agriculture, forest cover was reduced over larger areas which only partly reconverted to secondary forests, and deforestation became a dominant action in most European countries throughout their history. Furthermore, human beings contributed to the extension of species ranges by introducing new tree species to regions where they are not indigenous. The removal of forest products, the introduction of new tree species and the selective use of existing species resulted in the modification of species composition and forest structures and affected processes in the forest ecosystems such as nutrient recycling and soil retention. Hence, human activities have left traces on trees and forests in European landscapes in three major ways: • extent and distribution of tree cover • species composition • local site conditions relevant for tree growth Intensive and extensive forest use in much of Europe has affected forest ecosystems so much that today’s forests have to be understood in the context of past and present patterns of forest use. Even ecosystems that may have escaped direct impact by human use are nowadays threatened by man-made influences such as increased nutrient input through atmospheric deposition or acidification. Hence, “natural” ecosystems untouched by human beings can hardly be found in Europe. With few exceptions, forests in Europe do not represent the wilderness that they are often assumed to be. Rather, they are a part of landscapes with long historical dimensions and as such influenced and controlled by human culture.

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References Anonymous (1983) Il bosco svizzero. Dono svizzero della festa nazionale, Federal Bureau of Forestry, Bern, 48 pp Anonymous (2001) Biological diversity in Iceland: national report to the convention on biological diversity. Ministry of the Environment and Icelandic Institute of Natural History, Reykjavík, p 58 Austad I (1988) Tree pollarding in Western Norway. In: Birks HH, Birks HJB, Kaland PE, Moe D (eds) The cultural landscape – past, present and future. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 11–29 Bärring L, von Storch H (2004) Scandinavian storminess since about 1800. Geophys Res Lett 31:L20202. doi:10.1029/2004GL020441 Behre KE (1988) The role of man in European vegetation history. In: Huntley B, Webb T (eds) Vegetation history. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 633–372 Berglund BE, Birks HJB, Ralska-Jasiewiczowa M, Wright HE (1996) Palaeoecological events during the last 15 000 years: regional synthesis of palaeoecological studies of lakes and mires in Europe. Wiley, Chichester Boyden (1975) Western civilization, 81n26, data taken from: Clarke R, Hindley G (eds) The challenge of the primitives. Jonathan Cape, London, pp 30–31 Bradshaw RHW, Holmquist BH, Cowlilng AS, Sykes M (2000) The effect of climate change on the distribution and management of Picea abies in southern Scandinavia. J Can For Res 30:1992–1998 Brown R, Gillespie TJ (1995) Microclimatic landscape design – creating thermal comfort and energy efficiency, 3rd edn. Wiley, Berkeley Bürgi M (1999) A case study of forest change in the Swiss lowlands. Landscape Ecol 14:567–575 Bürgi M, Gimmi U (2007) Three objectives of historical ecology: the case of litter collecting in Central European forests. Landscape Ecol 22:77–87 Carretero JC, Gomez M, Lozanom I et  al (1998) Changing waves and storms in the Northeast Atlantic? Bull Am Meteorol Soc 79:741–760 Chambers FM, Elliott L (1989) Spread and expansion of Alnus mill. in the British Isles: timing, agencies and possible vectors. J Biogeogr 16:541–550 Darby HC (1956) The clearing of woodland in Europe. In: Thomas WL (ed) Man’s role in changing the face of the earth. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp 183–216 Devèze Forêts françaises. Duby (1965) The Early Growth of the European Economy, 20; Marsh GP Man and Nature 1864; reprint Harvard University Press, Cambridge, pp 240–244 Dzwonko A, Gawronski S (2002) Effect of litter removal on species richness and acidification of a mixed oak-pine woodland. Biol Conserv 106:389–398 Edwards KJ (1988) The hunter-gatherer/agricultural transition and the pollen record in the British Isles. In: Birks HH, Birks HJB, Kaland PE, Moe D (eds) The cultural landscape – past, present and future. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 255–266 Ellenberg H (1990) Bauernhaus und Landschaft in ökologischer und historischer Sicht. Eugen Ulmer, Stuttgart Ellenberg H (1996) Vegetation Mitteleuropas mit den Alpen. Ulmer, Stuttgart Emanuelsson U (1988) A model for describing the development of the cultural landscape. In: Birks HH, Birks HJB, Kaland PE, Moe D (eds) The cultural landscape – past, present and future. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 111–121 European Forestry Commission (2000) Storm damage 1999/2000 overview available online http:// www.unece.org/timber/storm/storm2000.htm. Accessed 17 July 2009 Fagan BM (2001) The great diaspora: the spread of modern humans. In: People of the Earth. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River, p 126 FAO (2000) Global forest resources assessment 2000. Food and Agricultural Organisation, Forestry Department. FAO Forestry Paper 150. Chapter 27: Europe: ecologcial zones. Available online http://www.fao.org/DOCREP/004/Y1997E/y1997e00.htm. Accessed 1 March 2011

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Peterken G (1996) Natural woodland. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Pott R (1992) The impact of early Neolithic agriculture on the vegetation of Northwestern Germany. In: Frenzel B (ed) Evaluation of land surfaces cleared from forests by prehistoric man in early Neolithic times and the time of migrating Germanic tribes. European Science Foundation, Strasbourg, pp 57–72 Pott R (1993) Die natürliche Waldentwicklung in der Nacheiszeit und unter dem Einflub des prähistorischen und historischen Menschen. In: Pott R (ed) Farbatlas Waldlandschaften. Ulmer, Stuttgart, pp 11–68 Probst E (1991) Deutschland in der Steinzeit. Jäger, Fischer und Bauern zwischen Nordseeküste und Alpenraum. Bertelsmann Rackham O (1988) Trees and woodland in a crowded landscape – the cultural landscape of the British Isles. In: Birks HH, Birks HJB, Kaland PE, Moe D (eds) The cultural landscape – past, present and future. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 53–77 Remmert H (1985) Der vorindustrielle Mensch in den Ökosystemen der Erde. Naturwissenschaften 172:627–632 Roth L, Bürgi M (2006) Bettlaubsammeln als Streunutzung im St. Galler Rheintal (collecting leaves for beddings – a traditional forest use in the St. Galler Rheintal). Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Forstwesen 8:348–356 Russell EWB (1997) People and the land through time: linking ecology and history, 1st edn. Yale University Press, New Haven/London Schelhaas JM, Nabuurs GJ, Schuck A (2003) Natural disturbances in the European forests in the 19th and 20th centuries. Glob Change Biol 9:1620–1633 Schlyter P, Stjernquist I, Bärring L et al (2006) Assessment of the impacts of climate change and weather extremes on boreal forests in Northern Europe, focusing on Norway spruce. Clim Res 31:75–84 Smith AG, Pilcher JR (1973) Radiocarbon dates and the vegetational history of the British Isles. New Phytol 72:903–914 Thirgood JV (1981) Man and the Mediterranean forest. A history of resource depletion. Academic Press, London Thomson WM (1881) The land and the book, Central Palestine and Phoenicia, London, p 302 Turner A (1992) Large carnivores and earliest European hominids: changing determinants of resource availability during the lower and middle Pleistocene. J Hum Evol 22:109–126 UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre (2000) European forests and protected areas: Gap analysis. Smith G, Gillet H (eds) Technical report, Cambridge, UK, p 62 Walter H, Breckle SW (1994) Ökologie der Erde, Band 3: Spezielle Ökologie der gemässigten und arktischen Zonen Euro-Nordasiens. Gustav-Fischer-Verlag, Stuttgart/Jena Zvelebil M (1994) Plant use in the Mesolithic and its role in the transition to framing. Proc Prehist Soc 60:35–74

Chapter 3

Overcoming Physicophobia – Forests as the Sacred Source of Our Human Origins Roy Jackson

In Augustin Berque’s fascinating book, Le sauvage et l’artifice – Les japonais devant la nature1 (Berque 1986), the French scholar argues that at one time in ancient Europe, before the coming of Christianity, there existed the religion of the forest but, with the spread of Christianity, a new perspective was formed: both ­natural environments and human beings exist in the world as evil objects. Berque uses the term “physicophobia” to describe this alienated, hostile reaction to the natural world. What has been lost to the Western European mind, Berque argues, is “physicophily”; an affinity towards the forest and nature in general. Throughout history the forest is seen as the antithesis of what it means to be human. The forests are primeval and pre-historical; they were there before humans ever were. The mythic forests stand opposed to the city; the latter representing order and civilisation. With the coming of the Age of Enlightenment, of the start of what is commonly referred to as modernity, the European attitude towards the forest was one of a desire to bring order to nature, to make it useful for the benefit of mankind. Descartes, the philosophical father of the Enlightenment, sees the forests, by analogy, as a place of chaos and disorder which lacks firm and resolute rational method. His contemporary, Hobbes, is equally condemning of nature. Mankind has alienated itself from the forest, from the animal kingdom; first by fearing it, then by “conquering” it, but rarely by appreciating its sacredness and its importance in an understanding of what it means to be human. However, there have been philosophers who, although themselves products of the Enlightenment, questioned its ideals and called for a return to nature. This chapter looks at Rousseau and Nietzsche. They are two such enemies of the Enlightenment Project, which they saw as encompassing alienation and a misguided faith in the supposed benefits of scientific progress. Instead, they looked to nature for authenticity.

The Wild and Artifice – The Japanese Before Nature. The reason for the title is that Berque argues that Japanese traditional culture stills shows a tendency for “physicophily”.

1 

R. Jackson (*) Department of Humanities, University of Gloucestershire, Swindon Road, GL50 4AZ Cheltenham, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_3, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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3.1 The Forest as Nothing More than Useful The French philosopher, mathematician, writer and scientist René Descartes (1596– 1650) presents his method when confronted with the seeming chaos of the forest: In this I would imitate travellers who, finding themselves lost in a forest, ought not to wander this way or that, or, what is worse, remain in one place, but ought always walk as straight a line as they can in one direction and not change course for feeble reasons, even if at the outset it was perhaps only chance that made them choose it; for by this means, if they are not going where they wish, they will finally arrive at least somewhere where they will probably be better off than in the middle of the forest. (Descartes 1968, p 46, 47)

Cartesian method follows a straight path through the dark forest, thus avoiding the possibility of abandon and error. The forest is not only a place of anarchy, but of false beliefs and the irrational, the animal. For animals, Descartes believed, have no souls and only those with souls can be truly human and in touch with the divine. The forests are there to be appropriated by man, a utility to be used for the service of mankind, who are able to make themselves the masters and possessors of nature. This reference to walking in a straight line is symbolic of Descartes’ confidence in logical deductive reasoning over the uncertainty of mere probabilities. Such isomorphic method, with its reliance on the supposed a priori analytic certainty of mathematics, is contrary to the presumed falsehoods of past tradition. The forest, for Descartes, represents this falsehood, compared to the order and rational ­planning that goes into the city. A contemporary of Descartes, the British philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679), was another who saw human beings’ primordial past as one of chaos and disorder. Hobbes thought that the state of nature is something we ought, morally speaking, to try to avoid. In the natural condition, human beings lack government, for the only authority that exists naturally among human beings is that of a mother over her child, as the child is so much weaker than the mother and indebted to her for its survival. This is not the case, however, amongst adults, and every human being is quite capable of killing any other; even the weakest might persuade others to help him kill another (Hobbes 1981, Chapter 13). In the state of nature, the only judge as to what is right or wrong is the individual for the sake of his or her own ­self-preservation. Hobbes does not suppose that we are all selfish, that we are all ­cowards, or that we are all desperately concerned with how others see us. However, he does think that some of us are selfish, some of us cowardly, and some of us conceited. It is these latter individuals who are prepared to use violence to attain their ends, especially if there is no government or police to stop them.

3.2 Rousseau: Friend of the Forest Given such arguments, mankind secures itself in the city, away from the evils of nature. Alternatively, nature is tamed so that there is nothing left to fear. The sophisticated urban setting, however, was eschewed by that “neurotic and solitary genius” (Solomon

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1988) Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–78), who humbles himself before the mastery of the forest. For Rousseau, “alienation from nature – the splitting of the human subject from the natural object, necessary for labour or for the conscious transformation of the environment – is the defining characteristic of human existence” (Biro 2005, p 76).

3.2.1 The Demystification of the Forest Curiously, Rousseau may seem a man of contradiction: both a founding member of the French Enlightenment and yet an enemy of much of its values. However, Enlightenment thought is itself something of a variety of contrary philosophical views, not to mention differences of opinion of when the Enlightenment period actually started. Here it is placed with Descartes because at its core is the emphasis on reason and its criticism of past traditions; two features that are at the forefront of Descartes’ writings. Rousseau’s rejection of reason, in favour of romanticism, goes against this central characteristic of Enlightenment2 (Garrard 2003). Importantly in the context of the attitude towards forests, the utility value is now emphasised. For example: It seems that in all ages one has sensed the importance of preserving forests; they have always been regarded as the property of the state and administered in its name: Religion itself had consecrated forests, doubtlessly to protect, through veneration, that which had to be conserved for the public interest.3

This concept of “public interest”, or utilité publique, may well be lacking in h­ istorical accuracy, but nonetheless the demystifying of the forests is indicative of Enlightenment ideals. The Age of Enlightenment is a coming of age: humanity has now grown up and can see the world as it really is through his or her faculty of ­reason.4 Forests may no longer be seen as magical, sacred places but rather places to be preserved, utilised and managed. The forests themselves become projects; part of long- and short-term economic planning and exploitation to satisfy the material (as opposed to the spiritual) needs of the present and future generations. Nature is thus possessed and mastered through forest science using algebra, geometry, stereometry, and mensuration. This way one can literally walk in a straight line through a forest! Rousseau is critical of Hobbes because the latter provided the most comprehensive and influential effort to achieve in the social and political realms what Copernicus, Galileo and Newton had achieved in the scientific arena. It is also no

The case for Rousseau as an enemy of the Enlightenment is made in Garrard (2003). This is from the entry of the one of the major documents of the Age of Enlightenment (Rousseau was also a contributor), ‘Encyclopédie, ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers’, edited by Diderot. This entry is under ‘forêt’ in the Encyclopédie by the warden of the Park of Versailles, Monsieur Le Roy. The translation is from Harrison (1992, p 115). 4  Although I cite Descartes’ deductive reasoning as the foundation of Enlightenment thought, “reason” here need not, and was not, confined to the deductive process, bearing in mind its obvious limitations. The empirical quest for knowledge highlighted by Locke and, especially, David Hume is just as important, if not more so, in the management of forests and the Enlightenment project as a whole. 2  3 

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small reason why people refer to Descartes as achieving a Copernican revolution in philosophy. The newly discovered scientific method of the Enlightenment unlocked the secrets of nonhuman nature; its reduction to the physical. As nature was being mastered by science, so it was believed that human nature too could be mastered. In terms of Rousseau’s writings on social and political themes, it is his Second Discourse, the brilliant Discourse on the Origin of Inequality (hereafter the Second Discourse, published in 1755) that he deals most clearly with people’s alienation from nature. Rousseau presents us with a hypothetical history of human beings in a pre-social condition: I see an animal less strong than some, and less active than others, but, upon the whole, the most advantageously organised of any; I see him satisfying the calls of hunger under the first oak, and those of thirst at the first rivulet; I see him laying himself down to sleep at the foot of the same tree that afforded him his meal; and behold, this done, all his wants are completely supplied. (Rousseau 2004, p 4)

It is the image of the forest that Rousseau portrays human beings inhabiting those “immense woods” in which they are “obliged to defend, naked and without arms, their life and their prey against the other wild inhabitants of the forest” (Rousseau 2004, p 4).

3.2.2 The “Savage Man” Unlike Hobbes’ view of natural man, Rousseau’s Savage Man, taken further back in history than Hobbes’, does not live in fear and anxiety, being in a position to fight or flee from other creatures. It is only as human beings move out of their natural condition that death is feared (Rousseau 2004, p 5). What is more, “In proportion as he becomes sociable and a slave to others, he becomes weak, fearful, meanspirited, and his soft and effeminate way of living at once completes the enervation of his strength and his courage” (Rousseau 2004, p 8). What human beings possess that animals do not is the ability to choose and to refuse their instincts. In addition, there is “another principle that has escaped Hobbes” and that is man’s compassion for his fellow man (Rousseau 2004, p 20). Whilst Rousseau argues that human beings, by seeing the forest as mere utility, have alienated themselves from the forest and thus from their very being, he is not arguing for human beings to return to the forest and live the life of Savage Man once more. In fact, a real return to nature would, Rousseau argues, result in the destruction of the human species. What Rousseau sets out to do, from the Second Discourse onwards, is to resolve the problem of people’s alienation from nature whilst also remaining in a social setting. This is perhaps why readers of Rousseau have perceived an ambiguity here: on the one hand Rousseau’s romantic conception of human beings in the forest roaming carefree and happy and, on the other, the need for people to live in human society. A clue to how this seeming dilemma can be resolved can be found in Rousseau’s other writings, especially his autobiographical work Confessions which he wrote while

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also writing his Second Discourse. In his Confessions, Rousseau gives an account of a trip to Saint-Germain in 1753. Whilst there he would take a walk in the forest: All the rest of the day wandering in the forest, I sought for and found there the image of the primitive ages of which I boldly traced the history. I confounded the pitiful lies of men; I dared to unveil their nature; to follow the progress of time, and the things by which it has been disfigured; and comparing the man of art with the natural man, to show them, in their pretended improvement, the real source of all their misery. My mind, elevated by these contemplations, ascended to the Divinity, and thence, seeing my fellow creatures follow in the blind track of their prejudices that of their errors and misfortunes, I cried out to them, in a feeble voice, which they could not hear: “Madmen! Know that all your evils proceed from yourselves!” (Rousseau 2005)

Upon his return to Paris, Rousseau would from then on take regular walks in a wooded park on the margins of the city: The manner of living in Paris amidst people of pretensions was so little to my liking; the cabals of men of letters, their little candor in their writings, and the air of importance they gave themselves in the world, were so odious to me; I found so little mildness, openness of heart and frankness in the intercourse even of my friends; that, disgusted with this life of tumult, I began ardently to wish to reside in the country, and not perceiving that my occupation permitted me to do it, I went to pass there all the time I had to spare. For several months I went after dinner to walk alone in the Bois de Boulogne, meditating on subjects for future works, and not returning until evening. (Rousseau 2005)

Why are these insights so significant? Previous to Rousseau’s own Confessions, the two greatest autobiographical works were undoubtedly St. Augustine’s Confessions and St Teresa of Avila’s Life of Herself. What both these works have in common is their focus on the religious experiences of the authors. Whilst this cannot be said on the whole for Rousseau’s autobiography, these references to walks in the woods ­certainly suggest a quasi-religious experience with such ­references as “ascended to the Divinity”; but these forests that Rousseau speaks of are not the wild, savage places that Rousseau envisions in his Second Discourse. Here we do not have a human being in savage form, seeking food and fending off other creatures. Rather we have a leisurely walk in well-groomed forests and municipal parks! However, in his wanderings he “sought for and found there the image of the primitive ages of which I boldly traced the history”; that is, he ­established a natural affinity between the forest of his Confessions and the primeval forests of his Second Discourse. Rather than calling for a return to Savage Man, Rousseau finds succour, indeed much more than this, spiritual enlightenment, in walking amongst the trees of his contemporary world: …in the forest’s recesses the solitary wanderer wanders through the recesses of time itself. The forest of Saint-Germain becomes, quite literally, the phenomenon of origins. (Harrison 1992, p 121)

In this sense, the forest or municipal park is not a place of utilité publique but mankind’s spiritual home. The forest is to be neither feared nor managed but,

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rather, to be a place for detachment from social ills, a communion with our nature and, therefore, good for our health and happiness. A return to the primeval forest is neither desirable nor possible, given Rousseau’s own hypothetical conception of this natural world. It is not possible to return to this natural state because we are talking of a prehistoric time: The faculties and characteristics that were not present in the pure state of nature but that, rather, were acquired over the many centuries that have elapsed since the close of that epoch are not natural. Among these acquired and therefore unnatural phenomena are nearly all the distinctive marks of humanity, including reason, language, sociality, self-consciousness, love, shame, envy, pride, vanity, and virtue. The wholly natural man, the inhabitant of the pure state of nature, was a veritable brute. (Cooper 1999, p 39)

3.3 Nietzsche and the Sacredness of Nature For Rousseau the forest is not a state in which to return, but a place for guidance; as providing an understanding of what it is to be human. This form of spiritual guidance is also moral: how are we to lead the good life? The forest as a place for communion with our human origins as well as providing moral guidance is a theme recurrent in the work of another philosopher and critic of the Enlightenment, the German Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900). Like Rousseau, Nietzsche is quite prepared to present a hypothetical history rather than a factual one. In the first essay of Untimely Meditations (1873), for example, Nietzsche is critical of the Hegelian David Strauss for writing a deconstructive Life of Jesus in 1835–1836. History, as Nietzsche points out in his second Untimely Meditation, is not to be understood as events in the past, but rather as representations of the past. Whilst history of the right sort is essential for life, history of the wrong sort kills life. By “life”, Nietzsche means the growth of a people, a community, a culture. The mistake Strauss made, Nietzsche argues, was to write the wrong kind of history, to deconstruct a monumental figure. Strauss, by attempting to present an objective, scientific history, kills history and kills religion by presenting it as false, crude, irrational and absurd. Life, for Nietzsche, is only possible if we have illusion; religion is only alive if we have illusion.

3.3.1 Nietzsche’s Criticism of Modernity If we are looking for recurrent themes in Nietzsche, then undoubtedly a key theme is his criticism of modernity, of the way we are now. This criticism rests upon two key features of modernity. Firstly, we have lost what he calls our “metaphysical solace” when faced with the certainty of death (Nietzsche 1999, section 23). Secondly, we have killed myth. In this sense, Nietzsche does not comes across at all as a postmodern existentialist, but more of a traditionalist calling out for traditional, indeed, ancient values. Nietzsche says that the modern man is a myth-less man; when, for

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example, we go to the theatre we can no longer experience the miracle which, for children, is a matter of course (Nietzsche 1999, section 23). We have lost the magic – in particular of art – because we have become critical-historical and deconstructive. History as it now serves in the world of modernity atomises. Historical events are merely historical facts, a vast encyclopaedia or, in more modern terms, a Wikipedia. Modernity lacks culture, it is a “fairground motley”, a “chaotic jumble” of confused and different styles (Nietzsche 1997, p 6). In Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Zarathustra both loves and scorns the town known as “Motley Cow” because its citizens are cow (herd-) like and yet live in a chaotic jumble of different lifestyles. This is reminiscent of Plato’s criticism of democracy; lots of bright colours but nothing solid. Culture, therefore, represents a unity of the people, a Volk. What is wrong with modernism, with post-modernism? Why should being critical be seen in such a destructive light? Nietzsche argues that presenting us with a smorgasbord of lifestyle options that have no evaluative ranking of them produces a mood of confusion and cynicism. Rather than taking part in life we become spectators. The figure of the prophet Zarathustra is really Nietzsche. Like Rousseau, Nietzsche shunned the city and sought solace amongst the mountains and the woods. It is during Nietzsche’s own solitary walks that we encounter his religiosity. It is here that he finds communion with human beings’ true nature. An interesting experience occurred whilst Nietzsche was staying at Sils-Maria in the Upper Engadine mountains of Switzerland, which Nietzsche himself described: I shall now tell the story of Zarathustra. The basic conception of the work, the idea of eternal recurrence, the highest formula of affirmation that can possibly be attained – belong to the August of the year 1881: it was jotted down on a piece of paper with the inscription: ‘6,000 feet beyond man and time’. I was that day walking through the woods beside the lake of Silvaplana; I stopped beside a mighty pyramidal block of stone which reared itself up not far from Surlei. Then this idea came to me. (Nietzsche 1997, p 99)

3.3.2 Nietzsche’s “Religious” Experience This idea of eternal recurrence is described in a way that suggests an almost religious experience that Nietzsche had. For example, Alistair Kee pinpoints Nietzsche’s religiosity in his musings on the nature of “inspiration” (Kee 1999, p 118–123). He quotes a passage from Ecce Homo, which is worth quoting in full here: If one had the slightest residue of superstition left in one, one would hardly be able to set aside the idea that one is merely incarnation, merely mouthpiece, merely medium of overwhelming forces. The concept of revelation, in the sense that something suddenly, with unspeakable certainty and subtlety, becomes visible, audible, simply describes the fact. One hears, one does not seek; one takes, one does not ask who gives; a thought flashes up like lightning, with necessity, unfalteringly formed – I have never had any choice. An ecstasy whose tremendous tension sometimes discharges itself in a flood of tears, while one’s steps now involuntarily rush along, now involuntarily lag; a complete being outside oneself with the distinct consciousness of a multitude of subtle shudders and trickling down

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This “inspiration” is not conceived of in terms of ideas that Nietzsche himself invented, but rather it comes across as a mystical feeling “of power, of divinity” which is reminiscent of Rousseau’s reference to ascending “to the Divinity” during his solitary sojourn in the forest of Saint-Germain. When Nietzsche talks of his “conception” of Zarathustra he says, “It was on these two walks that the whole of the first Zarathustra came to me, above all Zarathustra himself, as a type: more accurately, he stole up on me…” (Nietzsche 1979, p 101). Nietzsche described this experience in a letter to his friend Peter Gast written in August 1881. He described his elation and his tears; “Not sentimental tears, mind you, but tears of joy, to the accompaniment of which I sang and talked nonsense, filled with a new vision far superior to that of other men.”5 In explaining the ­experience, Kee pre-empts one possible criticism: The description of the rock, “a mighty pyramidal block of stone which reared itself up”, suggests that Nietzsche had what would now be described, following Rudolf Otto, as a “numinous” experience. It sounds like a mystical experience in the sense of seeing into the heart of reality. There have been those who have “explained” the experience as the first symptoms of Nietzsche’s final illness. How convenient! How reductionist! And does that mean that we should discount all of his works written after Daybreak? (Kee 1999, p 121).

This leads Kee to conclude that “The significance of the incident at Surlei is that the idea of the eternal recurrence came to Nietzsche as a religious or metaphysical revelation, not as a scientific hypothesis” (Kee 1999, p 122). The character of Zarathustra tells us much about Nietzsche and his attitude to nature. Zarathustra spent ten years in the wilderness, a life of solitude apart from the company of wild beasts. However, solitude is not considered to be the natural state, but a necessary precondition, hence Zarathustra’s going down to the people below and his teaching of the Superman: The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The Superman shall be the meaning of the earth! I entreat you, my brothers, remain true to the earth, and do not believe those who speak to you of superterrestrial hopes! They are poisoners, whether they know it or not. (Nietzsche 1961, p 42)

Nietzsche is a prime example of a product of the post-Christian era, yet also a critic of Cartesian Enlightenment ideals. Nietzsche’s case against Christianity follows in the footsteps of Feuerbach in arguing that human beings fail to recognise the real forces of nature at work by proposing a supernatural scheme. It’s Christianity’s rejection of nature, its perception of the natural appetites as sinful, that Nietzsche particularly scorns. Nietzsche is not against religion as such. In fact, you could say that he is more religious than most of his contemporaries. In The Gay Science, when From Sils-Maria, 14th August, 1881, cited in Klossowski (1985).

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Nietzsche recounts the tale of the madman who appears in the marketplace at noon and cries, “God is dead”, he is mocked by the crowd for they consider themselves too modern to be concerned with the existence of God. But the so-called madman is a deeply spiritual individual – not unlike Nietzsche himself – who considers religion to be of vital importance. The people of the town, the products of modernity, place their faith instead in science, in Enlightenment Cartesian rationalism. But this faith in science is, for Nietzsche, just as bad if not worse than religious faith, for now there is nothing at all to believe in, not even human dignity. Nietzsche does not reject religion, but hopes for a renewal of spirituality through an appreciation of the sacredness of nature. The Christian view of nature as evil, of the forest as a place of darkness, is seen by Nietzsche as the reason why human beings have become divorced from their own nature; their passions and appetites. It is Christianity’s repudiation of nature, particularly but not exclusively human nature, that Nietzsche attacks. Contact with nature puts us in touch with our natural appetites, our instincts. One of the most unfortunate legacies of the Christian approach to nature, of its physicophobia, is that we have become dis-integrated, atomised beings. “When will we complete our de-deification of nature? When may we begin to “naturalise” humanity in terms of a pure, newly discovered, newly redeemed nature?” (Nietzsche 1974, p 169). We need, therefore, to re-examine our inner lives and get back in touch with nature if we are to avoid seeing our natures as sinful. Christian physicophobia is expressed through sins that are seen as deadly: pride, envy, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, and anger. Yet Nietzsche sees these as all expressions of our natural instincts and, as such, we should develop techniques for developing self-control in the expression of these urges, rather than the suppression or attempted obliteration of them. To attempt to destroy one’s instincts is to destroy oneself and, by vilifying these essential urges that underlie our physical and mental health we become dissatisfied with ourselves, even hate ourselves. We then are driven to take revenge on ourselves and the world because of what we see as our own inadequacies. Whereas Augustin Berque looks to Japanese religious beliefs for physicophily, Nietzsche looks to the ancient Greeks, in particular to the god Dionysus. Also known as Bacchus, he is the patron deity of agriculture and the theatre, and is the Liberator (eleutherios) who, for Nietzsche, symbolises the fundamental and unrestrained force of music and intoxication over the Apollonian, or, indeed, Cartesian, emphasis on form and order. The Athenians’ worship of Dionysus is a recognition of the importance of the wild, passionate, and instinctive side of nature. Euripides’ The Bacchantes describes Dionysus as a wild, luxurious god with flowing locks who dresses and looks effeminate. The women who worship Dionysus, known as the Bacchants or Maenads, leave their husbands and children to honour the wine god during festivals by frolicking in the forests. The most common stories of Dionysus say that he was reared by nymphs in the mountains and forests. Nietzsche sees Dionysus as the opposite, also, of Pauline Christianity, of its physicophobia that finds the human body objectionable and full of sin. By contrast, Dionysus rejoices in nature, warts and all. As Nietzsche says in his autobiography, Ecce Homo, “Have I been understood? Dionysus versus the

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Crucified” (Nietzsche 1979, IV 9). Dionysus, like Christ, was a suffering god, for he was torn to shreds by the Titans, but suffering only takes place because we fail to acknowledge that we are part of a whole, whereas the Pauline Christ celebrates the individual soul at the expense of the physical. When Zarathustra says, “I counsel the innocence of the senses”, he preaches delighting in experiences in all natural things, rather than feeling an inadequate when confronted by it. It is not just Christianity that Nietzsche criticises for this attitude to nature, but it is the scientific materialism that replaces it that makes the world of nature lose its enchantment.

3.4 Conclusion Rousseau and Nietzsche provide us with two examples, and there are many more, of philosophers who have confronted the symptoms of modernity and presented a cure. What they had to say in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is as relevant today, as mankind continues with its hubristic enterprise of “conquering” nature by destroying it and making it a thing that has utility. The forests are more than just things to be used; they have a wonder and enchantment of their own. Poetry, awe, and wonder deserve a place in the modern world, and this need not imply ignorance.

References Berque A (1986) Le sauvage et l’artifice -Les japonais devant la nature. Editions Gallimard, Paris Cooper LD (1999) Rousseau, nature, and the problem of the goof life. Pennsylvania State University Press, Pennsylvania Biro A (2005) Denaturalizing ecological politics: alienation from nature from Rousseau to the Frankfurt school and beyond. University of Toronto Press, Toronto Descartes R (1968) Discourse on method. Penguin, London Garrard G (2003) Rousseau’s counter-enlightenment: a republican critique of the philosophers. SUNY, Albany Harrison R (1992) Forests: the shadow of civilization. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago Hobbes T (1981) Leviathan. Penguin, London Kee A (1999) Nietzsche against the crucified. SCM, London Klossowski P (1985) Nietzsche’s experience of the eternal return. In: Allison DB (ed) The new Nietzsche: contemporary styles of interpretation. MIT, Cambridge Nietzsche F (1961) Thus spoke Xarathustra. Penguin, London Nietzsche F (1974) The gay science. Vintage Books, New York Nietzsche F (1997) Untimely meditations, 2nd edn. CUP, Cambridge Nietzsche F (1979) Ecce homo. Penguin, London Nietzsche F (1999) The birth of tragedy. CUP, Cambridge Rousseau J-J (2004) Discourse on the origin of inequality. Dover Publications, New York Rousseau J-J (2005) The confessions of J. J. Rousseau. Penguin, London Solomon R (1988) Continental philosophy since 1750. OUP, Oxford, p 16

Part II

Chapter 4

Royal Forests – Hunting and Other Forest Use in Medieval England Della Hooke

Forests have always been an important resource for hunting and livestock in human culture, along with the use of timber and wood for fuel, building material and, later on, for industrial production. However, the use of forests as game reserves, typically for the Royal court, is first known in Europe after Roman times. Under Roman law, game had been regarded as res nullius, belonging to whoever killed it, regardless of where or on whose land it had been killed. Royal forests had been introduced into the Frankish kingdoms of continental Europe by the seventh century, thus limiting the idea of game as res nullius, and Anglo-Saxon kings were ever ready to follow suit. Hunting had become a pastime of the king and nobility in England certainly by the ninth century. It was, however, the Norman kings, after the conquest of England by William I (the Conqueror), who extended forest law and reserved game for the king and his followers.

4.1 Forests as Game Reserves “Forest” is derived from Old French forest, an adaptation of medieval Latin foresta/-is “land outside the area open to common easement”, with royal forest hunting-ground reserved to the king (Niermeyer 1976). It was in use in this sense by at least the seventh century. The adverb forus meant “out/side”, perhaps implying “land outside the manor”, the “outside” wood (but interpreted by the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) as land outside enclosure, i.e. “not fenced in” (OED 1979) (compare Chap. 12). It was, however, the Normans who introduced their own version of forest law into England. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle claims that immediately after the conquest of 1066, William I (the Conqueror). set up great game-reserves (dēorfrið ‘beast-woodlands’) and he laid down laws for them, that whosoever killed hart or hind he was to be blinded. He forbade [hunting] the harts, so also the boars; D. Hooke (*) University of Birmingham, 91 Oakfield Road, Selly Park, B29 7HL Birmingham, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_4, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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D. Hooke He loved the stags so very much, As if he were their father; Also he decreed for the hares that they might go free. His powerful men lamented it, and the wretched men complained of it But he was so severe that he did not care about the enmity of all of them; But they must wholly follow the king’s will (Peterborough Manuscript E 1086[1087]: Swanton 1996, p 221)

Thus began centuries of conflict.

4.1.1 The Location of Forests The earliest Norman forests are recorded in Domesday Book, the survey of lands and landowners compiled by William I (the Conqueror) soon after the conquest of 1066 (Williams and Martin 1992). This source also claims that Edward (who reigned 1042–1066) had granted three of his thegns exemption from tax for “guarding the forest” attached to Moorcroft, English Bicknor and Mitcheldean in the Forest of Dean before the conquest, seemingly implying that Dean had already been recognised as a forest, as had Kintbury in southern Berkshire (Darby 1977, p 195; DBk: fos 167 V, 61 V). His huntsmen had also previously held certain estates in areas that later became the forests of Chippenham, Savernake and Clarendon (VCH Wiltshire IV, 1959, p 392) and his “foresters” estates in what was to become the forests of Exmoor (Withypool in Somerset), Windsor (Woking in Surrey), on the edge of Wychwood, and Bampton in Oxfordshire (D Bk: fos 30, 98b, 154 V). However, while this may indicate some continuity of land use, it does not imply the prior existence of the stringent law and exclusivity that was put in place by the Norman kings. Worcestershire and Hampshire have the greatest number of references to forest in Domesday Book, although this record is not necessarily a comprehensive one (Darby 1977, p 195–207, Fig.  65) (Fig.  4.1). These were also the most heavily wooded counties of central and southern England, with woodland covering approximately 40% of their area (Rackham 1996). In Hampshire, only the south-eastern section of the county remained outside the various forests, and in Worcestershire only the north-western part of the county and the Vale of Evesham. These areas were not necessarily open intensively cultivated regions. In western Worcestershire, Weorgorena leah had been a woodland region in the hands of the powerful Church of Worcester, and the Hampshire Meon area was likewise largely in the hands of the Church. Forest law was never established over the south-eastern Weald, perhaps because again of ecclesiastical ownership by the powerful abbeys of Canterbury and Rochester. It is significant that many Norman forests in southern and central England were established where there was already a concentration of haga features – areas already noted for hunting (Hooke 1998a) – and the forests were generally located in areas of unfavourable terrain. By the twelfth century, the Norman kings had, however, greatly extended the area under forest law across the length and breadth of England, covering approximately

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Fig. 4.1  Forests and hays recorded in Domesday Book and later (based upon Cantor 1982 and Darby 1977)

one-fifth of the country. Predominantly moorland regions such as Exmoor, Dartmoor and the High Peak were now also confirmed as royal forests (Cantor 1982, p 60, Fig. 3.1; Cantor 1987, p 100) (Fig. 4.1). Although all forest areas had incorporated settlements and fields, they now took in far more heavily settled areas with widespread cultivation, including many areas bounding the forest cores where deer might seek food, extending forest law far beyond their own demesnes. Another related feature in Domesday Book is the haia (Fig. 4.1). These are found in vast numbers in the Welsh borderland extending from Cheshire south-wards

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into western Gloucestershire (Darby 1977, p 197, Fig. 65). These were sometimes described as enclosures for the capture of game, but may have varied enormously in size from simple temporary enclosures to “fixed” hays, sometimes several in one vill. At Hanley Castle in Worcestershire, an Anglo-Saxon haga bounded a manor with a Domesday haia; a medieval castle was to be built here beside the River Severn in the thirteenth century as the centre of the forest administration, suggesting a link not only between the haga and haia but also the later deer-park. However, “hay” was often later also used to describe an administrative division of a forest, and its meaning may have varied over time. By medieval times, especially during the reign of Henry I, the forests had been greatly expanded. Although the Hampshire forests were probably still the most ­extensive, Essex, too, had a vast area under forest law, largely on the clay soils of the southern part of the county. Other extensive forests were found in the Huntingdonshire-Northamptonshire region and NW Lancashire. The bounds of the forests were ­constantly fluctuating under baronial pressure, and by the fourteenth century, only remnants of the forests – usually the ancient forest cores – survived (Cantor 1982, p 60, 68, Figs. 3.1 and 3.4). The Forests of Hampshire, Pickering in east Yorkshire, Sherwood in Nottinghamshire and Inglewood in Cumberland stand out on Cantor’s maps. Only the Forest of the High Peak, “part of the patrimony of the Anglo-Saxon kings” (VCH Derbyshire I, 1905, p 397), appears to have remained anything like constant in its boundaries. Some forests passed in and out of royal ownership. The forests of the Welsh borderland, reserved to the Marcher lords, might be classed as forests, but usually when a forest passed into private hands it became classified as a chase.

4.1.2 Forest Rights and Administration Forests were administered by groups of officials whose duty it was to preserve the vert (the timber trees) and the game, notably the venison. At the head of administration of each royal forest was the warden or keeper overseeing other officers or ­foresters, with, below them, woodwards responsible for looking after the timber and the fallen wood (incidentally guarding the venison); below these were the unpaid officers: the verderers, regarders and agisters who by the thirteenth century were usually elected from among the knights of a county and had the duty of enforcing the system locally. Jurisdiction was carried out through a hierarchy of forest courts ranging from local attachment and swanimote courts and special Inquisitions to the great Forest Eyres, the supreme forest court that was held irregularly depending upon political circumstances (West 1964; Grant 1991, pp 35–71). Local offences included offences of waste, assart and purpresture – the felling of large trees, the removal of trees for cultivation and encroachment of any sort on the forest covert, respectively. Both the latter usually entailed illegal enclosure of land, often by the construction of a hedge and ditch around the parcel.

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Hunting in the forest was reserved for the king or those of his nobles to whom such rights had been granted. It was assuredly an aristocratic privilege. In spite of the threatened penalties for poaching, however, many attempted to illegally take game. Those presented at court were often members of the local landed gentry or even churchmen. In the Worcestershire forest of Feckenham, the Venison Rolls for the late thirteenth century show that offenders came from a wide cross-section of society but were predominantly local men. Many were country landowners of some standing, or their household servants and retainers, others from the lesser gentry, the prosperous peasantry or the Church – whether abbots or priors, monks or parish priests (West 1964, pp 95–108). This hunting in small groups or even in bands of a dozen or more was done, presumably, for pleasure and sport, but occasionally illegal hunting took place on a grand scale that may have been motivated by political aims, like a deliberate show of contempt towards the Crown in the High Peak of Derbyshire in the mid-thirteenth century (VCH Derbyshire I, 1905, p 405). There were others, however, from the lower ranks of the peasantry, ordinary freemen and villeins of the forest vills, some entirely without goods or chattels, who were genuinely seeking food. It is estimated that these formed a quarter or less of those accused (or were stealthier hunters, often using snares and traps rather than dogs). Some of these claimed to have merely “stumbled upon” a wounded deer in the forest or in their own fields; if hunting, they were usually alone or in pairs. Women were often presented for having received a stolen carcase or for having acted as accessories to their menfolk. In the Peak Forest, the poor were rarely punished. In Feckenham, there was also a surprising discrepancy between the numbers accused and those recorded as punished: in 1270 West (1964, pp 99–100) records that of 258 accused, 220 “did not come” when first called to court, and of the 82 of these who came later only 54 were fined and 28 remained in prison. Thus, only one-third of known offenders were brought to justice. Fines, too, varied according to the status of the accused; from an average half a mark for the ordinary peasant to as much as £1–50 marks for richer individuals, while paupers were often pardoned. Even if offenders against the vert were not always apprehended, and fines for assarting became increasingly seen as a form of rent collection rather than seeing this as a practice to be totally forbidden, the imposition of forest law did go towards protecting and even regenerating woodland in medieval England. Illegal clearance for cultivation or the establishment of habitations was readily fined, even if not actually banned. Alongside the granting of actual licences to assart, it provided the treasury with a source of income and also must have discouraged heedless clearance to some degree. The depredations of industry were also noted: it was claimed in 1270 that the Gloucestershire Forest of Dean was suffering from the removal of wood by charcoal burners and itinerant forgers, and pitprops were later being taken elsewhere as supports in coal mines (VCH Gloucestershire II, 1907, pp 268–269). The woodland, as in any private woodland, was managed, primarily providing timber for repairing castles and houses, fitting ships and making weapons for the army. It might be coppiced for charcoal

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and heating fuel: in medieval times royal forges were working iron in Dean and lead smelting was being carried out in the forest of the High Peak, the ore burnt on open-air hearths called boles, both requiring the kind of wood produced by coppicing. Other industries carried out in forests in the medieval period tended to be small scale, usually satisfying local demand and often seasonally carried out. Glassmakers, potters and lime-burners used wood and bracken for fuel, dyers wood ashes to dye their cloth, and rope-makers required bark (Birrell 1980). Management was often as coppice with standards (frequently oak), providing both timber and pole wood.

4.2 Medieval Hunting 4.2.1 Anglo-Saxon Hunting and Game Reserves The concept of forests as royal game reserves was established by Frankish kings within their kingdom at an early date. One early example occurs in a charter of Sigbert in AD 634–656 in the Ardennes region that clearly states that royal game was to be preserved in royal forests ([MGH, Capitularia, i. 86, Capitulare de Villis, c 36:] Gilbert 1979). The date at which this concept was introduced into England remains uncertain for it does not figure in Anglo-Saxon law until the eleventh century, in the (unreliable) laws of Cnut, which state that every man was free to hunt on his own land but not on royal reserves (Robertson 1925). There can, however, be little doubt about the Anglo-Saxon kings’ interest in hunting: Asser tells how King Alfred excelled in the art of hunting (Stevenson 1904) and Edward is said to have indulged in the sports of hunting and hawking every day after his devotions (William of Malmesbury: De gestis regum Anglorum 1.271). The pre-Conquest charter evidence for England provides evidence of hunting rights being granted as an appurtenance of some estates, usually in wooded regions, from the mid-eighth century, sometimes noted merely as uenationibus “hunting”, sometimes as uenationibus aucupationibus “hunting and fowling”, but such rights are much more rarely specified than those in fields, woods, pastures, etc. (Hooke 1989, 1998b, pp 154–160). The kings’ interest in hunting is also shown in three ninth-century Mercian charters which freed estates at Pangbourne in Berkshire, Upper Stratford in Warwickshire (a less reliable document), and Blockley in Gloucestershire: the first of these freed a pastu principum ‫ך‬a difficultate illa quot nos Saxonice dicimus festigmen nec hominess illuc mittant qui osceptros uel falcones portant aut canes aut cabellos ducunt ‘from the entertainment of ealdormen and from the burden which we call in Saxon fæstingmen; neither are to be sent there men who bear hawks or falcons, or lead dogs or horses’ (Sawyer 1968, S 1271; Birch 1885–99, B 443; trans. Whitelock 1955)

There is other evidence in charters for the location of game reserves – references to enclosures termed hagan on the boundaries of certain estates, usually those

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i­nitially under royal ownership. The term implies enclosure and protection and, as such, the word was also used to refer to defended enclosures within the newly defended burhs. In Europe, it was applied to defended settlements and enclosures, but its application to woodland enclosures, perhaps in the sense of “private enclosure”, is already apparent at an early date. By the tenth century, such enclosures formed part of the boundaries of, among others, the forests of Bramforst and Zunderhart (Metz 1954), invariably indicating a substantial boundary feature (Hooke 1981). Nineteenth-century German dictionaries note the term as meaning “the enclosure of a wood in which game is preserved” (Heyne 1877). The deer, especially, could have been enticed into such enclosures which may have offered protection to the does and fawns and ensured a supply of animals for hunting, the gates being closed off as necessary. The term is not uncommon in the charters of Anglo-Saxon England. At Tisted in Hampshire the bounds ran along the haga to the “old deer gate” (S 488, B 786) and other such gates are frequently mentioned. One feature in Longdon, Worcestershire, was described as a “wolf haga” (S 786, B 1282; Hooke 1990, pp 199–203), as if to keep out these predatory animals, and several others were associated with swine (e.g. South Hams, Devon: S 298, B 451; Pendock, Worcestershire: S 1314, B 1208; Hooke 1994; Hooke 1990, pp 264–268) (Fig. 4.2); others were termed “boundary” hagan. Many were clearly associated with woods and þone boc hagan of Meon, Hampshire (S 283, B 377), was clearly associated with beech-trees. Such enclosures may have been bounded by substantial wood banks, and the þone hwitan hagan “the white haga” along the southern boundary of Faccombe Netherton in Hampshire (S 689, B 1080) can still be identified today as a bank whitened by the flints in the surface soil. To the east, a haga ran for over 4 km along the boundary between of Crux Easton (an estate held by a huntsman in Domesday Book, with a later deer-park) and St Mary Bourne, often represented today by a clearly defined, if abraded, bank and ditch. Other woodbanks, similar to those noted in northern Hampshire, and described as hagan in charter-bounds, can still be identified along the boundaries of several southern Berkshire estates (Hooke 1989, 1998b, p 155, Fig. 52a). As haga also refers to the “haw” of the hawthorn, a hedge may have formed part of the feature, although a dead hedge of gathered thorns may have been more of an obstacle than one of living shrubs: the haganheies of Hatherton in Staffordshire (S 1380; Hooke 1983) may have been just such a hedge, but the haga invariably indicated a strong and well-marked boundary feature. The term shows marked concentrations only in woodland regions. In medieval times, deer-parks were sometimes licensed on the same sites as earlier hagan, as at Hanley Castle in the Worcestershire Forest of Malvern/Corse and probably at Grimley some kilometres to the north within Weogorena leah before the tenth century (S 1370, B 1139; Hooke 1990, pp 286–288). However, the bequest of a derhage at Ongar in Essex by Thurstan in the eleventh century may be the earliest specific mention of the haga as an actual deer-park (Thorpe 1865). On royal estates, too, it was the duty of the geneat to deorhege heawan “cut deerfences” (Liebermann 1903).

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Fig.  4.2  Pre-Conquest haga features in the area of Malvern Forest, Worcestershire (from Hooke 1989)

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4.2.2 Medieval Hunting Methods By medieval times, hunting had acquired a role that combined function with ideology. Queen Mary’s Psalter, which gives a reliable picture of English hunting c. 1,300 illustrates three techniques: • hunting on horseback with hounds, the trail initially picked up by a small hound • hunting “with bows and stable”, i.e. by means of stands where huntsmen waited with cross-bows or long-bows, the game being driven from cover by mounted beaters accompanied by a few hounds • the use of artificial hedges termed “hays” set up with nets or snares concealed in openings in the hedges, towards which the quarry would be driven by the hounds. Undoubtedly the first of these was regarded as the highest kind of sport. The skills need in the chase fostered those needed for the defence of the realm, and hunting developed a complicated iconography and symbolism. Huntsmen also continued to use hawks, especially the native peregrine falcon and the goshawk (Cummins 1988). Sources such as the Livre de Chasse by Gaston de Foix (Gaston Phoebus 1387–89), who ruled over two principalities in southern France and northern Spain in the fourteenth century, illustrate the animals of the hunt: deer, including the reindeer, ibex and roe buck, wild goat, hare and rabbit, wild boar, bear, wolf, fox, badger, wildcat and otter (C14: 1998; Bise 1984). The main beasts of the English forest were the red deer, the fallow deer, to a lesser extent the roe deer (all termed “venison”), and the wild boar. The fallow deer was re-introduced by the Normans, as it was suitable for keeping within restricted reserves (Fairbrother 1984). The hart (the mature male red deer) was the favourite animal to hunt although it could be very dangerous, especially during the rut (Baillie-Grohman and Baillie-Grohman 1909, pp 23–25). Being less strong, the chase of hinds was considered an inferior sport to that of the hart. Roebuck made good hunting all year, but the females should be left until after they had reared their kids. The wild boar was a desirable but dangerous target, able to slay a man “with one stroke as with a knife” (ibid., p 46). It was common in England in medieval times (now present again, from escaped stock, in some regions), and wolves survived in Scotland until about 1600. Foxes and hares were taken, but rabbits at first were carefully reared in warrens for their meat and fur. Wildfowl also continued to be taken, often with falcons (Abeele 1994). Deer were not only a source of sport. The venison was a major food in royal households, especially at banquets, but far more were taken in order to be used for royal gift or reward. It is interesting to note that while continental sources such as that of Gaston Phoebus detail hunting methods, English writings of the period appear to be more concerned with the rules for maintaining the etiquette of the hunt. These ensured that hunting remained the preserve of the elite (Rooney 1993).

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4.2.3 Hunting Iconography in Medieval Literature Hunting symbolism began to play a strong role in literature at an early date, but this was to be greatly embellished in medieval literature. It appears in Irish, Welsh and English literary sources. In Celtic Welsh mythology, in a late eleventhcentury tale contained in The Mabinogian, Pwyll, the prince of Dyfed, was out hunting in a place called Glyn Cuch when he suddenly found himself in the otherworldy realm of Annwn, the Celtic Hades. Here he came across a pack of snowwhite hounds (with red ears) running down a stag. He drove them off in favour of his own pack, but was confronted by Arawn, the grey-clad lord of Annwn, who perhaps symbolised the lord of winter. Apparently, the white hounds had been his, and he asked Pwyll as recompense to exchange places with him for a year. This Pwyll agreed to, and at the end of the year he won the annual dual with one Hafgan, whose name means “Summer Song”. This tale appears in the “Four Branches”, the oldest tales in the Mabinogian, rooted in pre-Christian Celtic mythology (Jones and Jones 1949). Hunting reappears as a theme again in the later tale of Gereint and Enid when Arthur and his retinue seek out the white hart sighted in the Forest of Dean. This tale recounts how the hunting stations were apportioned and the dogs loosed, the last of them Cafall, Arthur’s favourite dog, and how Arthur then cut off the head of the deer. White harts are relatively rare and have unsurprisingly attracted attention in both legendary and historical accounts of deer hunting. In the tale of Gawain and the Green Knight (Barron 1998), strongly influenced by French sources which were at their peak in the middle of the twelfth century, and overlaid with Arthurian imagery, hunting and forests again play a major role. Gawain was to visit the castle of Sir Bertilak in a northern Peakland forest before seeking out the green chapel where he would make amends for slaying the Green Knight at Camelot. He found the castle in “a forest that was wonderfully wild” where he was invited to stay and to take part in a number of hunting forays, each described in some detail (the curée, the “unmaking” or “breaking” of the beast, is described as in contemporary accounts: Baillie-Grohman and BaillieGrohman 1909, pp 174–180; Danielsson 1977), and the prey included both deer, wild boar and fox. Eventually, Gawain had to seek out the green chapel, which may have been a natural ravine near the Staffordshire/Cheshire border not far from The Roaches, where his fate would be decided. Hunting in some form actually appears in several saints’ lives. Baring-Gould (1872) recounts the legend, once inscribed beneath the cloister windows of Peterborough, recording the conversion of the unbaptised sons of King Wulfhere, Wulfade and Rufine, by St Chad. It was said to be a hart pursued by Wulfade that fled to St Chad for protection, “with quivering limbs and panting breath” it “leaped into the cooling stream” while Chad was praying by a fountain near his cell. He placed a rope around its neck and hid the hart beneath boughs of greenery. Upon the arrival of Wulfade the saint told him how this foreshadowed his own baptism: “As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so

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panteth my soul after thee, O God” (Psalm 42). Wulfade replied that he might believe this if the hart should reappear – at which point it burst from the thicket, convincing Wulfade and leading him to accept baptism. The procedure was repeated by his brother Rufine who likewise followed the hart to Chad and accepted the faith. Many other saints are accredited with safeguarding hunted animals: among the best known, St Giles, who was said to have been wounded by an arrow while protecting a hind being chased by the king near Nimes in the seventh century. Throughout many of the medieval legends runs the thread of the “wild hunt”, part of the mythology encountered in the Mabinogian story and in Sir Gawain. This is first recorded in the Peterborough Chronicle as early as the twelfth century (1127). In this tradition, a group of demonic huntsmen are accompanied by phantom hounds: Ða huntes wæron swarte and micele and ladlice, and here hundes ealle swarte and bradegede and ladlice, and hi ridone on swarte hors and on swarte bucces: ‘The huntsmen were black and huge and loathsome, and they rode on black horses and black he-goats, and their hounds were all black and broad-eyed and loathsome’ (Peterborough Chronicle 1127: Bennett and Smithers 1968)

Such demonic huntsmen accompanied by phantom hounds would be heard g­ alloping across the sky by night, either in pursuit of dead sinners or as the damned souls themselves, but they were always an omen of disaster – to hear them predicted plague, death or other calamity (Simpson and Roud 2000). This legend may owe much to the legends associated with Odin, brought to England by the Scandinavians. Space does not permit a thorough review of the literature and this section ends with a poem recorded in the late sixteenth century but much older, expressing the joyous side of hunting and forests: In summer time, when leaves grow greene, And blossoms bedecke the tree, King Edward wolde a hunting ryde, Some pastime for to see. With hawke and hounde he made him bowne, With horne, and eke with bowe; To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye, With all his lords a rowe (Percy 1996)

4.3 The Use of Other Forest Resources If forests prevented the common man from catching game, they did normally ensure the continuation of an ancient and essential tradition: the use of woodlands for seasonal pasture. Forest law protected the forest, but the commoners’ herds kept

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the woods open enough, by grazing, for the pursuit of game. Cattle, horses, even sheep, might be “agisted” or pastured in the woods, but it was pigs that were the main kind of domestic stock, taken, especially, to gorge upon acorns and beechmast at the end of the summer. The way that they rooted up the soil actually helped tree regeneration. Anglo-Saxon law protected timber trees, but specifically noted the value of woods for the support of swine: Gif mon þonne aceorfe an treow, þæt mæge XXX swina undergestandan, ‫ך‬wyrð undierne, geselle LX scill. If, however, anyone cuts down a tree that can shelter 30 swine, and it becomes known, he shall pay 60 shillings. (Ine, c.44: Attenborough 1922)

4.3.1 Forest Pasture Swine were so important that in some circuits of Domesday Book woodland was assessed by how many pigs it could support. Wood-pasture was often referred to as silva pastilis and this probably constituted the greater part of the Domesday woodland. In place-names, such woodland is likely to have been indicated by the common place-name lēah: the Weald was known as Andredesleah, a region that was said to extend 120 miles from east to west and 30 miles from north to south (AngloSaxon Chronicle 893: Swanton 1996, pp 84–85; Hooke 2008). Wooded areas were often linked in some regions to intensively cultivated zones by series of parallel roads and tracks, suggesting that the animals were actually driven considerable distances to their seasonal pastures (Everitt 1986; Hooke 1985). The early charter evidence shows this most clearly in the Kentish Weald. Here the woods, with their seasonal dens, may have been in common ownership within folk regions before being allotted to particular estates (Hooke 2011). The Anglo-Saxon Tiberius Calendar (BL BV) depicts, under the month of July, swine being taken into a wood by two men (Fig. 4.3). Some have queried whether the men, with spear, horn and dogs, might not have been huntsmen, but it was common practice in the Oxfordshire forest of Wychwood to carry a horn to summon the pigs, who had been trained at its call to return to their night-time sty for food (Kibble 1928). Again, in the Anglo-Saxon estate memoranda, it was the duty of the forester to “drive his herd to the mast-pasture” (Liebermann 1903). The practices of utilising wood-pasture within the forests can be reconstructed in considerable detail from medieval forest accounts. Under Norman forest law the owners of swine paid pannage dues for “agisting” or pasturing their swine in the forests while herbage dues covered the pasturing of horses and cattle, especially in the king’s parks and hays. In the Oxfordshire forest of Wychwood, such rights were enjoyed by the surrounding vills, a right even upheld in the nineteenth century when some woods had become privately owned. Sheep, cattle, horses and pigs were pastured, but goats were forbidden in later times, presumably because of the destruction they might cause (Schumer 1984).

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Fig.  4.3  Scene from the Cotton Tiberius Calendar for September (redrawn from the British Library manuscript)

4.3.2 Other Forest Products In Wychwood, in common with other forests, wood could usually be taken by surrounding vills in return for a payment made to the forester. This usually consisted of dead wood, although the tenants of one vill, Hordley, who were responsible for maintaining a bridge over the River Glyme, were also entitled to take timber (fully grown trees) for that specific purpose (Schumer 1984, p 41). In other forests, the gathering of nuts or honey by the foresters might be permitted. Studs for horses and vaccaries for cattle were also maintained in many forests, also making use of seasonal wood-pasture (temporary booths were set up for the herdsmen in the northern forests), while sheep were kept in the Derbyshire Peak for their milk as well as for their wool and meat. Some of the forest officers made a steady income from the dues they collected for pannage and common of pasture, forestage (the taking of wood, bracken, grass, reeds and heath from the forest) or chimenage, a toll exacted for passage through a forest from those not living there. These might be rendered as a money payment or in kind – like the wheat, goose and hen due from every house every year, given in return for permission to take housebote (wood for repair and building of houses) or paling for their corn and for collecting dead wood for fuel taken by the forester of fee of Wakefield in Northamptonshire in the reign of Henry III (Grant 1991, p 115). With such a lucrative source of income, fines were readily given out for offences – like allowing dogs to go unlawed. Many religious houses also enjoyed specific privileges, generally allowing them timber for building purposes, the collection of dead wood and undergrowth for fuel and, of course, grazing rights. The collection of leaves for fodder was an important right enjoyed by commoners – holly, elm, twigs, gorse and broom all provided fodder when grass was scarce or covered with snow. The northern forests, in particular, such as the south Pennines and the High Furness in Lancashire, provided such resources.

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4.4 The Decline of the Forests Forest law was universally hated because of the penalties and restrictions it imposed upon those who lived in a forest, and even the commoners’ privileges became seen as dependent on the king’s grace rather than an unquestioned right, requiring payments in the form of money, produce or labour, sometimes claimed as extortionate (Grant 1991). Once the forests had been extended, during the reign of Henry II, this became too much, and when his successors required funds for the Crusades, barons and knights took the opportunity to enforce a degree of disafforestation and the granting of rights and concessions. Opposition to the forest system increased in the mid-thirteenth century and, although Edward I attempted to enforce forest law with greater severity, new bounds were agreed in 1299 that effectively pushed most of the forests back to their original cores. Although in some areas this was not final, forest underwent decline after 1377 with the weakness of the Crown, and subsequent Tudor and Stuart kings were unable to reinstate the earlier situation in spite of their ambitions. By this time, the royal forests were not seen so much as hunting preserves, but as sources of timber, especially for ship-building. Several surveys were instituted which attempted to assess the timber remaining, and enquiries were made into the loss of land by assarting and through the felling of timber (Cantor 1987, pp 100– 107), but by this time the character of the forest as a hunting preserve had weakened beyond recovery. The importance of the collection of income from the remaining forests (through both licences and amercements) increased as their hunting role diminished. Growing populations and a demand for land led to many forests being cleared and ultimately disafforested (i.e. they were released from forest law) in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Ironically, it was the demands of developing industry that helped to preserve some of the forest woodlands, when charcoal was needed for the growing iron industry. Prodigious amounts of wood were needed to fuel the charcoal-fired furnaces that had replaced bloomeries by the seventeenth century, especially in the forests of Dean and Wyre, and new woods were being planted for coppicing in Coalbrookdale, on the bounds of the old forests of Shirlett and Wrekin (Hooke 1999). Some other forests or former forests, like Needwood in Staffordshire, survived until the period of agricultural improvers in the late eighteenth/early nineteenth century. Some, indeed, escaped the pressures of “agricultural improvement”, and Cannock Chase, an area of poor infertile soils in the same county, remained a region of heathland and trees until it succumbed to the new plantations of conifers established by the newly founded Forestry Commission after the First World War. Few forests, however, survive in anything resembling their former state although the moorland forests, by their very nature, have changed little. Of the former wooded forests much less remains. Dean and Wyre are still wooded, but again much of the area of each has been planted with conifers, and most consist of nothing more than scattered woods and plantations on private land (such as Hatfield – now owned by the National Trust – and Wychwood); Epping is but another fragment, like Hatfield, of the once extensive forests of Essex. The New Forest in Hampshire (Figs.  4.4 and 4.5) perhaps preserves the early forest character more

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Fig. 4.4  Scene in the New Forest, Hampshire (photo: D. Hooke)

Fig.  4.5  Ponies in the New Forest, Hampshire, helping to maintain a wood-pasture landscape (photo: D. Hooke)

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than most: its wood-pasture habitat has been kept open by the grazing of hundreds of forest ponies, together with more limited numbers of cattle and pigs, and it ­preserves the mosaic of open woods, veteran trees, grassy lawns and open heaths that would have been found in a medieval woodland forest.

4.5 Hunting in Post-medieval Times Reduction of the area under forest continued from late medieval times, and the ­forest became less of a hunting reserve than a source of timber. Of those forests remaining, most were to be disafforested under the Enclosure Acts of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and especially under the final Enclosure Act of 1857. Only a few retained anything like their medieval aspect, as in the New Forest of Hampshire, a wood-pasture habitat indeed. Here, the woods and commons still ­provide pasture for domestic stock, especially ponies. Hunting itself did not die – it was to continue in the rural countryside. The English love of hunting as a sport was perpetuated among the landed gentry in the rural countryside, many of them newcomers to such a position, but anxious to absorb all that accompanied such a role. Indeed, the archaic property qualifications that gave the right to hunt were not abolished until 1831. “Hunts” were set up across the country, a few like the Bilsdale in Yorkshire as early as the sixteenth century, but increased in popularity in the eighteenth century, especially in the “shire” counties of the east midlands where large estates still existed. Again, these hunts had their own rules of etiquette and costume. By this time, the normal quarry was the fox, formerly regarded as mere ­“vermin”, but now the only prey left in much of England for hunting on horseback with hounds; deer hunting was confined to certain parts of the country such as Somerset (hares were also taken by various methods). Deer stalking was to gain a new prominence, however, in Scotland. The shooting of deliberately raised birds – mainly partridges and pheasants – became an additional focus on Victorian landed estates, reared within the woods that had mostly by now passed into private ownership. New features appearing in the landscape included game coverts – patches of woodland, often of conifers, scattered across open ground to provide places in which game birds could be reared and also provide cover for fox earths etc. (some of which were deliberately constructed); from these beaters would force out the animals for the actual hunt. Huge house parties would gather at weekends, and many country houses were extended to allow for the visits of fellow gentle families and their numerous retainers. Riding across fields etc. obviously caused much social resentment, especially as commoners were still being heavily fined or transported for poaching. The First World War brought about major social change: the deference of the master-servant relationship was destroyed, and increasing taxes led to the breakup of large estates and the destruction of many country houses (Hooke 2006). Today (since 2004), the hunting of animals with hounds is no longer legally permitted in England.

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On the Continent, hunting often remains a normal part of rural life, and specialist huntsmen remain part of the rural community. Greater areas of woodland and heathland survive in many countries, and pressure upon the land has often been less intensive than in England. The wild animals of the chase have also survived, and there have been controversial attempts to reintroduce others, such as bears and wolves, into some countries where they had become extinct (wolves in Sweden, for instance, or bears in Poland). It is still possible in some regions to imagine what the medieval hunting forest would have looked like, and the memories – or the realities – of the hunting culture have not been entirely erased by modern progress.

4.6 Conclusion As the early forests were lost, and as timber production became the main asset, new plantations began to be made on country estates, with rapidly growing softwoods replacing much of the earlier hardwoods. Such planting gained new momentum once the Forestry Commission had been founded in 1919, after the First World War, with swathes of conifers blanketing hillsides and valleys, aimed at meeting timber needs for the foreseeable future. The role of forests as hunting areas had long since gone, and deer were not conducive to the preservation of timber. Today, the word “forest” has quite lost its early legal meaning and conveys, rather, the image of an extensive area of land covered with trees. Plantations are usually under special management, often in the care of the Forestry Commission, private landowners or local district councils, managed primarily for timber but also often offering facilities for recreation. They do, however, continue to provide valuable habitats for wildlife.

Relevant Manuscripts Cotton Tiberius Calendar, British Library, London, BV, part 1 Livre de la Chasse, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, MS. fr. 616 (Gaston Phoebus, 1387–89: see facsimile edition 1998) Master of Game, British Library, London, Cotton MS. Vespasian B. XII (c. 1420) Peterborough Chronicle, Bodleian Library, Oxford, Laud Misc. 636 (C12) ­(published version below: Bennett and Smithers 1968) Queen Mary’s Psalter, British Library, London, MS. 2B VII (early C14)

References Attenborough FL (1922) The laws of the earliest English kings. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 50–51 Baillie-Grohman WA, Baillie-Grohman F (eds) (1909) The master of game: the oldest English book on hunting, 2nd edn. Chatto and Windus, London

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Baring-Gould, Revd S (1872) Lives of the saints, vol 3. John Hodges, London, pp 33–35 Barron WR (ed and trans) (1998) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 2nd edn. Manchester University Press, Manchester Bennett AW, Smithers GV (eds) (1968) Early Middle English verse and prose. Clarendon, Oxford, 204 Birch W, De Gray (1885–1899) Cartularium saxonicum. Whiting & Co, London Birrell JR (1980) The medieval English forest. J Forest Hist 24(2):78–85 Bise G (1984) The hunting book by Gaston Phoebus, trans: Tallon JB. Regent Books, London Cantor L (1982) Forests, chases, parks and warrens. In: Cantor L (ed) The English medieval landscape. Croom Helm, London Cantor L (1987) The changing English countryside 1400–1700. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London Cummins J (1988) The hound and the hawk. St Martin’s, New York, pp 187–194 Danielsson B (1977) William Twiti, The art of hunting. Stockholm studies in English XXXVII. Almqvuist and Wiksell International, Stockholm, pp 17–20 Darby HC (1977) Domesday England. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Derbyshire VCH I (1905) The Victoria History of the county of Derby, Vol I. In: Page W (ed), Constable & Co, London Everitt A (1986) Continuity and colonization: the evolution of Kentish settlement. Leicester University Press, Leicester Fairbrother JR (1984) Faccombe Netherton. Archaeological and historical research I. City of London Society, London Gilbert JM (1979) Hunting and hunting reserves in medieval Scotland. John Donald, Edinburgh, pp 10–11 Gloucestershire VCH II (1907) The Victoria History of the county of Gloucestershire, Vol II. In: Page W (ed), Constable & Co, London Grant R (1991) The royal forests of England. Alan Sutton, Stroud Heyne M (ed) (1877) Deutsches Wörterbuch von Jacob Grimm und Wilhelm Grimm. Vierten Bandes, zweite Abteilung. S Hirzel, Leipzig, p 151 Hooke D (1981) Anglo-Saxon landscapes of the West Midlands: the charter evidence, Br Archaeol Rep, British series 95. British Archaeological Report, Oxford, pp 234–235 Hooke D (1983) The landscape of Anglo-Saxon Staffordshire: the charter evidence. Department of Adult Education, the University of Keele, Keele, Staffs: 78–82, fig 2vi Hooke D (1985) The Anglo-Saxon landscape. The kingdom of the Hwicce. Manchester University Press, Manchester, pp 75–93 Hooke D (1989) Pre-conquest woodland: its distribution and usage. Agric Hist Rev 38:113–129 Hooke D (1990) Worcestershire Anglo-Saxon charter-bounds. Boydell, Woodbridge Hooke D (1994) Pre-conquest charter-bounds of Devon and Cornwall. Boydell, Woodbridge, pp 105–112 Hooke D (1998a) Medieval forests and parks in southern and central England. In: Watkins C (ed) European woods and forests. Studies in cultural history. CAB International, New York, pp 19–32 Hooke D (1998b) The landscape of Anglo-Saxon England. Leicester University Press, London Hooke D (1999) The role of the historical geographer today. Norsk Geogr Tidsskr 53(2):61–70 Hooke D (2006) England’s landscape. The West Midlands: English Heritage. HarperCollins, London, pp 145–149 Hooke D (2008) Early medieval woodland and the place-name term leah. In: Padel OJ, Parsons DN (eds) A commodity of good names. Essays in honour of Margaret Gelling. Saun Tyas, Donington, pp 365–376 Hooke D (2011) The woodland landscape of early medieval England. In: Higham NJ, Ryan, MJ (eds) Place-names, language and the Anglo-Saxon landscape. Boydell, Woodbridge, pp 143–176 Jones G, Jones T (eds) (1949) The Mabinogion. Dent, London Kibble J (1928, repr. 1999) Wychwood Forest and its border places. Wychwood, Charlbury: 10

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Liebermann F (1903) Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, Vol I. Max Niemeyer, Halle, pp 444–455 Metz W (1954) Das ‘gehagio regis’ der Langobarden und die deutschen Hagenortsnamen. Beitrage zur Namenforschung in Verbindung mit Ernst Dickenmann, herausgegeben von Hans Krahe, Band 5. Carl Winter, Heidelberg, pp 39–51 MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica. i. 86, Captula de Villis, c 36 Niermeyer JF (1976) Mediae latinitatis Lexica minus. EJ Brill, Leiden, pp 443–444 OED (ed) (1979) The compact edition of the Oxford English dictionary, vol 1. Book Club Associates, London, p 442 Percy T (1996) Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vil. Ii. Routledge, London, p 76 Phoebus Gaston (1387–89) Livre de la chasse. Facsimile edition: The hunting book of Gaston Pebus, with comment and trans by Thomas M, Avril F, Schlag W (1998). Harvey Miller, London. Rackham O (1996) Trees and woodland in the British landscape, revised edition. Phoenix, London, pp 50–51 Robertson AJ (ed and trans) (1925) The laws of the kings of England to Henry I. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 215, c.80 Rooney A (1993) Hunting in medieval English literature. Boydell, Woodbridge, pp 8–11, 18–20 Sawyer PH (1968) Anglo-Saxon charters: an annotated list and bibliography. Royal Historical Society, London Schumer B (1984) The evolution of Wychwood to 1400: pioneers, frontiers and forests. Department Engl Local Hist Occas Pap No 6. Leicester University Press, Leicester, pp 41–44 Simpson J, Roud S (eds) (2000) A dictionary of English folklore. Oxford University Press, Oxford, p 390 Stevenson WH (ed) (1904) De rebus gestis Aelfredi: Asser’s life of King Alfred. Clarendon, Oxford, p 20, 59: De rebus gestis Aelfredi c.22, 76 Swanton M (ed and trans) (1996) The Anglo-Saxon chronicle. Dent, London Thorpe B (1865) Diplomatarium Anglicum AEvi Saxonici. Macmilland and Co., London, p 574 von den Abeele B (1994) La fauconnerie au moyen age: connaissance, affaitage et medicine des oiseaux de chasse. Klincksieck, Paris West J (1964) The forest offenders of medieval Worcestershire. Folk Life 2:80–115 Whitelock D (1955) English historical documents, I, c. 500–1042. Eyre and Spottiswoode, London, p 5 William of Malmebury (c. 1090–1143) (1964) De gestis regum, edited from manuscripts by William Stubbs, Kraus repr. Millwood, NY 271 Williams A, Martin GH (eds) (1992) Domesday book. A complete translation (Alecto Historical Editions). Penguin, London Wiltshire VCH IV (1959) The Victoria History of the county of Wiltshire, Vol IV. In: Crittall E (ed), Constable & Co, London

Chapter 5

Forests as Commons – Changing Traditions and Governance in Europe Christopher Short

Forests and commons have had a close relationship in Europe for at least a ­millennium and maybe much longer. As shown in the other chapters of this book, the relationship between humans and forests and forest landscapes is ­complex and involves many inter-related factors. Similarly, commons are also complex institutions and exist across the world in a wide range of situations regarding locally developed governance and management systems of many different natural resources. For many people commons remain associated with Hardin’s theory concerning the “Tragedy of the Commons” (1968), in which he assumed that local users of a natural resource are unable to formulate governance and management structures concerning their own choices that took into account the long-term sustainability of the resource itself. As a result, Hardin articulated that the tragedy was that the resource would inevitably become degraded in such situations and that the solution was private or public ownership. However, across Europe many forests have for a very long period of time successfully been managed as commons, just as they have in many other parts of the world. As a result, this chapter has three main aims; first, it will provide an introduction to the various types of commons before going on to link the issue of commons to the traditional forests and forest landscapes of Europe. Thirdly, it will look at how the role of forests and forest landscapes has changed and how it may change further in the future.

5.1 Introduction to the Commons Within the commons debate there is much discussion, and confusion, associated with terms such as common-pool resource or a common-property resource. Unhelpfully, within the literature both might be abbreviated and referred to as a “CPR”, C. Short (*) Countryside and Community Research Institute, University of Gloucestershire, Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Langlevens Gloucester, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_5, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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but there is a clear distinction between them. According to Edwards and Steins (1998) and Ostrom (1990 and 2005) the key characteristics of a common-pool resource are that an area is used by multiple-users or user groups, and that when one user exercises their use they in affect subtract benefits from another user. Finally, within a common-pool resource it is difficult to exclude users, often as there is no user rights attached to a specific group, a characteristic that is best described as a “free for all”. Such areas are not commons, and Hardin was really referring to an “open access” regime and not commons as his title suggests. Commons are almost always associated with common property where there are identifiable rights. Steins and Edwards (1999) suggest that by terming a resource as a “property” there is a series of benefits to which rights can be associated. Property rights is used as a term to refer to the social institutions, that may have evolved over centuries, that are attached to the resource as specific user groups govern and manage the benefits arising from it. Thus, across Europe there are many examples of common property resource where the rights to the resource are generally shared according to prescribed regulations (legislation as well as local custom and practice) and are exclusive to a well-defined set of people (the rights­ holders) that ensure the exclusion of other potential beneficiaries (Dolšak and Ostrom 2003; Short 2008). In these situations, the rightsholders operate largely as a club as well as the institutions and, according to McKean (1992), the associated rules developed to manage the resource equate to a “club good”. As this chapter will reveal the land itself may be in public or private ownership, but such land can still be a common through the presence of rights associated with products or benefits arising from that land. In the case of forests and forest landscapes, the benefit that would have arisen from these areas would have most universally been timber, either for construction or as fuel. However, there is considerable variation across Europe with communities, farmers and foresters each revealing their own traditions and customs in the way they use and govern forests and forest landscapes. For example, these include leaf litter as household bedding, the use of resin in the slaughter of pigs and mosses and lichens in traditional medicine. Not in all of these cases will these uses be reinforced by rights, creating a further lay of investigation into the division of rights from that of customary usage. In many cases this cannot be verified with any certainty, but there are examples in the UK and Europe where rights appear to be been recognized or granted as part of wider discussions between local communities and land owners or government representatives. A more recent development in forests and forest landscapes that is reflected in the commons is a more complex picture where different types of uses, both extractive as in the case of timber and non-extractive as in the case of landscape, are associated with different user groups and are managed under a mixture of property rights regimes. These developments result in presence of complex or multiple use commons that challenge previous traditions and customs and require new institutional frameworks to function. This has largely been the result of two centuries of change in which Europe has experienced dramatic social, economic and technological change, most especially during the Industrial Revolution.

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5.2 History of Forests as Commons in Europe The changes experienced throughout Europe as a result of the Industrial Revolution have a major impact on the social, economic and technological structure of this continent and as a result seriously challenged the governance and management of commons as well as their existence. Before that time forests, with extensive areas of woodland within them, would have extended over most of Europe both North and South. Within these forests there would have been areas of cultivation and habitation alongside open pasture and smaller areas of enclosure, as well as areas cleared by wind or disease (Green 2010). Therefore, as Vera (2000) confirms, it is not true to say that there would have been a natural closed canopy of trees extending across Europe. The decline of commons, especially in northwest Europe, has been well documented (see De Moor et al. 2002; Bravo and De Moor 2008) and only small pockets remain, with the most extensive mostly in mountainous regions. However, forests, along with other resources such as pasture, irrigation systems and other forms of agriculture, remain and are ­governed and managed by user groups or community-based institutions. This chapter is therefore set within a wider context that has promoted forestry as socially, economically and environmentally more important that the production of timber alone. The “Forestry Principles” agreed by UNCED during the Earth Summit in Rio in 1992 included social, economic, ecological, cultural and spiritual values. Furthermore, much of European policy has been to sustain forests intergenerationally. Thus, while multiple use of forests is not new the notion of forests as commons with high levels of tradition, custom and practice remain a challenging notion to the Industrial Revolution’s preferred approach to natural resources of privatisation and commodification, and in the case of forests, clearance for other uses, mainly agriculture.

5.2.1 Northwestern Europe and the Alps Within Europe, the Alps form a distinct social, environmental and economic area, and it is in areas such as this that commons have survived. Merlo (1995) notes that from as early as the Middle Ages written rules were “laid down to regulate the social and economic life of village community members” with common forests, as well as pasture, at the heart of the communities in these alpine areas. The variety of uses and rights in this area provide us with a snapshot of what it may have been like across a much wider landscape and the level of attachment communities are likely to have had with the surrounding forests. For example, oral history work by Gimmi and Bürgi (2007) in the Swiss Alps revealed that members of mountain communities used larch needles for livestock bedding, filled mattress with beech leaves, cut the bark on coniferous trees to access the resin that, when added to hot water, prevented knifes from becoming blunt when taking the bristles of slaughtered pigs, and used mosses and lichens in traditional medicine and a wide variety of fruits and berries for food. Similarly, Andersson et al. (2005) found evidence of tree marking and the use of the inner bark of Scots Pine as food in areas of northern Sweden.

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The social and economic changes associated by the Industrial Revolution have resulted in modern state structures and economic development that, according to Merlo (1995), meant that only 5%, some 200,000  ha, of Italy’s alpine forests remains. This is partly because in these locations a combination of factors, ­including strong economic base, well-rooted ethical and cultural values as well as good fortune, were able to resist the more main stream economic changes. Nevertheless, these remnants of communal forests have, to some extent, shown themselves to be effective in and adaptable to various stages of socio-economic development. Merlo (1995) reports that up until 1700, the financial returns from communal forests were largely from sales of timber and that these were pooled to support the village community through education, water supply and health care. Some areas even became independent from feudal landlords on the basis of the wealth accumulated as a result. However, with the Industrial Revolution and the consequential establishment of modern states with a more centralized approach to governance meant that communal structures were broken up and divided between public or central ownership and private property. Bürgi and Stuber (2010) report that while these areas are visually similar from an aerial point of view, the loss of the diverse management within the Swiss Alps outlined above is having a much heavier impact on the biodiversity of these areas. In addition, since the various practices appear to have a strong regional diversity, for example only one area used larch needles for bedding, it is likely that the local ecology also varies. Gerber et al. (2008) report on the role of common pool resource institutions in the implementation of Swiss natural resource management policy. They too recognize that in a different part of the Alps the twentieth century witnessed the establishment of the “concept of exclusive property rights” and the implementation of wide spread “public policies”. They compare the impact of these changes to that of the enclosure movement in England, with the associated disappearance of not just the areas themselves, but the legal definition of “common” or “collective property”. The result being that the Federal Swiss Civil Code of 1912 incorporates only a few examples of common or collective property (Gerber et al. 2008). They go on to note that the result of this individualization of resource units was greater heterogeneity in management practices which proved difficult to management in terms of issues such as biodiversity, landscape and hydrological management, an issue that will be picked up in the next section. The response of the Swiss is in line with the majority of NW Europe with the introduction of a standardized approach but with pockets of continued collective management within the remnants of previously wider forest landscapes.

5.2.2 Southern Europe Southern Europe responded in a slightly different way to the Industrial Revolution, when compared to the northwestern parts of Europe described thus far. Reporting on the situation in Northern Spain, Lana Berasain (2008) uses the example of

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Navarre on the western border with France, where 44% of the land remains communal property, largely as a result of the arrangements with the Spanish government concerning autonomy in the Basque region. He summarizes the changes in commons in a similar way to previous commentators with the gradual unpicking of the communal structures throughout the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as the “rationalist and individualistic discourse of Enlightenment took hold” and dismantled communal property across Europe and Latin America. However, he notes that in Spain some upheld the collective approach as a positive thing with social benefits. These social benefits are now being recognized as fundamental in the maintenance of a managed forest landscape that includes areas of open pasture in reducing the risk of landscape-scale high intensity fires that would cause major damage to the ecosystem and nearby communities. Brouwer (1995) cites the example of Portugal where the commons, locally called baldios, were taken under state control in the mid 1930s, but returned to community under legislation passed in 1976 following the leftist military coup in 1974. Lana Berasain (2008) suggests that while commons were ubiquitous across all of Europe from the Middle Ages onwards, there were very different models for assigning rights to the resource, developing governance structures and the relationship with external powers. In supporting this notion, Lana Berasain cites the work of De Moor (2002), Sundberg (2002) and Winchester (2002). Even within his Naverre case study he finds two broad models of communal land tenure that developed from different environmental and social conditions. The first is a “closed community linked to agricultural production” and the second “an open community with less restrictive access rights” with neither system designed to “repair injustices but to maintain a balance” within a fragile society (Lana Berasain 2008). In his detailed analysis of the changes during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries he concludes that commons persisted because of the social link to the community. However, while the division of resources and associated rights during the pre-industrial period was very unequal following the structural changes commons became synonymous with the poor and equitable use. The current situation in Spain outside the Basque area, where the highest concentration of commons are to be found, is broadly similar with two types of commons present in mountainous areas such as those within the Castilla y León region which includes the mountain range of the Cordillera Cantabrica. The commons within this area are seen as “public” lands and fall into two categories, those which are close to and the responsibility of the local community and those higher areas that are the responsibility of the municipality.

5.2.3 United Kingdom A similar conclusion is reached when reviewing the literature surrounding the commons the United Kingdom. However, some historians, such as Neeson (1996) suggest that commons were of far greater significance to social relations and

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production in eighteenth-century England than has been recognized by many historians and that this challenges the acceptance by many agrarian historians of the dominance of agrarian capitalism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Short and Winter (1999) go on to suggest that as feudal relics, commons were, of course, concerned with production but were hardly productivist in the capitalist sense and would therefore be more accurately described as a “constrained productivism”. Productivism was the issue at the heart of the debate over enclosures. However, this was constrained by the commons system itself, because the use of commons was surrounded by conditions and a plurality of rights and rights holders which together seriously held back the release of maximum productive potential of the common land. That they survived at all reinforces the view that the links to the social and cultural structures of the community remained stronger than the forces of change. Edwards and Steins (1998) provide an interesting case study of the New Forest in southern England, an area of some 38,000 ha that was given its name by William the Conquer or in 1079 when he designated it a Royal Forest with the wild animals protected for his hunting (compare Chap. 4). Ownership has remained part of the Crown estate ever since meaning that it is in public ownership, but the majority of this land remains subject to common rights. These rights are spread among around 1,500 people who live within a defined area and relate to the taking of the products of the land, such as timber and turf for fuel and rights for grazing. The latter rights remain crucial to the management of the area, and around 200 commoners still turn out cattle and horses. Before bringing the discussion up-to-date, it is worth considering the impact of the forest and forest landscape on both individuals and communities. This has at least two dimensions: first through the close spatial proximity of the forest landscape to the community, and second the level of dependence from the individuals within the community on the natural resources provided by the forest. Other chapters discuss the spiritual and cultural aspects associated with forests. However, it is worth considering here the imprinting of a repeated mundane task conducted regularly over months, years and passed down through generations. The embedding within both the individual and community becomes an attachment to the land. In this sense, the ­forest, life and knowledge were intertwined and this led to a well developed local ecology. It is important to bear this in mind when the chapter moves towards the present day, as Wylie (2007) in his book on landscape suggests the specific detail of each place, its current configuration as well as its past and the unique arrangements, relationships and events that have shaped it need to be understood and considered. Nevertheless, the New Forest, like some of the other examples outlined in this section, also reflects a more recent change that will be discussed in the final two sections of this chapter. This change concerns the move from single natural resource-based commons to complex commons through the addition of new functions such as public recreation (the area has a population of over ten million within 1 h drive), nature conservation (much of the New Forest has international designations for wetlands and lowland heath), landscape (the area has recently been designated as a National Park) and heritage (a result of millennium of human activity). All of these functions now sit alongside the traditional function of “living off ” the products provided by the open and forested areas of the New Forest.

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The second area to be discussed in the final two sections concerns the shift across Europe from “government” towards “governance”, something that is as true of forestry as other land based industries. Governance is a term that has been deployed with increasing frequency in recent times to describe “the development of governing styles in which boundaries between and within public and private sectors has become blurred” (Stoker 1998, p 17). In addition to this blurring of boundaries, Stoker identifies the significance of autonomous self-governing networks of actors and government playing a role of steering and guiding as well as, or in addition to, legislative provision. Thus, the term is of particular relevance for commons where custom and practice is so important. Moreover, governance has much to do with breaking with hierarchical centralism through incorporating multiple stakeholders (Healey 1998), a central issue in the management and planning of commons and forests and forest landscapes.

5.3 How the Role and Use of Forests is Changing By returning to Merlo’s (1995) work on the northern Italian Alps it is possible to highlight the change in forestry that has occurred over the past 20–30 years. Merlo found that sustainable communal forestry had four main elements to it: Income from the production of timber and other forest products Water management and soil protection Environmental and landscape enhancement Recreation and tourism (adapted from Merlo 1995, p 5)

This list reflects a number of common factors across much of Europe; issues of rural depopulation in isolated regions, or re-population in less isolated areas but by people who are less involved in land-based industries (timber and agriculture), due to growing mechanization and better paid work in urban areas. As a result, forests are no longer part of the ordinary life of the local community in terms of everyday products and income. Instead, there is the emergence of new functions (as a recreational space) and new concerns (about the environment) which indicates that forests are increasingly complex with a range of objectives associated with decisionmaking. Therefore, there is an increased opportunity for competing objectives. It also reveals that forests and forest landscapes are no longer areas of maximizing timber output (often called the “productivist approach”), but now have a clear “post-productivist” strategy that incorporates a range of public or non-market benefits as well as traditional products such as timber and other forest products. This reflects the UNCED “Forestry Principles” and much European sustainable forestry policy. Mather et al. (2006) reviewed the post-productivist literature and concluded that this fits forestry far better than agriculture. In the previous section, work by Short and Winter (1999) highlighted the “constrained productivism” of commons and it is this that lies at the heart of their current interest. Constrained productivism is precisely what is required by many other users of forests and commons, offering

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an example not only of multiple land use but also as an arena for the articulation of non-productivist demands on the countryside. The role and significance of the non-market benefits of forestry has been the focus of a number of reviews in the UK and Europe (Willis et al. 2000, 2003; Slee et al. 2004). Like Merlo’s work in northern Italy and Edwards and Steins study of the New Forest, the studies identify a range of other activities connected with forests and forest landscapes: • • • • • • • •

Recreation Landscape Biodiversity Carbon sequestration Walter quality Pollution absorption Preservation of archaeological artifacts Health and social wellbeing

Contained within this list is the central recognition that forests and forest landscapes can impact on rural communities economically, socially and environmentally and the impacts in all three categories can be positive or negative. This is revealed very concisely by Slee et  al. (2004) who identify four main values that would be applicable across Europe. These are: • • • •

Forestry values “Shadow” values Non-market values Social values

Forestry values are the benefits or disadvantages arising from all forest activity including upstream and downstream economic linkages. Shadow values emerge from the influence of the forest or forest landscape over locational decisions made by businesses and individuals. Non-market values would include informal recreation, biodiversity, landscape and carbon sequestration. Social values comprise the value of these areas to local communities in terms of identity and a “shared sense of belonging”. This inclusion of social or human values has been noted by O’Brien (2003) who comments that “woodlands are appreciated for a wide range of benefits [by those that use them], the majority of which do not appear to be related to their economic use or necessarily to whether people use them frequently or now” (O’Brien 2003, p 50). A recent in-depth study of communities in England (Courtney et  al. 2007) revealed that forest managers were often keen to control forests in a way that was conducive to biodiversity and local access, however, they lived outside the local area; and this had an impact on active local engagement and empathy with the local community. In terms of forests and forest landscapes as commons, the move towards a wider interpretation of their value and purpose in social and environmental terms as well as economic is clearly advantageous to this chapter. Some of the specific roles, such as

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carbon sequestration and water quality, are directly linked to the management of global commons, something recognized by Dolšak and Ostrom (2003). The inclusion of social values as a valid element of forests and forest landscapes also has a relevance to commons as this has been termed the return to community or rural development forestry. Both terms are used to describe an approach where local people are meaningfully involved in the management of the forest and where they would benefit significantly from the resource itself. This is in part a return to the traditional forest commons before the Industrial Revolution and the centralization of policy and decision making. Equally important, it is a recognition that forests and forest landscapes are multifunctional areas that have to cover issues concerning production (of timber), protection (of water quality, landscape and carbon) and consumption (through amenity and recreation uses). This triangular approach has been used by Holmes (2006) to understand and interpret what he has most recently termed the “multi-functional countryside”. However, this overlooks the social aspect, particular of forest commons, where the human existence had been until relatively recently very close to the ecological. In this sense, it might be helpful to consider these as socio-ecological system (Olsson et al. 2004) or human ecosystems (Likens 1992). These recognise the impact of the performative activities over time to the extent that the nature and the social are combined and deeply connected. Both concepts centre around the suggestion of a paradigm shift in ecological thinking that recognises humans as part of the ecosystem and the need for participatory approaches to identify and integrate “traditional” human activities into conservation management. However, there remains a lack of willingness within central governments to develop policy and incentives that recognize the traditional governance and management structures on commons, forest or otherwise, or their value to a wide range of interests and communities (Short 2000). Nevertheless, there are opportunities that can be developed and incorporated as the next section will illustrate.

5.4 The Relationship Between People and Forest Commons Having revealed the significant change that has taken place regarding the use and understanding of what forests and forest landscapes are for, this final section will outline how the decision making and policy framework has begun to turn. In essence this is a shift in the basis of the relationship between the people of Europe and the forests and forest landscapes around them and suggests, at least in part, the return of forest commons as complex multi-functional sites. Edwards and Steins (1998) suggest further characteristics for complex commons, those that retain some element of the traditional long enduring common alongside less traditional activities. These include the recognition of several possible tensions, key relationships and subsequent points of discussion. A frequent tension is between the old structures, often developed for single-use commons, and those required for multiple-use decision-making. Moreover, the construction of a new multifunctional framework arising out of the traditional single-use system requires a dialogue to

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establish the scope of the required changes. As Libecap (1995) indicates, adjustment in commons is not likely to take place in a smooth or timely fashion when there are important differences between the bargaining parties. Due to the decline in the traditional function, timber production interests increasingly feel disempowered compared to other stakeholders. Edwards and Steins (1998) work in the New Forest notes that the newer interests are often more articulate and well resourced than traditional resource users. Libecap (1995) also comments that uncertainty about future regulatory policies provide additional problems within any discussions, something that applies to forestry across Europe. Critical within the commons literature is the relationship between central and local institutions and stakeholders. The most significant development in producing a management alternative to the centralized prescriptive approach has been the development of “adaptive management”. According to Berkes et  al. (2000), the main characteristics of adaptive management are the development of local-level regulations and a more accepting and influential role for traditional ecological knowledge (TEK). They outline adaptive management as being a system that might be characterized by: management through locally crafted rules enforced by users flexible resource use adjusted to suit resource at that time users who have accumulated ecological knowledge base livelihoods that are secure management adjusted to meet resource and ecosystem change (adapted from Berkes et al. 2000, p 160)

Central to this approach is the incorporation of different types of knowledge within the process, often balancing the formal, or scientific, alongside local, or lay, knowledge (Berkes 1989). For example, a current project in the Castilla y León of Spain is concerned with reducing the likelihood of large forest fires that would cause environmental alteration and land degradation because of the post-fire exposure of bare soil to rainfall. The project takes a multi-disciplinary approach and works with extensive livestock farmers who for generations used fire in traditional pasture management systems on commons to encourage pasture regeneration and control scrub encroachment. By promoting cultural change in pasture management systems on commons through, the support of pasture improvement (lime and fertilizers), adding value to the products from the area and encouraging collaboration between farmers to increase market share, alongside the banning of scrub burning, the project has succeeded in maintaining the current local governance structures. The intention of the work in the Swiss Alps is that key aspects of the traditional management might be maintained by farmers using the mountain slopes for summer grazing of cattle or others in mountain communities once the link between these customs and practices has been made to ecological need. This would necessitate the move of such previously ordinary everyday practices to become more symbolic. As suggested here the adaptive management approach moves away from centralized rules and regulations that are exclusively developed by technical experts and

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enforced by agents who have no connection with the resource being used. In such situations there is little scope for variability and opportunity as well as resilience and adaptation to circumstances (Berkes et al. 2000). Therefore, it is possible to see how the move towards rural development or community forestry incorporates the adaptive management approach. Clearly, the challenge for forestry and forest landscape management and research is the understanding and evaluation of what needs to change. Once again the principles of the commons literature is able to offer some helpful insights, notably the frameworks for complex multi-use commons developed by Edwards and Steins (1998) and the decision-making principles and rules of Ostrom (2005) based on numerous global case studies. The recognition that forests and forest landscapes are complex multi-sue sites will enable the decision-making mechanisms to adapt so that they are capable of regulating access and resource allocation with appropriate sanctions for non-compliance. The use of existing organizations can enable the cultural and traditional structures to continue. However, as Meinzen-Dick and Jackson (1996) indicate, “off-shoots of existing organizations tend to continue to reflect previous societal prejudices and may perpetuate inequality rather than providing a forum to meet the needs of a more diverse group”. The use of concepts such as co-management and the six step process outlined by Carlsson and Berkes (2005) provide a framework that would apply to forests and forest landscapes. The authors outline the need for an initial scoping of the area without predetermined ideas of how to adjust things to the benefit of a single ­interest. In the same way the GEMCONBIO research project (Simoncini et  al. 2008) sought to develop “policy guidelines on governance and ecosystem management for biodiversity conservation”. The project aimed to develop these guidelines using an ecosystem approach, an approach that emphasize the need for participation and arises out of the recent Millennium Ecosystem Assessment. GEMCONBIO concludes that biodiversity conservation needs to be determined from local economic and social characteristics as well as local, national and international ecological needs. The policy recommendations include the need to “recognise and respect customary institutions for natural resource management” and to “foster alliances between local, traditional institutions governing natural resources and the governmental agencies in charge of conservation”.

5.5 Conclusion Forest and forest landscape commons across Europe should no longer focus on the issue of declining traditional economic timber production functions, but on the effective inclusion of non-traditional functions that have increased both the economic significance as well as the environmental and social complexity of these areas. This chapter has shown that there is ample evidence regarding the significance of commons to these new forest functions. The traditional functions associated with forests and forest landscapes cannot be cast aside as these remain the most effective

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and sustainable means of management, as well as a crucial source of knowledge to the benefit of the other functions (Berkes et al. 2000). Further research is required to determine the role of national government and local management groups on these increasingly complex commons and if the variations across Europe. The opportunity for these commons to offer a range of natural (or ecosystem) services, such as water quality and carbon sequestration, should not be overlooked, further increasing both their value and complexity and making it vital that we understand the key design principles of successful approaches in terms of effective self-regulation, broad stakeholder engagement and policy development. In this regarding it is possible that two relatively new policy developments might be useful to those wishing to develop innovative and historically sensitive governance structures on forests and forest landscapes. The first is the introduction of the European Landscape Convention (ELC), agreed 10 years ago but being implemented on a voluntary basis across the member states. The guidelines for implementation outline the need to consider physical, functional, symbolic, cultural and historical functions (Council of Europe 2008). In a classic response, some member states, such as the UK, are using designations and policy frameworks that are several decades old to implement the ELC with the result that community involvement is not innovative and truly participatory. The second is the development and implementation across Europe of the Ecosystem Approach or Ecosystem Services (EASAC 2009). This framework arose out of the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment. It seeks to provide a rational framework that recognizes the range of natural services that ecosystems such as forests and forest landscapes offer in meeting the challenges of the twenty-first century. These two different frameworks provide an opportunity for the richness of tradition, custom and practice within forest communities to embed itself with other uses. Through using these two approaches there is also a stronger possibility of behavioural change both within the community and the other users on the one hand and policy makers on the other hand because of the knowledge exchange that occurs within process itself. This is important in terms of the multi-objective land management that occurs where there are a number of interests operating at the landscape scale. These discussions will embed the idea of forests as commons as well as the important of ecosystem services say within a river catchments or wider landscape.

References Andersson R, Östlund L, Törnlund E (2005) The last European Landscape to be colonised: a case study of land-use change in the far North of Sweden 1850–1930. Environ Hist 11(3):293–318 Berkes F (1989) Common property resources: ecology and community-based sustainable development. Belhaven Press, London Berkes F, Colding J, Folke C (2000) Rediscovery of traditional ecological knowledge as adaptive management. Ecol Appl 10(5):1251–1262 Bravo G, De Moor T (2008) The commons in Europe: from past to future. Int J Commun 2(2):155–161

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Brouwer R (1995) Baldios and common property resource management in Portugal Unasylva 180 FAO Corporate Document Repository. http://wwwfao.org//docrep/v3960e/v3960e07.htm. Accessed 6 July 2009 Bürgi M, Stuber M (2010) What, how and why? collecting traditional knowledge on forest uses in Switzerland. Landscape Archaeol Ecol End Tradition 8(September 2010):42–46 Carlsson L, Berkes F (2005) Co-management: concepts and methodological implications. J Environ Manage 75:65–76 Council of Europe (2008) Guidelines for the implementation of the European Landscape Convention. Committee of Ministers, Recommendation CM/Rec(2008) 3 Courtney P, Short C, Kambites C et al. (2007) The Social contribution of land-based industries to rural communities. Final report to the commission for rural communities. Countryside and Community Research Unit. Cheltenham De Moor M (2002) Common land and common rights in Flanders. In: De Moor M, Shaw-Taylor L, Warde P (eds) The management of common land in north-west Europe. Brepols, Turnhout De Moor M, Shaw-Taylor L, Warde P (eds) (2002) The management of common land in northwest Europe. Turnhout, Brepols Dolšak N, Ostrom E (eds) (2003) The commons in the new millennium: challenges and adaptation. The MIT Press, Cambridge Edwards V, Steins N (1998) Developing an analytical framework for multiple-use commons. J Theor Polit 10(3):347–383 European Academies Science Advisory Council (2009) Ecosystem services and biodiversity in Europe, EASAC policy report 09. The Royal Society, London Gerber J-D, Nahrath S, Reynard E, Thomi L (2008) The role of common pool resource institutions in the implementation of Swiss natural resource management policy. Int J Commun 2(2):222–247 Gimmi U, Bürgi M (2007) Using oral history and forest management plans to reconstruct traditional non-timber forest uses in the Swiss Rhone Valley (Valais). Environ Hist 13:211–246 Green T (2010) Natural origin of the commons: people, animals and invisible biodiversity. Landscape Archaeol Ecol End Tradition 8(September 2010):57–62 Healey P (1998) Collaborative planning in a stakeholder society. Town Plann Rev 69(1):1–21 Holmes J (2006) Impulses towards a multifunctional transition in rural Australia: gaps in the research agenda. J Rural Stud 22(2):142–160 Lana Berasain JM (2008) From equilibrium to equity. The survival of the commons in the Ebro Basin: Navarra from the 15th to the 20th centuries. Int J Commun 2(2):162–191 Libecap GD (1995) Conditions for successful collective action. In: Keohane RO, Ostrom E (eds) Local commons and global independence. Sage, London, pp 161–190 Likens G (1992) The ecosystem approach: its use and abuse. In: Kinne O (ed) Excellence in ecology, vol 3. Germany Ecology Institute, Oldendor Mather AS, Hill G, Nijnik M (2006) Post-productivism and rural land use: cul de sac of challenge for theorization? J Rural Stud 22(4):441–455 McKean M (1992) Success on the commons: a comparative examination of institutions for common property resource management. J Theor Polit 4(3):247–281 Meinzen-Dick R, Jackson LA (1996) Multiple uses, multiple users of water resources. Paper presented to 6th conference of the international association for the study of common property, Berkeley, CA, 5–9 June Merlo M (1995) Common property forest management in northern Italy: a historical and socioeconomic profile. Unasylva 180 FAO corporate document repository. http://wwwfao.org// docrep/v3960e/v3960e0a.htm. Accessed 26 June 2009 Neeson JM (1996) Commoners: common right, enclosure and social change in England 1700-1820. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge O’Brien EA (2003) Human values and their importance to the development of forestry policy in Britain: a literature review. Forestry 76:3–17 Olsson P, Folke C, Berkes F (2004) Adaptive co-management for building resilience in socioecological systems. Environ Manage 34(1):75–90

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Ostrom E (1990) Governing the commons: the evolution of institutions for collective action. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Ostrom E (2005) Understanding institutional diversity. Princeton University Press, Oxford Short C (2000) Common Land and ELMS: a need for policy innovation in England and Wales. Land Use Policy 17:121–133 Short C (2008) The traditional commons of England and Wales in the twenty-first century: meeting new and old challenges. Int J Commun 2(2):192–221 Short C, Winter M (1999) The problem of common land: towards stakeholder governance. J Environ Plann Manage 42(5):613–630 Simoncini R, Borrini-Feyerabend G, Lassen B (2008) Policy guidelines on governance and ecosystem management for biodiversity conservation. Report of the governance and ecosystem management for the conservation of biology (GEMCONBIO) project, final report, www. gemconbio.eu Slee B, Roberts D, Evans R (2004) Forestry in the rural economy: a new approach to assessing the impact of forestry on rural development. Forestry 77:441–453 Steins N, Edwards V (1999) Platforms for collective action in multiple-use common-pool resources. Agr Hum Val 16:241–255 Stoker G (1998) Governance as theory: five propositions. Int Soc Sci J 155:17–28 Sundberg K (2002) Nordic common lands and common rights. Some interpretations of Swedish cases and debates. In: De Moor M, Shaw-Taylor L, Warde P (eds) The management of common land in north-west Europe. Brepols, Turnhout Vera FWM (2000) Grazing ecology and forest history. CABI Publishing, Wallingford, Oxon Willis K, Garrod G, Scarpa R et al (2000) Non-market benefits of forestry. Report to the forestry commission. University of Newcastle, Newcastle Willis K, Garrod G, Powe N et al (2003) The social and environmental benefits of forests in Great Britain. Report to the forestry commission. University of Newcastle, Newcastle Winchester A (2002) Upland commons in Northern England. In: De Moor M, Shaw-Taylor L, Warde P (eds) The management of common land in north-west Europe. Brepols, Turnhout Wylie J (2007) Landscape. Routledge, London

Chapter 6

New Forest Owners – Small-Scale Forestry and Changes in Forest Ownership Áine Ní Dhubháin

Small-scale forests account for a significant proportion of European forests and are typically owned by individuals and families. There is evidence that the sociodemographic characteristics of these owners are changing, and that fragmentation of small-scale forests is increasing. Given the significant role that small-scale forests play in delivering benefits to the wood industry and to society at large, it is important to look at the implications of this changing ownership structure and increasing fragmentation for these benefits.

6.1 What is Small-Scale Forestry? Forests in private ownership belong to individuals, families, private co-operatives, corporations, industries, religious and educational institutions, pension or investment funds and other private institutions (FAO 2004). A variety of terms has been used to describe the portion of this resource that is owned by individuals and families. These terms include non-industrial private forestry (NIPF), family forestry, small-scale forestry and farm forestry. Non-industrial private forestry is defined in the Dictionary of Forestry as “forest land that is privately owned by individuals or corporations other than forest industry, and where management may include objectives other than timber production” (Helms 1998). However, no definition of smallscale forestry is given in this dictionary, and there is no commonly adopted term for this type of forestry. Small-scale forestry means different things in different parts of the world (Hyttinen 2004). Hyttinen (2004, p 666) further elaborates that “a farmer operating with a woodlot of 5 ha would certainly be a small-scale forest owner, whereas an industrial company with thousands of hectares would be large. But, in between Á. Ní Dhubháin (*) Agriculture and Food Science Centre, School of Agriculture, Food Science and Veterinary Medicine, UCD Dublin, Belfield, Dublin 4, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_6, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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these examples, there exists a wide variety of sizes that can be considered either small or large depending on the viewpoint taken”. Herbohn (2006) outlined that non-industrial private forestry is the term ­commonly adopted for small-scale forests in the USA. This term is also used in Europe although family forestry is frequently employed. Sekot (2001, p 216) presented a definition of small-scale farm forestry for Austria as “a private forest holding of between 1 and 200  ha where the proprietor is a normal (and not juristic) person”. In the sections that follow, the term small-scale forestry is considered synonymous with non-industrial private forestry as defined by Helms (1998).

6.2 Characteristics of Small-Scale Forests Due to the lack of a commonly agreed definition for small-scale forestry, no comparable nor consistent statistical information about small-scale forests in different countries and continents is available (Hyttinen 2004). Consequently, statistics on private ownership are often used as a surrogate for small-scale forestry statistics, although it is important to note Hyttinen’s (2004) warning that private does not always mean small. Even with regard to private forest sector statistics, there is a significant lack of information (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008). The estimated total forest area of Europe (excluding the Russian Federation) is 192,604  million ha (FAO 2005); 49% of which is privately owned. Recently, the UNECE/FAO Timber Section, together with the Ministerial Conference on the Protection of Forests in Europe (MCPFE) and the Confederation of European Forest Owners, established a private forest owners’ database. Twentythree of the 38 MCPFE countries originally addressed responded to this survey (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008). The results indicate that considerable variation exists in the level of private ownership at country level. For example, in Austria, France, Norway and Slovenia, privately owned forests account for more than threequarters of the total forest area, whereas in Bulgaria and Poland they represent less than one-quarter (Table 6.1). Families and individuals own 82% of Europe’s private forest area (data derived from 11 MCPFE countries).1 The proportion that is owned by individuals and families also varies at country level with only 33% of the Slovakian private forest area owned by these groups, while almost 90% of the Norwegian private forest area are “family forests”. However, these numbers do not reveal anything about the size of forest holding. The forest holding size privately owned varies considerably between countries at European level, nevertheless, based on their survey for the FAO, Schmithüsen and Hirsch (2008, p 18) conclude “that in terms of numbers of private forest owners,

Belgium, Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Finland, France, Hungary, Norway, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, United Kingdom.

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Table 6.1  Private forest cover in selected European countries and the proportion of small holdings (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008) Total forest area % of private forest area Country (¢000 ha) % private in holdings <6 haa Austria 3,981 82 9 Belgium 694 57 29 Bulgaria 3,678 11 0 Cyprus 388 59 – Czech republic 2,647 24 32 Finland 23,311 68 – France 17,165 76 24 Germany 10,567 44 – Hungary 1,948 41 5 Iceland 149 65 – Ireland 709 44 – Latvia 3,150 47 19 Lithuania 2,198 31 – Netherlands 365 49 31 Norway 12,000 76 2 Poland 9,200 17 73 Romania 6,391 20 – Serbia 1,984 51 – Slovakia 1,932 43 1 Slovenia 1,308 76 41 Sweden 30,516 69 – Switzerland 1,263 31 – United Kingdom 2,865 66 6 a  Data only available for countries specified

as well as distributions of size classes, small-scale land holdings prevail in Europe”. For example, 61% of all private forest holdings have an area of less than 1  ha (although such holdings account for only 5% of the total area privately owned) and 86% of all holdings belong to the size classes of up to 5 ha (representing 19% of the area privately owned). Only 1% of owners have forest units over 50 ha (43% of the area privately owned). At country level, variation exists, with holdings smaller than 6 ha representing 73% and 41% of the total area of private holdings in Poland and Slovenia, respectively (Table  6.1). In Hungary, in contrast, such small holdings account for only 5% of the area of private forest, while holdings in excess of 100 ha represent over 45% of the area (Hirsch et  al. 2007). In the Nordic countries of Finland, Sweden and Norway, the typical size of holding ranges from 25 to 40 ha (Harrison et al. 2002). In Europe, the total forest area is increasing due to a combination of afforestation and natural expansion of forests, e.g., on abandoned agricultural land (FAO 2005). Between the years 1990 and 2000, the total forest area increased by 0.44% (MCPFE countries excluding the Russian Federation), while during the following 5  year period, the area increased by a further 0.38% (Anon 2006). The area of ­private forest has increased in almost all European countries with particularly high

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increases noted in Central and Eastern Europe, where the area increased from 2.5 million ha to 7.5 million ha as a consequence of the privatization and restitution of forest land (FAO 2005). In other European countries, afforestation has lead to an increase in the private forest cover (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008) and has been supported by a combination of national and EU-funded afforestation schemes. For example, financial subsidies made available under Council Regulation (EEC) No 2080/92 were used in the afforestation of one million hectares of agricultural land between 1994 and 1999 in Europe; 95% of which was in five countries, i.e. Spain, Portugal, Italy, Ireland and United Kingdom (FAO 2005). Broadleaved species accounted for 57% of the area afforested, with cork oak and evergreen oak the predominate broadleaved species planted. Herbohn (2006) outlines that in Europe small-scale forest owners are more likely to chose slower growing broadleaf species than conifers, primarily for aesthetic reasons.

6.3 Owners of Small-Scale Forests 6.3.1 Ownership Structure The ownership structure of forests in Europe has gone through various periods of change. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a new forest owner emerged, i.e. the farmer, as a result of the transfer of traditional common property forest ownership rights to private property rights (Brandl 1993 cited in Van der Ploeg and Wiersum 1996). These farm forests typically provided resources to the farm including firewood, fodder and timber while also providing an additional income to farmers from the sale of these products. In the second half of the twentieth century, another change in ownership ­structure became evident with the emergence of the non-farmer owner (Plochmann 1976 cited in Hogl et al. 2005). While one would have always found forest ­owners with a non-agricultural profession (Hogl et al. 2005), their numbers have increased in recent decades arising from structural changes in agriculture and the transfer of ownership from farmers to non-farmers through inheritance or the sale of lands (Van der Ploeg and Wiersum 1996; Ripatti and Jarvelainen 1997). Consequently, the number of farmers owning forest land has declined in many European countries (Schraml 2004; Ziegenspeck et al. 2004). In Finland, for example, non-farmers now own 81% of family forests in that country (Jylhä 2007). Wiersum et al. (2005) similarly found that among the forest owners they surveyed in eight European countries,2 only 38% were fully or part-time engaged in land-use activities. One exception to the general trend noted above regarding the declining role of active farmers in forestry occurs in Ireland. A major afforestation programme (funded

Austria, Denmark, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Ireland, the Netherlands, Spain.

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with EU and national funds) has been ongoing since 1980, resulting in the total forest cover increasing from 6% of the land base to 10%. The considerable financial incentives, made available as part of the programme, were (and continue to be) targeted at farmers; over 16,400 of whom planted parts of their farm land (Farrelly 2007). These “new” forest owners share many characteristics with some of the “farmer” forest owners in Europe, specifically in regard to their emphasis on primary production. Yet, at the same time, they share the lack of traditional knowledge regarding forestry that is a characteristic of non-farmer owners (Toivonen et al. 2005). Coinciding with the decline in the number of active farmers involved in forestry is the increasing urbanisation of owners (Toivonen et al. 2005). Schmithüsen and Hirsch (2008) noted an increase in the number of owners living in urban areas, sometimes at a considerable distance from their property. For example, in Finland, the percentage of private forest owners that were urban-based increased from 33% (1990) to 40% (2005), while in Lithuania 50% of forest owners live in urban areas. Another key feature of European forest owners is their age profile. Over a decade ago, Ripatti (1996) noted that the average age of forest owners was higher than the population average. More recent statistics indicate that few European ­private forest owners are less than 30  years of age, and in many countries, a large proportion is over 60  years (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008). Indeed, in Finland, pensioners are the biggest forest owner group (Jylhä 2007). This trend may be partly explained by the fact that the average age of farmers worldwide is greater than that of the general population (Yudelman and Leaky 2000); given that farmers continue to comprise a significant, albeit declining, proportion of forest owners, it is not surprising that the average age of forest owners is higher than that of the general public.

6.3.2 Objectives of Small-Scale Forest Owners Small-scale forest owners are a heterogeneous group, with objectives covering a broad range, from timber production to environmental conservation and amenity (Hugosson and Ingermarson 2004; Ziegenspeck et al. 2004). The changing ownership pattern has increased this heterogeneity. The proportion of forest owners who are economically dependent on their forests is decreasing as the number of farmer owners declines (Hyttinen 2001; Kvarda 2004). Consequently, a decreasing number of forest owners have timber production as their primary goal. In Denmark, Boon et al. (2004) found that income generation was the primary goal of forest ownership for one-half (52%) of forest owners. Karppinen (1998) found that only 13% of Finnish forest owners he surveyed regarded their forests as a source of economic security, while a further 30% valued the income from timber sales (30%). Hogl et  al. (2005) noted that only 20% of Austrian forest owners viewed their forest primarily as a source of income; the remainder associated their forests with leisure, nature conservation, pride of ownership and, in some cases, family tradition.

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The decline in dependence on forestry income has coincided with an increase in the number of forest owners with amenity objectives. For example, Karppinen (1998) classed almost one-third of the Finnish forest owners he surveyed as recreationalists. These were typically non-farmers who owned a small holding on which they resided part-time. Others have described a significant proportion of forest owners as hobby owners. Boon et al. (2004) found that one-third of Danish forest owners essentially only used their forest for hobby activities. Wiersum et al. (2005), in their study of forest owners in eight European countries, classified 62% as hobby owners. The economy of the forest was considered to be of high importance to only 10% of owners (Wiersum et al. 2004). Often small-scale forest owners hold multiple objectives for their woods (Marty et al. 1988; Kuuluvainen et al. 1996; Wiersum et al. 2005). Karppinen (1998) found that such owners accounted for one-quarter of forest owners he surveyed in Finland. These owners, who placed equal value on the monetary and amenity functions of their forests, were typically older, more likely to reside on the forest property and had a larger forest than those with single objectives. Wiersum et al. (2005) and Boon et al. (2004) found that those with multiple objectives accounted for just less than one-fifth of forest owners they surveyed respectively, while Mizaraite and Mizaras (2005) noted that 31% of Lithuanian forest owners had multiple objectives. Ireland is one of the few European countries where a significant majority of forest owners have timber production as the primary objective for their forests (Ní Dhubháin and Greene 2009). However, availing of forestry subsidies requires the owner to manage the forest according to the principles of sustainable forest management but with timber production as a key priority, whereas in other countries forest management is usually voluntary. Hogl et  al. (2005) reflecting on the diversity amongst forest owners, warned about the use of names such as “non-resident”, “urban” or “non-farm” to describe forest owners. They noted that some new forest owners live in cities far away from their forests, but that others who live in rural areas close to their forests may have either given up their farms or never had any connections to agriculture. Ziegenspeck et al. (2004) addressed this issue when they described the change in ownership from the perspective of lifestyle; they noted a change from an agrarian lifestyle of forest owners to “non-farm forms of living”.

6.4 Nature of Small-Scale Forests There are conflicting views as to the nature and role of small-scale forests in Europe. For some, small-scale forestry is viewed as a scaled down version of largescale forestry, with the only difference being that the former lacks the economies of scale and power associated with large-scale forestry (Wiersum et al. 2005). This view assumes that small-scale forest owners adopt similar silvicultural practices to large-scale owners, with financial considerations being the primary driver to decisions made.

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Very often small-scale forests are located in rural areas, which may be e­ conomically disadvantaged relative to urban areas. This led Hyttinen (2004) to conclude that the most important socio-economic role of small-scale forests is income generation which can play a key role in sustaining rural economies and hence contribute to rural development. However, the other view, which is increasingly being recognized, is that the motivations and objectives of ownership differ among smallscale owners and large-scale owners (Van der Ploeg and Wiersum 1996; Harrison et al. 2002; Herbohn 2006). Small-scale forest owners value the non-timber values higher than the timber production functions (Herbohn 2006) and often manage their forests for these benefits. Thus, the style of forest management relates more to their overall livelihood systems than to economic targets (Wiersum et  al. 2005). Such trends led Wiersum et al. (2005, p 2) to conclude that the “sustainable management of small-scale forests should contribute to local quality of life in general, rather than only to socio-economic objectives such as employment and income generation”.

6.5 Consequences of the Changing Ownership Structure Small-scale forest owners are a key element of forest policies, forest management planning and forest extension in Europe (Hyttinen 2004). However, the changing ownership structure; the increasing heterogeneity of owner objectives; the increasing number of small holdings and the resulting fragmentation of ownership are trends that potentially affect the whole private forest sector. There may be impacts on wood supply, landscape and environmental sustainability and recreational opportunities provided by private forests (Toivonen et al. 2005). This section will discuss some of the actual and potential impacts of the changing ownership structure and increasing fragmentation in small-scale forests.

6.5.1 Forest Fragmentation Fragmentation of forest holdings is increasing, due primarily to the changing ownership pattern. This is evident in those countries that have recently gone through a land restitution process (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008). Increasing fragmentation has also been noted in Finland, the Netherlands and France. Whether fragmentation arises from inheritance or restitution, the net result is that the forest is divided into more parcels with more owners making decisions (Luloff et al. 2000). This is considered to represent a hindrance to sustainable forest management (Schmithüsen and Hirsch 2008). Not only does the reduced holding size have implications for the economic management of the area; knowledge transfer and access to infrastructure is more difficult when a greater number of owners is involved. Local and regional cooperation among owners is seen as a means to addressing many of these negative effects of fragmentation (Hirsch et  al. 2007); however, heterogeneity of owner’s objectives may counteract this.

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The impact of changing ownership and resulting fragmentation on the landscape is not known. Dividing what was once a large forest block into smaller blocks, with different owners, may lead to changes in species mix and changes to management. This may lead to a more diverse landscape, which may have positive effects on biodiversity. Indeed, the heterogeneous owner structure and the associated variety of approaches to forest management may be beneficial from the point of view of nature conservation and biodiversity (Hyttinen et al. 1999). However, if ownership fragmentation leads to a reduction in areas of contiguous forest, this may have detrimental effects on biodiversity (Best 2002).

6.5.2 Recreation and Access Recreational opportunities for the general public in small-scale forests are a function of the attractiveness of the forest for recreation and whether the owners allow the general public access. The declining emphasis on timber production along with the increasing importance of amenity objectives among small-scale private forest owners may increase the attractiveness of the forests for recreation. However, there is no evidence of empirical study conducted to test this hypothesis. The issue of access varies between countries. In some countries, access to public lands is legislated for, while access to private forests has evolved over time. In Ireland, for example, public access to state forests applies; however the common law is that one cannot enter onto anyone’s land without consent (Ní Dhubháin et al. 2005). In Germany, public access to both public and private forests for recreation is allowed (Bauer et al. 2004). In the Nordic countries, “everyman’s right” applies, i.e. everybody has the right to roam freely in the forest. However, in Denmark, access to private forests is restricted to forest roads and to day times, i.e. from 7 a.m. to sunset (Skov and Naturstyrelsen 1993). The changing ownership structure is likely not to have a major bearing on access in those European countries where access to private forests has a long history. Where access is contested, e.g., such as Great Britain (Church and Ravenscroft 2008), it is not known what the impact will be. Owners who hold amenity objectives may have a greater propensity to allow others share that recreational experience. On the other hand, it may be that they wish to use their forest to satisfy only their own recreational needs. Where the changing ownership structure will have an impact on access is in Central and Eastern European countries where public forests have converted to private ownership. For example, in Poland, access to public forests is allowed whereas a private forest owner has the right to prohibit access (Bauer et al. 2004).

6.5.3 Timber Production Private forests contribute most of the industrial timber as well as other wood and non-wood products in Europe (Harrison et al. 2002), and private forest owners have

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a crucial role in satisfying the increasing demand for wood resources from wood processors and bioenergy producers (Hirsch et al. 2007). For example, in Finland, private forests produce about 80% of the domestic raw wood purchased by industry (Jylhä 2007). There are concerns that changing forest ownership may lead to a reduced timber supply (Toivonen et al. 2005; Jylhä 2007) although only a relatively small number of studies have examined this empirically (e.g., Karppinen 1998; Jennings and van Putten 2006). These have generated conflicting findings. Karppinen (1998) found that the volume of timber sold by small-scale owners was connected to their objectives: however, he noted that multi-objective owners harvested significantly more than any other type of owner. Jennings and van Putten (2006) explored the relationship between past logging activity of forest owners in Tasmania and their objectives of forest ownership. They found that greater proportions of those classed as income and investment owners, agriculturists and multi-objective owners than those classed as non-timber output owners indicated that they had harvested timber in the past 3 years. Owners with non-timber objectives were the least likely to harvest in the future. In contrast, Lillandt (2001) noted that the changing ownership structure had not had a major impact on cutting behaviour in Finland. Small-scale forest owners who wish to manage their forests for timber production face a number of challenges. Some of these are structural and associated with the lack of economies of scale and often difficult access to small-scale forests (Herbohn 2006). Some challenges are associated with the owner. New owners of small-scale forests typically do not have a tradition in forest management, hence, they lack the technical knowledge to undertake silvicultural work themselves (Ní Dhubháin and Wall 1999) and often lack the finances to hire someone else to do it (Herbohn 2006). Furthermore, an increasing number of owners have a non-agricultural profession, resulting in them not having the time to undertake the silvicultural activities that are required for management for timber production. These issues highlight the need for forest extension services to help these new owners manage their forests. These extension services need to take account of the heterogeneity of owner objectives, thus, need to be designed to help owners meet their forestry-related objectives, whether these are wood production, amenity, landscape, conservation or indeed all of these.

6.5.4 Nature Conservation Nature conversation is increasingly being cited as an objective of small-scale forest owners (e.g., Hogl et al. 2005). The results from Uliczka et al.’s (2004) survey of Swedish small-scale forest owners indicate that those for whom their forest was not their sole source of income had a more positive attitude to nature conversation in their forests, and in forests in general, than those who were economically reliant on their forests. They further found that younger forest owners had a more positive attitude to nature conservation than older owners. Thus, the increasing proportion of owners who are not economically dependent on their forests should have positive impacts for nature conservation in forestry.

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6.6 Conclusion The ownership structure of small-scale forests is changing in Europe. There is an increasing proportion of owners who are not involved in farming and who do not rely on income from their forests. This is reflected in the greater range of objectives being held by small-scale forest owners, many of whom now hold multiple objectives for their forests. This expansion in the number of benefits that forest owners expect their forests to deliver mirrors society’s view of the multi-functional role of forests. However, how successful small-scale forest owners will be in achieving their objectives for their forests is not known. Much will depend on whether owners’ objectives are reflected in their forestry behaviour and, more fundamentally, whether owners have the skills and knowledge to ensure that the necessary management to achieve their objectives is undertaken. More targeted forest extension should help address this issue. A further constraint to the sustainable management of small-scale forests is fragmentation, which can only be addressed through greater co operation between owners.

References Anon (2006) Background information. Workshop on pan-European recommendations for afforestation and reforestation in the context of UNFCCC. http://www.mcpfe.org/documents/meetings/2006/ unf. Accessed 28 Jan 2009 Bauer J, Kniivilä M, Schmithüsen F (2004) Forest legislation in Europe: how 23 countries approach the obligation to reforest, public access and use of non-wood forest products. FAO, Geneva Timber and Forest Discussion Paper 37, FAO, Geneva Best C (2002) America’s private forest – challenges for conservation. J Forest 100(3):14–17 Boon TE, Meilby H, Thorsen BJ (2004) An empirically based typology of private forest owners in Denmark: improving communication between authorities and owners. Scand J Forest Res 19(4):45–55 Church A, Ravenscroft N (2008) Landowner responses to financial incentive schemes for recreational access to woodlands in South East England. Land Use Policy 25:1–16 FAO (2004) Terms and definitions. FRA-2005. FRA working paper 73, FAO, Rome FAO (2005) Global forest resource assessment. Main Report. FAO, Rome Farrelly N (2007) The farm forest resource in Ireland: opportunities and challenges. Small-scale Forestry 6(1):49–64 Harrison S, Herbohn J, Niskanen A (2002) Non-industrial, smallholder, small-scale and family forestry: what’s in a name? Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 1(1):1–11 Helms JA (1998) The dictionary of forestry. Society of American Foresters and CABI Publishing, Bethesda Herbohn J (2006) Small-scale forestry: is it simply a smaller version of industrial (large-scale) multiple use forestry? In: Wall S (ed) Small-scale forestry and rural development, the intersection of ecosystems, economics and society. Proceedings IUFRO 3.08 Conference, Galway, Ireland. COFORD and GMIT, Ireland, pp 158–163 Hirsch F, Korotkov A, Wilnhammer M (2007) Private forest ownership in Europe. Unasylva 58:3–25 Hogl K, Pregernig M, Weiss G (2005) What is new about forest owners? A typology of private forest ownership in Austria. Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 4(3):352–342

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Hugosson M, Ingermarson F (2004) Objectives and motivations of small-scale forest owners; modelling and qualitative assessment. Silva Fenn 38(2):271–231 Hyttinen P (2001) Prospects for small-scale forestry in Europe. In: Niskanen A, Väyrynen J (eds) Economic sustainability of small-scale forestry. EFI proceedings 36. EFI, Joensuu, pp 21–27 Hyttinen P (2004) Small-scale forestry. In: Burley J, Evans J, Youngquist J (eds) Encyclopedia of forest sciences. Elsevier, Amsterdam, pp 663–666 Hyttinen P, Ottitsch A, Pelli A et al (eds) (1999) Forest related resources, industries, services and know-how in the border regions of the European Union. EFI working paper 21. EFI, Joensuu Jennings SM, van Putten IE (2006) Typology of non-industrial private forest owners in Tasmania. Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 5(1):37–56 Jylhä L (2007) Forest management associations – value from cooperation for forest owners. Unasylva 58:44–47 Karppinen H (1998) Values and objectives of non-industrial private forest owners in Finland. Silva Fenn 32(1):43–59 Kuuluvainen J, Karppinen H, Ovaskainen V (1996) Landowner objectives and non-industrial private timber supply. Forest Sci 42(3):300–309 Kvarda ME (2004) Non-agricultural forest owners’ in Austria – a new type of ownership. Forest Policy Econ 6:459–467 Lillandt M (2001) Forest management association – a major tool to promote economic sustainability of family forestry. In: Niskanen A, Väyrynen J (eds) Economic sustainability of smallscale forestry. EFI proceedings 36. EFI, Joensuu, pp 93–100 Luloff A, Finley J, Melbye J (2000) Social issues and impacts associated with land parcelisation. In: DeCoster D (ed) Proceedings of forestry fragmentation 2000: sustaining private forests in the 21st century. Sampson Group, Alexandria, pp 183–190 Marty TD, Kurtz WB, Gramann JH (1988) PNIF owner attitudes in the Midwest: a case study in Missouri and Wisconsin. North J Appl For 5(3):194–197 Mizaraite D, Mizaras S (2005) The formation of small-scale forestry in countries with economy in transition: observations from Lithuania. Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 4(4):437–450 Ní Dhubháin Á, Gallagher R, Whelton A, Wiley S (2005) Forest sector entrepreneurship in Europe: Ireland. Acta Silvatica Lignaria Hungarica Special Ed 1:347–375 Ní Dhubháin Á, Greene R (2009) How much do Irish private forest owners know about forestry? Small-scale For. doi:doi: 10.1007/s11842-009-9081-7 Ní Dhubháin Á, Wall S (1999) The new owners of small private forests in Ireland. J Forest 97(6):28–33 Ripatti P (1996) Factors affecting partitioning of private forest holdings in Finland. A logit analysis. Acta Forestalia Fennica 252:1–84 Ripatti P, Järveläinen VP (1997) Forecasting structural changes in non-industrial private forest ownership in Finland. Scand Forest Econ 36:215–230 Schmithüsen F, Hirsch F (2008) Private forest ownership in Europe-advance draft. Geneva timber and forest discussion paper 49. FAO, Geneva Schraml U (2004) Rise and fall of programmatic approaches in German small-scale forest owner research. In: International symposium on contributions of family-farm enterprises to sustainable rural development, Proceedings, Freiburger Forstliche Forschung, Berichte, Heft 51, Freiburg, pp 80–93 Sekot W (2001) Analysis of profitability of small-scale farm forestry (SSFF) by means of a forest accountancy data network – Austrian experiences and results. In: Niskanen A, Väyrynen J (eds) Economic sustainability of small-scale forestry. EFI proceedings 36. EFI, Joensuu, pp 215–226 Skov-og Naturstyrelsen (1993) Vejledning om naturbeskyttelsesloven – udgivet 1993. Kapitel 10.7 Særligt om privatejede skove Toivonen R, Järvinen E, Lindross K, Rämö A (2005) The challenge of information service development for private forest owners: the Estonia and Finland cases. Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 4(4):451–470

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Uliczka H, Angelstam P, Gunnar J, Anders B (2004) Non-industrial private forest owners’ knowledge of and attitudes towards nature conservation. Scand J Forest Res 19(3):274–288 Van der Ploeg JD, Wiersum KF (1996) Styles of forest management by small forest owners, characteristics and scope for rural development. In: Glück P, Weiss G (eds) Forestry in the context of rural development: future research needs. EFI proceedings 15. EFI, Joensuu, pp 45–57 Wiersum KF, Elands BHM, O’Leary T (2004) Landowners’ perspectives on the future of rural Europe: consequences for farm forestry. In: International symposium on contributions of family-farm enterprises to sustainable rural development, Proceedings, Freiburger Forstliche Forschung, Berichte, Heft 51, Freiburg, pp 105–126 Wiersum KF, Elands BHM, Hoogstra MA (2005) Small-scale forest ownership across Europe: characteristics and future potential. Small-scale Forest Econ Manage Policy 4(1):1–19 Yudelman M, Leaky JM (2000) The graying of farmers. Population reference Bureau. http://www. prb.org/Articles/2000/TheGrayingofFarmers.aspx. Accessed 20 April 2009 Ziegenspeck S, Härdter U, Schraml U (2004) Lifestyles of private forest owners as an indication of social change. Forest Policy Econ 6:447–458

Chapter 7

Forests and Recreation – New Functions of Afforestation as Seen in Denmark Carla K. Smink

In most European countries, afforestation activities have increased the average ­forest cover during the last decades (Anon 2006). The aims of afforestation activities are manifold and closely connected to the different functions that forests have in society. While traditional products of the forest usually have something to do with food or material resources (Jensen 1999), changes in rural areas have changed the role of forests. For example, the agricultural sector is no longer the primary economic driver in these areas, and changes in demographic structure and a process of semi-urbanisation have occurred (Ní Dhubháin et al. 2009). The primacy of the production role of forests is diminishing, and greater emphasis is being placed on ecological and amenity services (Elands and Wiersum 2001). Forests may also generate social values or be connected with people’s lives in various ways that contribute to social well-being (Slee et al. 2004). Hence, the effects of afforestation can be discussed with respect to societal, economic and environmental aspects. In this chapter, attention will be paid to the recreational functions of forests. Studies have shown that green spaces affect human health in a positive direction (e.g., Ministry for the Environment 1999; Konijnendijk 2004; Hansen and Nielsen 2005; Maas and Verheij 2007). Hansen and Nielsen (2005) refer to the American researcher Roger Ulrich who was among the first to collect evidence on the health promoting effect of green spaces. Two relatively new studies from Sweden and the Netherlands conclude independently that the more times and the longer time people spend in green spaces, the fewer stress symptoms they have (Hansen and Nielsen 2005, p 8). Recreational functions of forests are discussed using the example of Denmark. Starting with a description of policy perspectives and the goals of the Danish government in relation to encouraging opportunities for recreation in the forest, the recreational use of forests by Danes and the characteristics of a positive forest experience are explained. Finally, ways to assure possibilities for recreation in new forests are suggested.

C.K. Smink (*) Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_7, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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7.1 Forest Recreation: A Policy Perspective Afforestation has been part of the Danish landscape for many years. Ever since the early 1800s, when only 2–3% of the total land area was covered by forest, the Danes raised forests with different purposes, e.g., sand drift prevention, timber production, recreation and groundwater protection. Helles and Linddal (1996, p 37) identify three periods of afforestation in Denmark: • state plantations on heathlands (1789–1813) • private heathland afforestation (1866–1959) • governmental target of doubling the forest area (1989–) This chapter takes its point of departure in the third period of afforestation, for the reason that recreational purposes have been a main objective of Danish state afforestation policy since 1989. The relationship between forest and recreation has received increasingly political attention, continuously resulting in new legislation and new plans and programmes. For example, in the Danish government’s national strategy for sustainable development (Danish Government 2002, p 50) it is stated that forests should, among other things, provide opportunities for outdoor activities, protect biodiversity and contribute to a varying landscape. Also the Danish Forest Act (Act nr. 1044 of October 20, 2008) takes into consideration the landscape, natural history, cultural history, environment and outdoor activities. The National Forestry Programme (2002) is very clear too: outdoor activities and landscape experience are amongst the main goals of the Danish forestry programme. This renewed attention on afforestation since the mid-1980s was amongst other factors triggered by the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) of the EU, a shortage of forest and scarcity of wood, overproduction of food and a change in the use of arable land since cultivation was no longer worthwhile; the fact that afforestation has become so popular in recent times lies almost certainly in a combination of several factors. Importantly, the goals in the National Forestry Programme do not contradict each other; forests can simultaneously satisfy different goals, e.g., environmental protection and outdoor activities. Protection of soil, water and air is an important environmental benefit of forests in many countries; Ní Dhubháin et al. (2009) refer to a trans-European study in which it was found that stakeholders identified the protection of air, water and soil as the most important benefit of forests, while the provision of business activities was ranked as the least important. Nevertheless, environmental benefits will not be considered further in this chapter, but focus will be on forest recreation. Most of the other goals of the National Forestry Programme will be touched upon indirectly since they positively contribute to the “forest experience” (see Sect. 7.3). For example, high biodiversity, i.e. the experience of life in the form of a large variation in both animals and plants, is by many forest visitors assessed as positive. This forest experience is an important factor for understanding why people visit the forest.

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The following analysis examines why Danes visit the forest and which forest they prefer to visit. This analysis is used as input to what is needed by afforestation projects to ensure possibilities for recreation in the new forests.

7.2 Forest Use in Denmark Forests are the prevalent leisure facility for Danes. Forests are not only more popular than, for example, libraries, cinemas and museums, but forests and beaches also overtake amusement parks and zoos measured in numbers of visitors (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2003b). The forest area managed by the state-owned forest areas has about 38 million visitors a year (Jensen 2001; Ministry of the Environment 2002, p 25). For comparison, Tivoli in Copenhagen received 4,396,000 visitors in 2006 (Tivoli 2006) and Legoland in Billund receives approximately 1.5 million visitors a year (SPSS 2006). Studies about the recreational use of the forest by Danes show that wishes and use hardly have changed over the last 15–20 years, even though the number of other leisure activities has increased (Danish Ministry for the Environment 1999, p 453; Jensen 2001). The main reasons for Danes to visit the forest are nature experience, peace and quiet as well as family life (Danish Ministry for the Environment 1999, p 453), but also proximity, travel time and easy access to the forests are decisive for how much people visit the forest. Figure 7.1 shows the most important reasons for Danes to visit the forest (based on Jensen 1998, cited in Nilsson 2002). Respondents had been given the task of To improve fitness To exercise To be together with friends To study nature To get free from stress To experience nature's mystery To get away from densely populated areas Be together with somebody with the same interest To get away from noise To get variation in everyday life Be together with family Be in close contact to nature To delight in nature's smells and sounds To enjoy the landscape 0

5

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25

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Fig. 7.1  Reasons to visit the forest (in relative numbers) (based on Jensen 1998, cited in Nilsson 2002, p 37)

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listing twenty motives for visiting the forest. These motives also had to be classified accordingly; very important, import, neither/nor, not important, absolutely not important. People could list more than one motive as very important. Danes visit forests on average 11 times a year, 90% of the population visit forest at least once a year and as mentioned above, 25% of the forest area managed by the state-owned forest areas has about 38 million visitors a year (Jensen 2001; Ministry of the Environment 2002, p 25). Two-thirds of visits are in forests closest to the residence and 75% of all forest visits are within a distance of 10 km from the place of residence (Koch 1999). Data from other countries are similar. Konijnendijk (2008, p 165) refers to studies from Bürg, Elsasser and Meierjürgen who have investigated how often the city population visits urban forests. Between 66% and 80% of the population of Vienna visited the nearby Wienerwald (Viennese Forest) during the period 1993–1997; a similar level of popularity for urban forests was found for Hamburg where 80% of the population used the local city forest at least once a year. Konijnendijk (2008) concludes that urban forests are real “social forests”, used by a high share of local residents. Van Herzele et al. (2005, p 178) come to a similar conclusion: “what is clear from a large number of studies, is the reality of distance or walking time from the home as the single most important precondition for the use of green spaces. People who live in close proximity to a green space use it frequently, whereas those who live further away do so less frequently in direct proportion to the distance involved”. Jensen (2001) reports the pattern of recreational use of forests by Danes in the period 1977–1994 as follows: Number of visits: An increase of about 25% (15% if the increase in the population of c. 300,000 people is not taken into account), from approx. 33 million visits to approx. 38 million visits a year. Duration of visits: The average duration of a visit to the forest has decreased. However, the number of relatively short visits (between 5 min and 1 h) has increased, while longer visits (between 2 and 8 h) have decreased. Travel time and distance: The average travel time has decreased by 10% (from 30 to 27 min). Approximately 80% of forest visits used less than 30 min (both in 1977 and in 1994) on travel; a larger part of the forest visits used less than 5–10 min (an increase from 30% to 40%). Travel distance has decreased as well; from 10.5 to 8.5 km. More forest visitors travelled less than 10 km (two-thirds in 1977 and 75% in 1994) whereas both in 1977 and in 1994 one-third travelled less than 2 km; about 15% of the forest visitors travelled more than 20 km in 1977, this number had fallen to 10% in 1994. Mode of transport: Most forest visitors used the car as the main mode of transport (both in 1977 and in 1994), but a change has taken place since more and more people come by bike and on foot rather than by car (1994). This might be linked to the fact that the travel distance has decreased. Size of groups: The most common group size was two people both in 1977 and in 1994. In general, it can be stated that fewer groups in “family size” visit the forest; groups are either smaller or larger.

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Pattern of activities: No huge changes in the activities can be recognised. However, some new activities have emerged, e.g., mountain biking as well as role play and paintball. It is not only interesting to examine why Danes prefer to visit the forest; it is also interesting to know which forests Danes usually visit. This information can be used by planners to plan new afforestation areas or to make existing forests more attractive for visitors. The number of visiting hours per hectare per year can be regarded as the best single figure to measure how intensively an area is used for recreation (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2003b). The top ten of most visited forests cover slightly more than 2% of the total Danish forest area (c. 436,000 ha) (data from the latest forest census in the year 2000; Danish Statistics 2001). Furthermore, eight of the top ten of forests most visited are located in the capital area. This is perhaps not so surprising since most people live in this large catchment area. However, even though a forest is located closely to the city, there can be huge differences in the number of visiting hours per ha per year. For example, the forest areas Jægersborg Deer Park & Hedge, Hareskoven & Kalvebod Fælled and Vestamager are located 12, 15 and 8 km, respectively, from Copenhagen city centre, but only Jægersborg Deer Park & Hedge is amongst the top ten of forests that are visited intensively. Actually, Hareskoven & Kalvebod Fælled and Vestamager are not even among the 25 most intensively used forests and nature areas. Obviously, a forest’s experience value is important for its attraction value (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2003b) and not only proximity to the city.

7.3 Afforestation: Creation of Recreation Opportunities In 1989, the Danish parliament set the target to double the Danish forest area (i.e. towards 20–25% of the land area) within one tree generation (80–100 years). This target would require an annual afforestation on former farm land of about 5,000 ha (Helles and Linddal 1996). This extensivation of land use through ­afforestation may create opportunities for new types of economic activities in the sphere of recreation and tourism (Heil et al. 2007). Afforestation with recreation as one of the main objectives is often implemented close to cities; public projects carried out in Denmark from 1989 to 1998 were generally located in peri-urban areas, often associated with a larger catchment population and located in municipalities with a limited forest area (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2000): • 62% of all public projects were located less than 1 km from a town (1,000 inhabitants) • 38% of all public projects were located less than 2 km from a town (more than 10,000 inhabitants) In the Danish National Forest Programme of 2002 the Danish Forest and Nature Agency has formulated some specific objectives in order to maintain and develop

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Table 7.1  Guidelines with regard to recreation and afforestation (adapted to Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2003a: 3–4) Guideline Description Easy access to the forest

• M  aintenance and restoration of old school and church paths that lead to the forest • It should be considered how vulnerable road users have a short and traffic safe access to the forest

Public facilities

• P  ublic facilities like tables, benches, fireplaces, information boards and so on should be established as soon as the need arises • Marking with red stakes should be established right away.

A network of trails in the forest

• A  comprehensive network of trails should be established in the forest • In case of peri-urban forests opportunities for disabled-friendly trails should be considered • An additional network of trails can be established (e.g. narrow footpaths), which gives possibilities for round trips • All paths in the forest should be consistent with other recreational trails in the area • Trails and paths should be placed in such a way the forest also can be experienced from the inside

Type of recreation

• I t should be considered what kinds of outdoor activities should be met in which part of the forest (e.g. equestrian paths, dog forests, facilities for larger groups, peace and quiet parts) • Making zones in the forest in order to minimise conflicts between user groups with incompatible interests • Migration of animals and plants can be tentatively done in selected areas where the “forest experience” is missing (e.g. putting up nestling boxes, planting of forest floor plants like fern and anemones) – may be combined with the involvement of local schools and associations • Afforestation along major roads should it be investigated whether noise barriers should be established in order to reduce noise in the woods

Landscape experience

• F  or the sake of the landscape experience, the forest should go with terrain forms • Monocultures should never be used, except for very young stand of trees (0.5–1 ha) • Various wood species as well as some fast growing species should be used in order to give the area a forest character • Berries and fruit trees should be planted to benefit the forest guests (and animals)

Types of trees

forests as a benefit for public welfare through opportunities for outdoor recreation and nature experience (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2002, p 14): • Strengthen the opportunities for experiencing nature in the forests • Conserve the cultural values in the forest • Develop dialogue, knowledge and awareness about the functions and importance of the forests

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• Promotion of physical and mental well-being through the interaction between forests and citizens, including the opportunities for outdoor recreation and the use of forest products Possibilities for recreation in a forest should be seen in conjunction with other infrastructure in the area like urban development, roads and bicycle- and footpaths. The Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2003a) has developed a checklist which contains guidelines for “good national afforestation”. The guidelines are a followup to Denmark’s National Forest Programme of 2002 (Danish Forest and Nature Agency 2002). The guidelines with regard to recreation and afforestation are listed in Table 7.1. These guidelines are made at the national level and should be implemented at the local level, which might be a challenge for municipalities. For example, how do municipalities ensure that all residents have easy access to the forest, and not only those living in close proximity to the forest?

7.4 Conclusion In this chapter, attention has been paid to the recreational function of forests. Forests are the prevalent leisure facility for Danes and the recreational use of the forest by Danes has hardly changed over the last 15–20 years. It can also be ­concluded that the travel time and distance are important parameters for people visiting the forest. Studies from other countries show similar results: people who live in close proximity to a green space use it frequently, whereas those who live further away do so less frequently in direct proportion to the distance involved (van Herzele et al. 2005, p 178). In other words, those who live close to the ­forest will gain most from it, since they are more likely to visit the forest on a regular basis. At the same time, some people may be excluded from participation in forest projects if the basic requirements of accessibility cannot be met, for example, because these projects are located too far from their homes (van Herzele et al. 2005, p 179). The results of this chapter prepare the ground for investigating in more detail what kind of people visit the forest on a regular basis. For example, do socioeconomically advantaged people more often visit the forest because they live closer to the forest? Are exposed areas in the city located too far from the forest (green spaces) so that people living in these areas will not visit the forest (regularly)? These are relevant questions to investigate when planning new forests in the urban area. Municipalities can use this information to make new forests accessible to even more people. This is actually relevant in a much broader perspective since focus in many countries increasingly is on health and health promotion. If people living in exposed areas in the city are more likely to suffer from lifestyle diseases (type 2 diabetes, cardiovascular disease, obesity and so on), municipalities can kill two flies with one stone by planning new forests in such a way that these people do have a real possibility to visit the forest regularly. It is unclear to what extent

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the guidelines for “good national afforestation” can be applied at the local level to increase the number of potential visitors, mainly those not visiting the forest regularly today.

References Anon (2006) Background information. Workshop on pan-European recommendations for afforestation and reforestation in the context of UNFCCC. http://www.mcpfe.org/documents/meetings/ 2006/unf. Accessed 15 Aug 2009 Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2000) Evaluering af den gennemførte skovrejsning 1989–1998. http://www.sns.dk/skov/netpub/evaluering/3del1.htm#Motivation%20%E2%80%93%20hvor for%20rejser%20man%20skov. Accessed 26 April 2009 Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2002) The Danish national forest programme in an ­international perspective. Danish Forest and Nature Agency. http://www.naturstyrelsen.dk/NR/rdonlyres/ 6BA78078-1188-494B-841E-EF89ECF0C064/13461/dnf_eng.pdf. Accessed 2 Mar 2011 Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2003a) God statslig skovrejsning – checkliste for god statslig skovrejsning. http://www.skovognatur.dk/NR/rdonlyres/07C7CE00-F816-4DAD9094-2CB502FE08B2/0/checkliste_for_god_statslig_skovrejsning_mar04.pdf. Accessed 14 Mar 2009 Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2003b) Skove og strande har høj attraktionsværdi. Bladnr. 3.11–41. http://sl.life.ku.dk/Videnblade/%7B99891FC3-1010-4EE9-A2D381BC01B23D18%7D.pdf Accessed 4 May 2009 Danish Forest and Nature Agency (unknown date) De Nye Skove. Viden om skovrejsning Danish Government (2002) Denmark’s national strategy for sustainable development. A shared future – balanced development. http://www2.mst.dk/udgiv/Publications/2002/87-7972-279-2/ pdf/87-7972-259-8.pdf. Accessed 12 Dec 2008 Danish Ministry for the Environment (1999) Natur-og miljøpolitisk redegørelse Danish Statistics (2001) Skovtælling 2000. Nyt fra Danmarks Statistik. Nr. 1, 2. januar 2001. http://www.dst.dk/pukora/epub/Nyt/2001/NR001_2.pdf. Accessed 16 Decr 2008 Elands BHM, Wiersum KF (2001) Forestry and rural development in Europe: an exploration of socio-political discourses. Forest Policy Econ 3:5–16 Hansen KB, Nielsen TS (2005) Natur og grønne områder forebygger stress. Skov-og Landkskab, Frederiksberg Heil GW, Muys M, Hansen K (2007) Environmental effects of afforestation in North-Western Europe: from field observations to decision support. Springer, Heidelberg Helles F, Linddal M (1996) Afforestation experience in the nordic countries. Nord: 15 Agriculture and Forestry Jensen FS (1998) Friluftsliv i det åbne landskab. Forskningscentret for Skov og Landskab, rapport 25 Jensen FS (1999) Forest recreation in Denmark from the 1970s to the 1990s. Den Kgl. Veterinær-og Landbohøjskole. Miljø-og Energiministeriet. Forskningscentret for Skov og Landskab. The Research Series nr. 26 Jensen FS (2001) Friluftsliv i de danske skove – udviklingen fra 70’erne til 90’erne. http://www. utmark.org/utgivelser/pub/2001-2/art/FrankSondergaardJensen-UTMARK-NR2-2001.htm. Accessed 13 April 2009 Koch NE (1999) Fremtidens skovrejsning – udfordringer og muligheder. In: Danish Forest and Nature Agency. Bynær skovrejsning – hvorfor og hvordan? Skov-og naturstyrelsen. Miljø-og energiministeriet. Conference paper Konijnendijk CC (2004) NeighbourWoods – Med skoven som nabo. Skov og Landskab, Frederiksberg Konijnendijk CC (2008) The forest and the city: the cultural landscape of urban woodland. Springer, Dordrecht

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Maas J, Verheij RA (2007) Are health benefits of physical activity in natural environments used in primary care by general practitioners in the Netherlands? Urban For Urban Green 6:227–233 Ministry of the Environment (2002) Danmarks nationale skovprogram. Skov og Naturstyrelsen Müller E, Volk M (2001) History of landscape assessment. In: Krönert R, Steinhardt U, Volk M (eds) Landscape balance and landscape assessment. Springer, Heidelberg Ní Dhubháin, Fléchard MC, Moloney R, O’Connor D (2009) Stakeholders’ perception of forestry in rural areas – two cases studies in Ireland. Land Use Policy 26:695–703 Nilsson PÅ (2002) Rekreation og tilgængelighed i et tætbefolket område – brug og attituder i det agrare Danmark. Center for Regional- og Turismeforskning. http://www.crt.dk/media/ Landdistrikternes_P%C3%85N.pdf. Accessed 2 May 2009 Slee B, Roberts D, Evans R (2004) Forestry in the rural economy: a new approach to assessing the impact of forestry on rural development. Forestry 77(5):441–453 SPSS (2006) SPSS Referencer – Legoland. http://www.spss.com/dk/referencer/legoland.htm. Accessed 4 May 2009 Tivoli (2006) Besøgstal i Tivoli 2006. http://www.tivoli.dk/composite-5707.htm. Accessed 4 May 2009 Van Herzele A, de Clercq EM, Wiedemann T (2005) Strategic planning for new woodlands in the urban periphery: through the lens of social inclusiveness. Urban For Urban Green 3:177–188

Part III

Chapter 8

From Post to Pillar – The Development and Persistence of an Arboreal Metaphor Dainis Dauksta

The creation of the first man-made wooden structures involved cutting, lopping, and setting logs into holes in the ground. This ostensibly simple utilitarian act ­utilizing the first ergonomic device, the axe, has been re-enacted for nearly 400,000 years. The principal uncomplicated elements, tree, axe, post and post-hole have each developed venerated status, playing metaphorical roles within complex belief systems; embodying connections to heaven, sky gods, the underworld, climate, fertility and renewal. The post developed from utilitarian object into the symbolic wooden cosmic pillar, becoming an object of veneration in its own right, metaphor for sacred tree, man and god. The wooden pillar was petrified in the form of the Classical column and became a symbol of power used by governments and religions across the old and new world. The aim of this chapter is to examine archaeological, iconographic, etymological and written evidence which might illuminate the role of the wooden post as multiple-metaphor and theophany of thunder gods. The thunder gods are described in order to compare their characters and evaluate their similarities and relationship with the oak and the sacred pillar.

8.1 The Wooden Post in Prehistory and the Growth of Symbols Only post-holes and traces of a central hearth remain as evidence of what are acknowledged to be some of man’s first timber constructions found at Terra Amata in southern France and dated as early as 380,000  B.C. These rudimentary huts demonstrate the persistence and ubiquity of the timber post as an archetypal ­architectural construction method. Conceptual illustrations of these prehistoric dwellings are drawn as pointed arched structures with somewhat curved walls ­suggesting ancient precursors to the Gothic arch (Casey 1993).

D. Dauksta (*) Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales LD2 3PR, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_8, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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8.1.1 Timber Circles Although being one of Britain’s most debated prehistoric constructions, Durrington Walls enjoys far less fame and media attention than neighbouring Stonehenge. This is despite the fact that it is the largest known henge in the British Isles, bounded by earthworks of 480  m diameter including a 5 m deep ditch (Parker-Pearson et  al. 2006). Henges are characterized by the layout of their roughly circular or oval earthworks; their ditches are situated within banks unlike fortified structures where the ditches are situated externally. Henges may enclose either timber or stone ­circles, sometimes both. They may also include palisades or continuous walls of timber posts. However, timber circles can also occur without henges, for example the Sarn-y-Bryn-Caled circle in Wales (Gibson 2005). The 17  ha ceremonial enclosure of Durrington Walls contains the Southern Circle, a monument or temple of 40  m diameter. This timber circle formerly ­comprised six concentric rings of massive timber posts. Their positions are now only revealed by the existence of post-holes. The henge also encloses the smaller Northern Circle. Timber circles by their perishable nature are often only identifiable from altitude. The visual evidence of post-holes show up on aerial photographs and have therefore only come to light since the growth of aviation in the early twentieth century (Gibson 2005). When excavated, post-holes are identified by their vertical sides and whether they are of sufficient depth to support a post. The material which was packed around the post is known as primary fill and often contains many stones or sometimes pottery shards. When posts were left to decay, fine, stone-free humus can be found in the post void. When posts were removed cleanly, the primary fill may sometimes be left with vertical packing stones still in place, and also imprints may be left at the base of the void (Johnston and Wailes 2007). In 1926, a series of concentric post-holes were spotted from the air by RAF pilot Squadron Leader G.S.M. Insall within a small henge near to the south side of Durrington Walls. This was the site that became known as “Woodhenge” (Clark 1997). Actually, Stonehenge also consisted of myriad timber posts during its second phase of building. The sarsens and Welsh bluestones were erected in later phases probably at the same time as the Southern Circle which itself was the focus of intense long-term activity. Logs of up to 1 m diameter had to be hauled from many miles away to the latter site, and over 200 post-holes were dug to receive them. Some posts were inserted after others had rotted away. Considering the durability of large oak, this may have taken centuries. Therefore, the Southern Circle could have been an on-going 500 year project simultaneous with stone building at Stonehenge (Parker-Pearson et al. 2006). Stonehenge is unique among stone circles across Europe in the complexity and symmetry of its design. Also the use of mortice and tenon joints between sarsen uprights and lintels is idiosyncratic; this feature is more commonly associated with timber structures. What is more, using stone tools required a huge effort to pound away most of the stone around a relatively small protruding tenon. Extremely labour intensive, this process contributed little structural gain. Nowadays, a mortar

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or grout bond would be considered sufficient. Therefore, the carpentry-style technical details might have been a ritualization of process. In other words, Stonehenge could be described as a timber structure realised in stone. Whatever the reasoning, the structure we see now is only one phase of its long existence as it was formerly a timber circle (Gibson 2005). Geoffrey Wainwright was the first to excavate the timber Southern Circle, in 1967. He proposed that the timber structure was roofed and compared it to the large council houses of some Native American tribes. However, evidence suggests that the posts, dating back to around 2,500 B.C., may have been removed and replaced several times as at other sites, the implication being that this in itself was a ritual act. What is more, after the posts had decayed, offerings of flint tools, animal bones and potsherds were thrown into apparently recut post-holes, reinforcing their sacred nature with a “closing ritual”. Over the offerings was thrown a layer of fine topsoil, a medium formed from the decay out of which new life springs; the interface between life and death (Parker-Pearson et al. 2006). The latest interpretation of the Southern Circle suggests that the posts were free-standing and were never intended to be roofed. Also there is evidence to suggest that there could have been a live tree or a tree-throw hole within the circles. It is possible that the timber circles may have represented a forest glade or grove (Parker-Pearson et al. 2005). Stonehenge and the Southern Circle display complementary stylistic details in design whilst demonstrating different temporal and physical properties. The orientations of Stonehenge and the earthworks at Durrington Walls seem to have been planned and constructed as one grand complex with sunrise and sunset at both Midsummer and Midwinter solstices designed into the architecture (Parker-Pearson et al. 2006). The permanence of stone juxtaposed with the transience of timber also contrasts the stasis of the realm of the ancestors with the dynamism of the realm of the living (Aldhouse-Green 2004). At Woodhenge, it appears that offerings may have been placed sequentially, a “structured deposition”. For example, stone axes appear towards the outside of the monument. Archaeologists now consider that the process of setting up and resetting the posts, followed by long periods of decay and then arranged spatial distribution of votive offerings, demonstrate the religious rather than structural role for wooden posts in this context (Bradley 2007). Stonehenge was at the heart of William Stukeley’s eighteenth-century revival of “Celtic” druidry, although that culture would not have arrived in Britain until 2,000 years after the erection of the sarsens. Nowadays, it is the site of a midsummer festival which was attended by 21,000 people in 2005. However, evidence for prehistoric partying at this site is missing. Stonehenge was more likely a monument to dead ancestors, and evidence for calendrical celebrations is found within the realm of the living; the timber circles of 2,500 B.C. at Durrington Walls (ParkerPearson et al. 2006). Wooden posts are also utilized in another form of enclosure construction, the palisade. These perimeter features used considerable human and timber resources to raise large oak uprights set side by side into deep trenches, forming a huge continuous fence. One example at Hindwell, Mid-Wales, had a perimeter of 2.3  km, enclosed 34  ha and used around 1,400 oak posts each weighing

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around 4 tonnes (Gibson 2005) and between 5 and 9 m high (Bradley 2007). At Mount Pleasant in Dorset a series of timber circles was set within a palisade, its entrance flanked by massive oak posts two metres in diameter with an estimated weight of 17 tonnes each (Gibson 2005). Various types of offerings were deposited around the Mount Pleasant site including pottery sherds, carved chalk and a bronze axe at one of the entrances. Evidence points to this massive monument having been deliberately destroyed; the posts seem to have been burnt above ground level (Thomas 1996).

8.1.2 Celtic and La Tène Sites Around 2,000 years after the raising of Stonehenge, Celtic rites focused on trees or wooden posts are thought to have occurred at the La Tène site of Bliesbruck near Mosel. More than a hundred pits were found to contain votive offerings with ­evidence of logs or live trees having been planted in the holes. The Hallstatt enclosures of Goldberg and Goloring in Germany, dated at 600 B.C., were scattered with huge timber uprights, possibly in imitation of groves (Aldhouse-Green 2000). At Navan in Northern Ireland, a massive 13 m high oak post was erected at the centre of a 40 m diameter timber structure. Dendrochronological evidence from the centre post revealed the date of felling as 100 B.C., over 2,000  years later than the timber circles of Durrington Walls. It can only be a matter of conjecture as to whether the rituals associated with timber circles continued through the intervening period, or whether Navan represented a revival of ancient tradition as a reaction to trauma, for example, deteriorating climate. Whatever the case, Navan embodied drama both in its construction and in its ritual destruction; the timber circle appears to have been destroyed in a massive conflagration (Gibson 2005). Another, larger, Irish site has also showed signs of having been burnt; Dún Ailinne consists of a 13 ha henge set on a hill top within which several phases of construction took place between Neolithic and the Iron Age, including a 20  m diameter timber circle made up of 29 posts which are estimated to have been 0.5  m diameter. This impressive site was almost certainly intended for religious and inaugural ceremonies, evidenced by the very many partly burnt animal bones which were found. What is more, all construction phases demonstrated architectural alignments corresponding with May Day sunrise. The 20  m circle was removed during the last construction phase, post-holes filled and a single post erected (Johnston and Wailes 2007). Early Irish medieval texts frequently mention the ceremonial “bile” or tree of inauguration, which may refer to the large central oak post such as that at Navan. It has also been suggested that the great post ­represents the oak of the Celtic sky god. Iconographic evidence from the Gallo-Roman period linking trees to sky gods has been found in small mountain sanctuaries of the French Pyrenees where altars to local Jupiter ­variants are linked with images of coniferous trees, swastikas and other solar symbols.

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Further east, near Vernègues, one stone from an altar has depictions of trees alongside a hammer, a pot and a solar wheel. The hammer is, like the axe, linked to sky gods as is the pot (Aldhouse-Green 2000). Roman soldiers worshipped a sky god variant called Jupiter Dolichenus, and there is evidence of altars being built to him as far north as Britain, for example at Great Chesters fort on Hadrian’s Wall. This sky god is depicted bestriding a bull with an axe in one hand and lightning bolts in the other. His name is derived from Doliché in Asia Minor (Branston 1974) where he was also called Baal of Doliché and was one of the most important of the old gods of Syria and Phoenicia; Latin inscriptions to him have been found there linked to Roman garrisons (Temporini and Haase 1977). Soldiers of the Roman Empire appear to have served as agents for diffusion of a late Baal/Jupiter sky god cult which they spread from Asia Minor to the Scottish borders. Clear themes emerge from examination of timber circle sites across Western Europe. They demonstrate the existence of various systems of belief based around the raising of timber poles and setting them out in concentric circles. Sometimes they include individual massive posts, and the circles are often associated with henges. Some authors suggest that timber circles may have functioned as manmade sacred groves. Special status was given to timber circles and great oak posts (which may have been called bili by pre Christian Irish tribes) through the organised deposition of offerings such as bones, potsherds and axes nearby or within the postholes. There appears to be a special significance placed on the process of decay by allowing massive oak posts to rot in situ over centuries and then performing closing rituals involving the sprinkling of fine soil and other offerings into postholes. Certain arrangements of massive posts appear to have been especially venerated and linked to calendrical celebrations such as Midsummer. Many timber circle sites appear to have been burnt down in huge celebratory conflagrations. Rituals centred upon wooden posts appear to have been carried out by different tribes for over two millennia until around the birth of Christianity. Their importance is attested by the enormous effort involving complex logistics which must have been required to assemble these monuments; especially considering that they apparently had no strategic or defensive role. The huge number and size of the logs that were felled, trimmed and moved for the bigger monuments would represent a daunting project even in modern times. Evidence points towards the development of the great oak post as an object of veneration linked to a sky god. What is more, sky or thunder gods, often seen carrying an axe in one hand, seem to have been sacred to both Celtic and Roman populations. Romans soldiers imported their own Baal/Jupiter cult to Western Europe which had originated in the Near East. A theme begins to emerge from the evidence; the wooden post as sacred pillar was linked to thunder gods, the axe and calendrical rituals. A depiction of Jupiter Dolichenus on a bronze votive plaque shows the god ­standing on a bull with a double axe in his right hand and a thunderbolt in his left. This obscure Roman military variant thunder god preserved all of the principal symbols associated with Baal worship (Fig. 8.1).

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Fig.  8.1  Jupiter Dolichenus or Baal of Doliché, Hungarian National Museum

8.2 The Layering of Connected Symbols Massive timber structures, possibly built as representations of sacred groves using wooden posts, have been identified over the last century by aerial surveys and archaeological evidence. However, the wooden post seems also to have been used to create smaller-scale anthropomorphic figures and venerated pillars which were connected to special places across all of Europe and the Middle East. Iconographic evidence and written texts demonstrate that the venerated wooden post developed into a sacred pillar embodying multiple layers of connected symbols.

8.2.1 The Anthropomorphic Tree A British timber circle partly preserved under sands was exposed by tides during August 1998 near to Holme-next-the-sea, Norfolk. Dendrochronological analysis showed that the slender trees used for the posts were cut in 2,049 B.C. (Grant et al. 2005) At its centre was a large inverted oak stump, and a bronze axe was found within the area of the construction. The enclosure was initially thought to have been used in connection with fishing (Boismier 1998), but later its ritual significance emerged. Discovery of this monument attracted intense media attention, and the subsequent removal of “Seahenge”, as it was inaccurately

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labelled by the media, for preservation by conservation body English Heritage immediately invoked demonstrations (“the battle of Seahenge”) by latter-day “druids” (Moreton 1999). The inverted tree motif appears in esoteric teaching from Europe and the Middle East, and it is mentioned in Christian, Islamic and Jewish texts (Eliade 1958), for instance Jewish mystic the Maharal of Prague talks of man as an upside down tree (Elon 2003). Seahenge clearly predates the Abrahamic religions and demonstrates the persistence of metaphor across history and the eagerness with which even contemporary societies embrace ancient symbols, incorporating them into their world view. Seahenge also demonstrates the persistence of timber relics when immersed in wetlands. Ballykean Bog in County Offaly, Ireland, has preserved many wooden artifacts including one of a total of eleven possibly anthropomorphic figures; the “Red Man” of Kilbeg is a wooden idol in the form of a 2.3 m long alder post found in 2003. About one third up from its pointed end, there remains a belt of unworked bark, like a waist-band. Eleven crude notches, possibly ribs, have been carved below a clearly defined neck which carried a bulbous head. There is a notch between “ribs” and “belt” which could be seen as a navel. It is dated at 1740– 1531 cal. B.C. These post figures are often associated with wooden trackways and may have signified ownership rights or possibly conferred protection on users. “Red Man” is a folk name for alder, possibly reflecting its tendency to weep reddish sap when cut (Stanley 2006). Arab scholar Ibn Fadlan left a detailed account of similar primitive wooden idols, made and venerated by the Rus, encountered on a mission to the Middle Volga in 921; “a long upright piece of wood that has a face like a man’s” (EllisDavidson 1988). Trees are an easy metaphor for humans; they have skins which “bleed” when cut, they stand vertically with their arms reaching for heaven and their feet bound in the earth (Aldhouse-Green 2000). The wooden anthropomorphic pillar-idol has been encountered through millennia from the western to the eastern edges of Europe. Loaded with metaphorical or religious meanings, they served different but connected roles in many pre-Christian cultures. Formed by the first ubiquitous human tool, the axe, they developed into idols of thunder gods who were in turn linked back to the axe.

8.2.2 The Lopped Tree, the Axe and the Thunder God Mircea Eliade talks of the “continuity” of juxtaposition of sacred tree, standing stone and spring across the ancient world from Greece to Palestine, from Minoan times to the end of Hellenism (Eliade 1958). The Canaanites and Hebrews placed their altars and asherim (sacred poles) “by the green trees upon the high hills”. High places were a recurrent theme in the worship of sky and thunder gods, possibly most famous being the sacred oak of Zeus at Dodona. Sir James Frazer even suggested that Islam as practiced in his time in rural Palestine was one layer of belief over an ancient veneration of sacred groves (Frazer 1918). Tree cults

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appeared everywhere in pagan Europe from the Celtic, Nordic and Baltic margins down to the Balkans, and Frazer wrote thousands of pages on the subject (Schama 1996). Asherim are connected to tree cults of the ancient Middle East, and although the word often occurs in Biblical and Hebrew texts, interpretations of asherim and asherah are somewhat problematical. Certainly the words suggest tree, sacred grove or wooden stela; essentially asherah refers to a goddess, possibly the great goddess Ashtoreth. In the Old Testament she is mostly treated as an object, suggesting the asherah to be the theophany of the great goddess Ashtoreth (Binger 1997). Ashtoreth’s consort was Bel or Baal (Branston 1974). Although Eliade thought it incorrect to speak of “tree cults”, he nevertheless suggested that the early sacred place was a microcosm standing at the centre of the world and it always included a sacred tree. Stone stood for reality and indestructibility, the tree for life and regeneration, and water completed the microcosmic landscape which was distilled over time to one ubiquitous symbolic ingredient; the lopped tree or sacred pillar. Amongst other names, this object has been called the cosmic pillar or axis mundi (Eliade 1958). Multiple sacred strands were woven into the grain of this metaphorical elemental component formed from a tree using an axe. It was the tree as centre of the world and support of the universe, tree as axis mundi or the connection between heaven, earth and the underworld, tree as a symbol of resurrection of vegetation and rebirth of the year, tree as theophany and tree as metaphor for man. Even Abraham, to whom the three great monotheistic religions are traced back, received his divine disclosures under the sacred oaks of Mamre and Shechem. Furthermore, the asherim, the sacred pole made from a tree with its branches lopped off, was revered in the Canaanite high places long after Palestine became “the Land of Yahweh” (Frazer 1918). The Hebrew words elon and elan, meaning oak, and elah, meaning terebinth, include the root El or god. Thus, it reinforces the sacred associations with these trees, although another interpretation might be that the strength of oak is linked to god (Yaffe 2001). Yahweh tells the children of Israel in the Dead Sea Scrolls: You shall not do in your land as other nations do. Everywhere they sacrifice, plant sacred trees, erect sacred pillars and set up carved stones to bow down before them. You shall not plant any tree as a sacred tree beside my altar to be made by you. You shall not erect a sacred pillar; that is hateful to me (Vermès 2004)

However, veneration of trees and springs continued, although Yahweh had replaced the ancient thunder god Baal (Fig. 8.2) as the dispenser of rain and fertility (James 1966). Actually, the biblical Hebrew term for heaven shamayim also means sky, clearly positioning Yahweh also as a sky and thunder god (Yaffe 2001). Even during modern times Moslems, Christians and Druzes in Syria and Palestine all paid homage to trees, ostensibly linked to saints, by tying rags to them. Regarding the Canaanites, although their temple sites used only asherim, sacred pillars or poles, they nevertheless seemed to have kept small images of Baal at home. He was generally represented with upraised right hand holding an axe or hammer and the other holding a bunch of lightning bolts (Khuri-Hitti 2004).

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Fig. 8.2  Baal drawn from a bas-relief from the south west palace of Sennacherib (anon)

Baal is described in one Ugaritic text thus: Baal sits like the sitting of a mountain... Seven lightning flashes Eight store-houses of thunder His head is adorned... The horns on him His head with a downpour from the heavens …is watering (Smith 2009)

The axe and lightning wielding sky god was known by many names in the Near East and Europe; Taru, Tarhun, Adad, Baal, Zeus, Jupiter (Bryce 2004), Tiwaz, Thunor, Thor, Perkūnas, Perun and Taranis amongst others. He appeared as a local rather than universal god in different guises all the way from Palestine to northern and western Europe but retained a similar personality through cultures and ages, being associated with the bull, the axe and thunder. In northern Europe, the thunder god was especially associated with the oak (Branston 1974). The names for the Latvian (Pērkons) and Lithuanian (Perkūnas) variants mean thunder. Moreover, they both have the Indo-European divine no suffix which suggests “master of”. What is more, the root Perku signifies “to strike, to splinter” (Jakobson 1985) and has the exact Latin counterpart quercus, oak (West 2007). In the Indo-European tradition, the same root with a different suffix means “oak wooded hill” (Jakobson 1985). Perhaps it was the image of the lightning-struck “blasted oak” which

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g­ enerated the idea of the storm god smashing it with his mighty axe (Branston 1974). A well-known Latvian Daina or folk-poem recounts this: Perkons struck at the oak With nine flashes Three flashes cleaved the trunk Six cleaved the top (Dowden 2000)

Indo-European language and religion link oak trees, lightning, stones, anvils, thunder and the god of thunder, who is associated with oak trees or groves on high places such as mountain tops (Dowden 2000). Perun, the Slavic god of lightning and power, was also linked to the oak and headed the pantheon of wooden idols erected by Prince Vladimir in 980 on a hill near to the palace of Kiev (Jakobson 1985). Perun’s idol held in its hand “a flint that looked like a thunderbolt or an arrow” (Baron 1967). There seems to be no direct evidence to support the suggestion that this particular wooden idol was an anthropomorphic post, but it is a reasonable assumption because Ibn Fadlan (see above) recorded that in 921 the Rus were worshipping wooden pillars in the Middle Volga region. Lightning is linked to the axe by the peculiar folk belief that stone axes or cerauniae were formed on the ground where lightning struck, making a thunderbolt or thunderstone, which also is a common folk name for stone axe (Johanson 2009). The Saxons raised a lopped tree called Irminsul at Eresburg (thought to be modern Marsberg) which was cut down by Charlemagne in 772. Irmin is associated with the early Germanic sky god called Tiwaz, and Medieval writer Rudolph of Fulda called Irminsul the “universal all sustaining pillar” (Ellis-Davidson 1988). Branston regards Tiwaz as principal and archetypal Indo-European god or “Djevs” which makes his proposition more compelling. Apparently, around the time of Christ many different peoples of Europe were worshipping the same thunder god under different names (Branston 1974). The sky god with power over thunder and lightning is paramount; little wonder that the Christian God Almighty stole his thunder. Notwithstanding that the comparative method as used by Sir James Frazer and Georges Dumézil is unpopular, to utilize isolationism in the context of thunder gods seems to be an act of contrariness considering their similarity and ubiquity (Jakobson 1985). Anglo-Saxons appear to have raised pillars to their own sky deity Tiw whose name is still celebrated every Tuesday or Tiwes-Daeg. There is evidence that Anglo-Saxons set up a tall wooden post in Northumbria on a previously Celtic holy site which included a temple and a huge shaft dug into the hallowed ground (Ellis-Davidson 1988). There are several examples of these ritual shafts, such as the one at Fellbach Schmiden near Stuttgart, over 20 m deep, probably dug in order to connect to the underworld. Offerings were thrown into these shafts (Aldhouse-Green 2000), including human and animal bones, for example, those of dogs. But more interestingly, carved wooden figures have been recovered from near St. Bernard in La Vendée. Early sacred enclosures across Europe and Scandinavia used by Celtic, Germanic and Nordic peoples had many similar features including earthworks, ritual shafts, springs, standing stones and wooden pillars (Ellis-Davidson 1988).

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The carved stone columns known as Jupiter columns may be developments of the revered great oak post, they were erected during the Roman period, the second and third centuries A.D., in eastern Gaul and the Rhineland. These columns were inscribed to the sky god Jupiter and the example from Hausen-an-der-Zaber has a shaft covered in oak leaves and acorns, clearly linking the sky god with the oak. Maximus of Tyre wrote that the Celtic image of Jupiter (or Zeus) was a high oak tree (Ellis-Davidson 1988). It would appear that the sacred tree, especially the oak, was venerated as a theophany of the thunder gods which were worshipped across Europe and the Middle East right up to early Christian times. The ancient European sky god was represented by a cosmic pillar in Germany and possibly in the British Isles, too. The consort of thunder god Baal, the great goddess Ashtoreth, was also represented by a sacred pillar. All thunder gods used lightning and were dispensers of rains and therefore fertility, most were associated with the axe. The axe and lightning seem to have been conflated as the instrument which smashed the oak. The axe also was the tool which performed the act of lopping the oak in order to transform it into the sacred pillar, a theophany of the thunder gods.

8.2.3 The Maypole The Irminsul is linked by some writers, for example in The Origin of the English Nation (Chadwick 2010), to the May and Midsummer Day celebrations which took place in many parts of Europe and Scandinavia. Festivals at this time of year focused upon the act of felling a tall straight tree, often fir, lopping off most or all of its branches and setting it up again in the middle of the village or market-place of a town (Frazer 1932). In the shadow of well-known modern London landmarks, the Lloyds building and the “Gherkin”, on a street called St. Mary Axe, survives a concrete Christian link to a non-Christian artifact; the church of St Andrew Undershaft. This name was derived from the massive Maypole which dominated the church in the fifteenth century, but which was destroyed as a “heathen idol” by Protestants in 1549 (Hatts 2003). That one of the tallest Maypoles in London should have been raised in the strangely named street St. Mary Axe is a curious coincidence considering that axe and lopped tree are intimately linked, but the name seems to have derived from a sign at the end the street (Anon 1806). Across many parts of western Europe such as Ireland, Britain and France, the Maypole was set up on the eve of Mayday, and bedecked with flowers, ribbons and other decorations (Frazer 1932). The earliest literature to mention such a festival in Britain is a fourteenth-century Welsh poem by Gryffydd ap Adda ap Dafydd; it describes the setting up of a tall birch tree at Llanidloes in Mid-Wales (Hutton 1996). One interesting point is the choice of species, birch, which would have been one of very few suitable tall straight hardwoods available in Wales at that time. Softwood species were not introduced until several centuries later, for example, larch around 1740 (Linnard 2000).

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In Sweden, raising the Maypole is a Midsummer ceremony nowadays linked to the eve of St. John and which also includes the Midsummer bonfire (Oleson 2008). According to Frazer, this was the case in the Upper Harz mountains of Germany also (Frazer 1932), but perhaps his source was incorrect because nowadays the ­bonfire is lit the night before Mayday, Walpurgisnacht. The Latvians still regard Midsummer as the most important festival of the year, and Frazer’s description of the celebrations (lighting bonfires on high places, drinking, singing and dancing) all hold true today. Frazer also recounts the traditional method of obtaining fire; an oak post would be driven into the ground and a wheel set up on it which was turned quickly until the friction produced fire (Frazer 2005b). The Maypole as described in The Golden Bough was a tall spruce tree stripped of its branches and ornamented with leaves, flowers and slips of cloth. The ceremony was practised from Ireland to the Pyrenees and across Europe to Russia and Scandinavia and was associated with singing, dancing, drinking and general rowdiness, but the symbolism of the pole itself is now somewhat obscure. Although it would appear to be a similar rite to the act of raising a sacred pillar to link heaven and earth, there is little direct evidence to suggest this despite James Frazer’s best efforts to prove the Maypole ceremony as a vestige of tree worship. What is more, some of the related English May celebrations have been shown to have origins in urban industrial culture, for example, the “Jack in the Green”. These rituals were proposed by Lady Raglan (a keen follower of Frazer) as relics of ­pre-Christian ritual (Hutton 1996). Whatever its origins were, the Maypole was certainly considered to be a threat by the Puritans in England and was banned by Parliament in 1644: And because the profanation of the Lord’s day hath been heretofore greatly occasioned by Maypoles (a heathenish vanity, generally abused to superstition and wickedness), the Lords and Commons do further order and obtain That all and singular Maypoles that are or shall be erected, shall be taken down and removed (Joshua 2007)

Mayday and the Maypole returned to favour on the restoration of Charles II to the throne in 1660, and the celebrations merged somewhat with “Oak Apple Day”, the day of the accession of Charles II. To celebrate the first anniversary of the king’s restoration, a huge 134 ft long cedar Maypole bedecked with flags and garlands was raised in the Strand (Joshua 2007).

8.3 The Classical Column In Vulcan and Eole (1500), painter Piero di Cosimo painted an enigmatic conceit of prehistoric building technique. He depicted builders constructing primitive post and beam structures with unhewn logs also depicted in Vitruvius’s De Architectura. This publication include a description of the tribes of Gaul and Spain using logs to

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create structures embodying the essential elements of Classical architecture (Schama 1996). The notion was also illustrated by Francesco di Giorgio in his Trattato di Architettura from the Saluzziano Codex, where he shows a classical column adjacent to a lopped tree (Hersey 1988). The column is the icon of classicism, embodying architectural and ritual traditions reaching back into prehistory. It is imbued with multiple symbolic values which have been exploited by rulers and architects over millennia. The classical column is metaphor made concrete, its tapered form recalling the stem of a tree. Even without knowing its prehistorical past, we can be aware of its monumental power having seen it utilized in ancient temples, government buildings, libraries and museums all over the world. The Parthenon, Capitol, Reichstag, British Museum and Vatican are instantly recognizable as paradigms of power, their grandeur resting on stone columns whose design are derived from wooden columns with origins in the ancient world. Even if the earliest timber post and beam constructions demonstrated a pragmatic use of vertical and horizontal structural elements, this cannot be said for the column in the classical temple where the cella or chapel is structurally discrete and the columns around it structurally redundant. There may have been a historical function for columns if assisting support of an overhanging roof which carried rainwater away from vulnerable walls and foundations, but this utilitarian function is long-lost. It seems reasonable to assume that the stone column has been utilised for its metaphorical function. If this is the case, certain design features such as fluting (perhaps representing bark), foliated capital and other vegetal decorative motifs make sense. Arthur Evans, best known for his excavations at Knossos, wrote in The Mycenean Tree and Pillar Cult and its Mediterranean Relations of the “­non-discovery” of stone columns in the Palace of Knossos and evidence of burnt remains of cypress-wood columns resting in stone discs (Evans 1901). Evans noted that the columns were inverted tree trunks, but this counter-intuitive ­positioning is puzzling and perhaps discomforting; we know from observation that trees taper upwards, as do most subsequent classical columns. Is it possible that this was an act of hubris, displaying man’s dominion over nature? There is little evidence that that early columns carried any vegetal references; it was the later stone columns which carried “bark or leaf” motifs. For example, Corinthian capitals are particularly foliated (Árnason and Murphy 2001). Evans was ­particular obsessed with the double axe marks found in Minoan architecture, and there has been much debate as to whether they were placed, especially when on columns, for religious or secular purposes. In particular, Evans’s attempt to link the labrys with Zeus has been strongly criticized (Chapin 2004). Nevertheless the double axe or labrys along with the “horns of consecration” of the sacred bull are the two most familiar symbols of the Minoan civilization, and an image on the Agia Triada sarcophagus shows a sacred pole surmounted by a labrys (Haysom 2010). Like the lopped tree, the axe became a cult symbol in its own right, and the two primeval objects were linked in the numinous as in the concrete.

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The temple of Hera at Olympia is considered to be one of the earliest buildings of the Doric, the simplest of the classical orders. Built around 1,100 B.C., the temple columns are assumed to be have been originally of wood because the Greek traveller and writer Pausanias found one remaining oak column within the structure in the second century A.D. (Robertson 1929). The use of the adze (a smoothing tool) was forbidden in Sparta, the heartland of Doric architecture, where simplicity was ­valued; therefore, it is safe to assume that the axe would have been utilized for shaping tree trunks into columns. Hewing along the length of a log with an axe will leave a rough flute corresponding in shape to the curve of the axe blade and dependent on the working angle. It is not inconceivable that this is the origin of fluting on the Classical column (Rykwert 1998). Lucian wrote that the Greeks originally worshipped within sacred groves, and even after their temple building phase had begun sacred trees were still associated with them and received votive offerings including flowers and bones. The original wooden columns arranged as a temple could be interpreted as an artificial sacred grove, and the columns therefore sacred in their own right (Hersey 1988). A wooden column seen by Pausanias near to the temple of Zeus at Olympia, decayed and held together with straps, stood under an aedicule or canopy supported by 4 columns (Robertson 1929). Venerated enough to be worthy of its own shrine, it had become a sacred tree-column (Hersey 1988). Pausanias and Plutarch wrote of a myth about Hera’s estrangement from Zeus and the festival which celebrates it. After an argument with his wife Hera, Zeus was advised to deceive her into thinking he would marry another woman; he cut down a fine oak tree, carved it, dressed it in bridal robes, and displayed his new “wife” in a procession on a bullock cart. When Hera heard the news she was angry. Running to the cart, she tore the gown from the wooden image and then laughed to see that it was a dummy wooden bride made specially to instil jealousy. She was reconciled to Zeus but nevertheless burnt the image. So in Boiotia, a festival called “Daidala” was held every 7 years to celebrate this event using the trunk of a tree from the grove where the largest oaks grew. The wooden bride was set up on a wagon and driven to the peak of Mount Kithairon where a wooden building had been constructed in the manner of a stone building, and they piled brushwood around the altar. A cow was sacrificed to Hera and a bull to Zeus, and everything was set ablaze to be consumed in a great conflagration. Pausanias wrote “I know of no blaze that is so high or seen so far as this” (Versnel and Horstmanshoff 2002). Frazer considered the Daidala festival to be linked to the Maypole ceremonies, a marriage of oak-god to oak goddess, the metaphor of reconciliation of Hera to Zeus as ameliorative ritual for prevention of crop failure (Frazer 2005a). The Daidala festival is linked to the Dodola, Dudola or Dudula rain-making ritual which survived into recent times in the Balkans where a young woman was dressed only in leaves and sang songs, “rain rain let thyself go” to propitiate the clouds (Ralston 2004). She was also called Perperuna, a derived feminine form of Perun; the name suggesting the double incantation “thunder, thunder” (Jakobson 1985). Thus, the Slavic god of lightning seems to be linked to rain or fertility festivals which have their origins in the mythic procession of an oaken anthropomorphic idol dressed in bridal robes.

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8.4 Two Modern Vestiges of the Sacred Pillar Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuşi was carving “portions of tree trunk cut obliquely” in his Paris studio during 1909 (Geist 1990). These pieces were the beginning of a life-long project called Endless Column, and when the sculptor was asked the purpose of the work, Brâncuşi replied “to support the vault of heaven” (Fernandez and Ferranti 2000). Fellow Romanian Mircea Eliade suggested that the idea for the basic shape, stacked truncated pyramids, came from the wooden posts in Romanian peasant houses. However, Brâncuşi placed grand aspirations on this humble model and transformed it into his own cosmic pillar or axis mundi (Eliade 1989). He continued making wooden versions of the concept until 1935, when he was asked to create a war monument in Târgu-Jiu, Romania, and made a massive, 30  m high version in iron (Newton 2006). After completion in 1938, it seems Brâncuşi considered it pointless to tackle any more major work because in creating his ladder to heaven, he felt he had little more to complete on earth and continued for 20 years simply making replicas (Fig. 8.3; Eliade 1989).

Fig. 8.3  Three versions of Endless Column in Brâncuşi’s studio (photo: A. Lefterov)

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Riga Great Cemetery in Latvia was established in the early eighteenth century and contains the graves of many Baltic Germans and some of Latvia’s most famous writers. Unfortunately, many of its grand mausoleums and monuments were destroyed during the Soviet era (Baister and Patrick 2007). Nevertheless, a few surviving headstones remain in the curious form of stone columns carved to imitate lopped oak trees. On the example pictured below (Fig.  8.4), a young oak tree sprouts from an acorn; the symbol of renewal is one of the main themes relating to the metaphorical use of the oak and sacred pillar throughout Europe. The oak realised in stone could be seen as a link between earthly existence and the afterlife, a form of cosmic pillar also echoing Gallo-Roman Jupiter columns.

Fig. 8.4  Stone lopped-oak column in Riga Great Cemetery (photo: D. Dauksta)

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8.5 Conclusion Renewal emerges as a principal motif in the multiple layers of metaphor encountered in the use of the sacred wooden pillar throughout the ages. The process of installation, removal and replacement (or renewal) of massive oak posts within prehistoric timber structures appears to have ritual meaning as an act in itself. The special significance of decay (from which new life springs) seems to be a manifestation of the renewal theme, but perhaps the most important clue is in the positioning of timber circles with their architecture reflecting the position of the sun at important times of the year, especially the solstices. The ceremonies of Midsummer seek a renewal of nature’s cycle, often burning out negative forces at this critical juncture in order to ensure the return of the vegetative cycle the following year. The spectacular conflagrations recorded in the charcoal found at some timber circle sites and chronicled in mythology such as that surrounding the Daidala festival attest to the importance of the ritualised Midsummer holocaust. The destruction by fire of timber monuments which were erected at great cost to both humans and to the forest shows the value placed on the rituals. The survival of ceremonies surrounding timber circles and great oak posts through several millennia across many cultures demonstrates the persistence of significant symbols. The possible linkage of localised thunder gods to sacred pillars such as the Irminsul and Jupiter columns is reinforced by the oak being a theophany of many thunder gods including Yahweh, Zeus, Jupiter, Perkunas and Perun. The axe conflated with lightning as the “oak-smasher” was associated with most of the thunder gods. Axes have been found as votive offerings at some timber monuments, thus realising a circle of association between oak, sacred pillar, thunder god and axe or thunderstone. The particular linkage of axe-wielding, rain dispensing Baal and the sacred asherah, linked to Baal’s consort Ashtoreth, complete a sacred symbolic circle which was subsumed but not entirely eradicated by the emergence of Abrahamic religions in the Middle East. Etymological evidence directly connects oak-wooded hills with northern thunder gods such as Perkunas, mythology demonstrates linkage between Zeus, the oak and Mount Olympia and biblical texts link Baal with sacred groves in Canaanite high places. Hera, the consort of Zeus, provides a particularly rich matrix of evidence. The first Doric temple was hers; with columns made of oak shaped by the axe, they imitated the sacred grove. The myth recounting her argument with Zeus, when he fashioned an anthropomorphic figure from a fine oak tree and dressed it in bridal robes which was then burnt by Hera, embodies a remarkable set of metaphorical associations. The related Daidala festival and its modern derivative, the Perperuna rainmaking ceremony, demonstrate the core objective, to guarantee rain. There is danger of repeating the same mistake that Sir James Frazer made in his comparative study of mythology and folklore which is to universalise parallel themes in order to distil them into one simplified axiom. However, in studying the relationship between the oak, the sacred pillar, the axe and renewal of nature’s

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cycles, it is impossible to avoid symbolic associations and the tendency to weave important themes from the strands of metaphors. What can be said is that the tree is an image of the cosmos, a theophany, a symbol of life and inexhaustible fertility. The tree was transformed into the microcosm of the sacred pillar embodying nature’s processes of renewal which we now call the carbon and water cycles. The importance placed upon these processes by our ancestors suggests a simple ancient message; we abuse our relationship with nature’s cycles at our own peril.

References Aldhouse-Green M (2000) Seeing the wood for the trees: the symbolism of trees and wood in Ancient Gaul and Britain. University of Wales Centre for Advanced Welsh and Celtic Studies, Newport Aldhouse-Green MJ (2004) An archaeology of images: iconology and cosmology in iron age and Roman Europe. Routledge, Abingdon Anon (1806) The European magazine: and London review, p 14 Árnason JP, Murphy P (2001) Agon, logos, polis: the Greek achievement and its aftermath. Franz Steiner, Stuttgart Baister S, Patrick C (2007) Riga: The Bradt city guide. Chalfont St. Peter, Bradt Travel Guides Baron SH (1967) The travels of Olearius in seventeenth-century Russia. Stanford University Press, Palo Alto Binger T (1997) Asherah: goddesses in Ugarit, Israel and the old testament. Continuum International Publishing Group, London Boismier WA (1998) A timber structure at Holme-next-the-sea. English Heritage, Norfolk Bradley R (2007) The prehistory of Britain and Ireland. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Branston B (1974) The lost gods of England. Book Club Associates, London Bryce T (2004) Life and society in the Hittite world. Oxford University Press, Oxford Casey ES (1993) Getting back into place: toward a renewed understanding of the place-world. Indiana University Press, Bloomington Chadwick HM (2010) The origin of the English Nation. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Chapin AP (2004) Charis: essays in honor of Sara A. Immerwahr. ASCSA, Athens Clark A (1997) Seeing beneath the soil. Routledge, Abingdon Dowden K (2000) European paganism: the realities of cult from antiquity to the middle ages. Routledge, Abingdon Eliade M (1958) Patterns in comparative religion. Sheed & Ward, New York Eliade M (1989) Journal II, 1957-1969. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Ellis-Davidson HR (1988) Myths and symbols in Pagan Europe. Syracuse University Press, New York Elon A (2003) Trees, earth, and Torah: A Tu B’Shvat anthology. Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia Evans AJ (1901) The Mycenean tree and pillar cult and its mediterranean relations. MacMillan and Co., London Fernandez D, Ferranti F (2000) The Romanian rhapsody: an overlooked corner of Europe. Algora, New York Frazer JG (1918) Folklore in the old testament, vol III. Macmillan and Co., London Frazer JG (1932) The golden bough. Macmillan, London Frazer JG (2005a) The golden bough. A study in magic and religion. Part 1. The magic art and the evolution of kings, Vol II. Elibron.com Frazer JG (2005b) The golden bough. A study in magic and religion. part 7. Balder the beautiful, Vol X. Elibron.com

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Geist S (1990) Brancusi: The “Endless Column”. Aspects of modern art at the art institute: the artist, The Patron, The Public 16:71 Gibson A (2005) Stonehenge and timber circles. Tempus, Stroud Grant J, Gorin S, Fleming N (2005) The archaeology coursebook: an introduction to study skills, topics and methods. Taylor & Francis, Abingdon Hatts L (2003) London city churches. Bankside, London Haysom M (2010) The double-axe: a contextual approach to the understanding of a cretan symbol in the neopalatial period. Oxf J Archaeol 29:35–55 Hersey GL (1988) The lost meaning of classical architecture: speculations on ornament from vitruvius to venturi. MIT Press, Cambridge Hutton R (1996) The stations of the sun: a history of the ritual year in Britain. Oxford University Press, Oxford Jakobson R (1985) Selected writings, vol 7. Walter de Gruyter, Berlin James EO (1966) The tree of life: an archaeological study. Brill, Leiden Johanson K (2009) The changing meaning of ‘Thunderbolts’ Folklore, p 129–138 Johnston SA, Wailes B (2007) Dún Ailinne: excavations at an Irish royal site, 1968–1975, Vol 129. University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology Joshua E (2007) The Romantics and the may day tradition. Ashgate, Aldershot Khuri-Hitti P (2004) History of Syria: including Lebanon and Palestine. Gorgias Press LLC, Piscataway Linnard W (2000) Welsh woods and forests. Gomer, Llandysul Moreton C (1999) Druids rally for battle of seahenge. The Independent, London Newton R (2006) Reclaiming Sacred Space: Landscaping Constantine Brancusi’s Endless Column Complex ICON, p 32–39 Oleson E (2008) Adventure guide to Sweden. Hunter, Madison Parker-Pearson M, Pollard J, Tilley C, Thomas J, Richards C, Welham K (2005) The Stonehenge Riverside Project Interim Report 2005. The University of Sheffield, p 7, 60-70 Parker-Pearson M, Pollard J, Richards C, Thomas J, Tilley C, Welham K, Albarella U (2006) Materializing Stonehenge the Stonehenge riverside project and new discoveries. J Mater Cult 11:227–261 Ralston WRS (2004) Songs of the Russian people as illustrative of slavonic mythology and Russian social life. Kessinger, Whiefish Robertson DS (1929) Greek and Roman architecture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Rykwert J (1998) The Dancing column: on order in architecture. MIT Press, Cambridge Schama S (1996) Landscape and memory. Fontana, London Smith MS (2009) The Ugaritic Baal cycle. Brill, Leiden Stanley M (2006) The red man of Kilbeg: an early Bronze age idol from county Offaly. Past 52:5–7 Temporini H, Haase W (1977) Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im spiegel der neueren Forschung. Walter de Gruyter, Berlin Thomas J (1996) Time, culture, and identity: an interpretative archaeology. Routledge, Abingdon Vermès G (2004) The complete dead sea scrolls in english. Penguin, London Versnel HS, Horstmanshoff HFJ (2002) Kykeon: studies in honour of H.S. Versnel, vol 142. BRILL, Leiden West ML (2007) Indo-European poetry and myth. Oxford University Press, Oxford Yaffe MD (2001) Judaism and environmental ethics: a reader. Lexington Books, Lanham

Chapter 9

Landscape Painting and the Forest – The Influence of Cultural Factors in the Depiction of Trees and Forests Dainis Dauksta

Painting is composed of circumscription, composition and reception or management of light (Alberti 1966). The same holds true for silviculture. Painters and foresters work, managing light, within their bounded spaces, or landscapes, in order to satisfy societal needs. Their work is heavily influenced by religious, philosophical and political ideology, their products change with fluxing societal expectations and may be imbued with metaphor and mythology. The use of landscapes and forests in paintings is multifaceted, including poetic, symbolic and factual themes. The statement by cultural geographer Cosgrove (2006) “Landscape is complex, multi-layered, difficult to categorise or quantify” could hence be applied to physical landscape as well as to images of landscape. Compared to the long history of depiction in human culture, reaching back to the first cave paintings, landscape painting is a relatively young term. Historians have tended to identify particular works which might be labelled “the first”, for instance Giorgione’s La Tempesta of 1521; however, claims regarding this first use of the term landscape in relation to a painting are contested, it may even be that La Tempesta was not produced as a landscape anyway (Bermingham and Brewer 1997). The development of modern landscape painting has a well-documented yet debated history; in Britain alone John Ruskin, Kenneth Clark, Ernst Gombrich, E. P. Thompson, Raymond Williams and John Berger have all contributed well-read treatises on the subject. It would require several volumes rather than paragraphs to analyse the various strands of history, philosophy and ideology which now make up the subject. The aim in the following chapter is to describe, by reference to a number of artists and paintings, the varying role of landscapes, trees and forests in paintings and the influences that have acted on the artists.

D. Dauksta (*) Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales LD2 3PR, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_9, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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9.1 Medieval Symbolic and Factual Landscapes The Italian scholar Petrarch (1304–1374) is said to be the first modern man, even the first tourist, because he felt able to express an emotional response to nature and particular places; “with what joy I wander free and alone among mountains, forests and streams”. He was supposedly the first man to climb a mountain, although he admitted to suffering Catholic guilt for enjoying the sublime pleasure of an earthly panorama (Clark 1949). Clark (1949) wrote in Landscape into Art of the modern tendency to assume that the appreciation of nature’s beauty in the landscape is normal; we view forests, fields, mountains, rivers, sky, sea as essential sensual ingredients for a full (even spiritual) life. However, depiction of landscape for its own sake was until relatively modern times mostly unthinkable even though artists have been capable of rendering recognisable images for millennia. Clark suggested that medieval Christian philosophy saw earthly life as brief and squalid; ideas might be lofty but anything perceived sensually, including nature, must be sinful. St. Anselm writing in the twelfth century even suggested that surroundings were increasingly harmful in proportion to the number of senses they delighted. Therefore, sensations need to be subdued; objects in a landscape should be rendered in a utilitarian manner as symbols rather than reflect their sinful reality. For instance, the trees depicted in Psalm 64 of the Eadwine Psalter (1155–1160) have a toy-like quality to them, enough to tell us what they are but no more than is needed to illustrate the narrative. Clark calls this a landscape of symbols (Clark 1949). In contrast, Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s Peaceful Country from the fresco Effects of Good and Bad Government in the City and in the Country (1338–1339) in the Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, Italy shows a detailed panoramic view of the Sienese countryside; an almost entirely anthropogenic, developed landscape with surprisingly little forest within the environs of the city, so firewood surely had to be carted for many kilometres. This is one of the first Italian factual landscapes and has little discernible symbolic content; it simply advertises the result of good government (Kleiner 2009).

9.1.1 Symbols of Christ, Crucifixion and Redemption The late phase of medieval Christian symbolism is embodied in the Hortus Conclusus or enclosed garden landscapes which evolved around 1400 or a little before. Old-English geard means fence, Albanian gardh hedge, Slavic gradina garden or enclosed town (Baly 1897). The Virgin Mary is generally seen with the Holy Child seated or playing within these paradise gardens full of Christian symbols. Flowers, fruit trees and fountains often feature within the garden wall and Gothic mountains and forests are shown outside the perimeter. Nature outside may be wild and disturbing, but inside the enclosed garden it is civilised and safe (Clark 1949); the walled garden is one of the oldest expressions of civilisation and was first enjoyed in Mesopotamia, Egypt and Persia.

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In dark, forested medieval Europe, the forest glade as enclosed space was a garden equivalent, but what is more, the garden can also act as metaphor for man’s soul (Aben and Wit 1999). The poet Theocritus regarded the glade in a wild forest as a locus amoenus or “lovely place”, a much-used reference which might be defined as a grassy place by a brook or spring under the shade of trees. The term is sometimes used to describe the paradise garden (Curtius and Trask 1991). The dark enchanted wood is a recurrent symbolist theme. In Pisanello’s Vision of St. Eustace (1436–1438), the scene is so dark the viewer needs a few minutes to pick out the noble pagan hunter and his hounds encountering the strange sight of a stag with a crucifix on its head; Eustace hears the voice of Christ and is converted. There are animals and birds placed on stylised rocks and mountains all around. This is far from a precise depiction. The animals and features vary in scale and are strangely aligned; the forest in the foreground could be a hedge in comparison to Eustace on his horse (Salter 2001). This is a symbolic bestiary (Arnott 2010), the pelican and hart are present, both symbols of Christ (Fahlbusch et al. 2008). The hare, symbol of Easter (it was the hare that laid the Easter egg) runs away to the right foreground (Newall 1971). A painting which is often described as the first great modern landscape and the culmination of the landscape of symbols is Flemish painter Jan van Eyck’s masterpiece Adoration of the Lamb or Ghent Altarpiece (completed 1432); with the fountain of life at the centre of a paradise garden surrounded by Gothic mountains and forests (Clark 1949). In the central panel, the lamb on the altar (shedding blood into a chalice) represents Christ’s sacrifice and the salving power of Holy Mass as celebration of that sacrifice; angels kneel around the altar holding the cross, crown of thorns, nails, lance, scourge and Holy Sponge. This polyptych is loaded with symbolic detail, even down to the location of the forests on panels either side of the central panel. Northern and Southern European forests are depicted left and right respectively of the central panel. Although the Northern species are difficult to identify, the Southern panels show precise images of cypress, umbrella pine, date palm, olive and citrus trees. Where the piece was originally sited, the forest panels would have pointed to their respective geographical zones. The central panel includes symbolic grapevines (the Eucharist), apple tree (original sin), fig tree (shame) and red roses (Christ’s blood) (McNamee 1998). Despite the density of its symbolic content, this great work shows extremely dedicated observation and representation of nature; the figures of Adam and Eve are naturalistic and extremely lifelike; Adam has sunburnt hands and neck. This is considered to be one of the finest pieces of Flemish painting. Another medieval painter, Petrus Christus (died circa 1475), expressed a special perception of the symbol of the tree. Although little is known of his history, it is recorded in the Bruges archives de la ville that he belonged to the religious group “Confraternity of the Dry Tree” (Upton 1990). The myth of The Dry Tree has been linked to ancient tree motifs (such as that on the 4,000 year old Babylonian “Adam and Eve” cylinder seal in the British Museum) and was particularly popular in medieval times; many contemporary travellers, knights and pilgrims claimed to have seen the Dry Tree at various far-flung locations. Oderic de Pordenone (1286–1331) said that this oak grew on the mount of Mamre near

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Hebron and that it had stood there since the beginning of the world, but it died when Christ was crucified (Peebles 1922). This tree, sometimes called Abraham’s oak, is linked not only to pagan tree worship, but also is where Jehovah first appeared to Abraham (Frazer 1918). Marco Polo placed the Arbre Sec or Arbre Sol in Persia, but it appears on the Mappa Mundi (kept at Hereford Cathedral in Britain) in India. The phoenix, iconic symbol of immortality, has been depicted sitting in the Dry Tree as has the pelican, Christian symbol of immortality or symbol of Christ Himself (Peebles 1922). Petrus Christus painted his own enigmatic interpretation of the myth as The Virgin of the Dry Tree (circa 1460). This strange diminutive image (around 17  cm high) shows Mary, against a black background, holding the Holy Child and placed between the two main curved boughs of a stark, leafless forked tree, its shape recalling the crown of thorns. Fifteen golden Gothic letters “a” hang from the boughs almost like Christmas decorations, they may refer to the Ave Maria or perhaps the 15 groups of prayers on the Rosary. The Madonna’s blood-red mantle serves to symbolise her as a rose surrounded by thorns. The tree could be dual symbol of man’s Fall and Redemption; the withered Tree of Knowledge and the wood of The True Cross (Upton 1990).

9.1.2 Perspective, Nature and Classical Mythology The development towards more realistic landscape depiction is closely related to a change in the way artists saw nature; the introduction of perspective to painting and the invention of the camera obscura play central roles. Polymath Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) wrote the treatise Della Pittura or On Painting and within it described his concept of artificial perspective using a diminishing pavement marked out with a reference grid (Cromwell 1997). This allowed the painter to see through the appearance of nature into the underlying mathematical proportions of harmony with which God had endowed creation; perspective created a morally and spiritually ordered world within an illusion of reality (Burwick and Pape 1990). Alberti is also credited with inventing the camera obscura, a device which throws images of external objects or landscapes onto a surface within a darkened chamber. What we recognise as realistic landscape painting today evolved with its introduction. The camera obscura made it ­possible to image nature within a box. Perspective placed nature on a grid. Thus, Alberti’s technology helped form our perception of the modern landscape, natural or otherwise. Nevertheless, even with the new ­techniques, symbolic themes did not disappear from landscape painting as the two following examples will show. Paolo Uccello (1397–1475) obsessively studied perspective (Cromwell 1997). In The Hunt in the Forest (see Fig. 9.1), he certainly used his perspective lessons to good effect; this exploration of the dark wood theme depicting aristocrats in their favourite pursuit is an imaginative rendering of a traditional scene Indeed, it is

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Fig. 9.1  Paolo Uccello The Hunt in the Forest, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford

exceptional in its attempt to subjugate nature to an aesthetic order normally reserved for architecture or other orthogonal settings (Kemp et  al. 1991). In the foreground riders, men and hounds are entering the edge of pruned, even-aged forest which could be a plantation. A faint crescent moon is just discernible in the centre of the dark sky, and crescents also adorn the horses’ bridles and trappings. Logs lying on the ground are cleverly positioned, pointing towards a distant vanishingpoint also indicated by subtle lines in the ground vegetation and lances carried by some of the men on foot. Uccello has created a virtual pavement on which he places men, animals and trees. The Ashmolean catalogue entry calls it a nocturnal landscape and symbolic rather than realistic (Casley et al. 2004). After all, ­successful stag hunting at night is hardly credible, especially using only ­greyhounds. The night scene may also symbolise the presence of or be a reference to another revered ­virgin, Diana the Huntress (Kemp et al. 1991). Diana, originally a moon goddess, is identified with Greek goddess Artemis. Both are associated with wilderness, margins and the art of hunting, and both have been depicted with stags (Price and Kearns 2003). Furthermore, close examination of the trees’ foliage reveal highlighted sprigs of oak leaves accentuated in gold; this is an oak forest (Kemp et al. 1991). Diana is associated with two famous sacred groves; Mount Tifata meaning holm-oak grove (near Capua) and Aricia near Nemi, from nemus or grove, (Price and Kearns 2003), made famous by Sir James Frazer’s description of the Rex Nemorensis sacrifice of the shrine’s priest in The Golden Bough. Uccello’s secular painting appears to be concerned with Classical allusions and myths which became the raison d’etre for landscape painting with the growth of NeoClassicism in later centuries. In contrast, the painter Piero di Cosimo (1462–1521) was not particularly interested in classically derived themes according to Dennis Geronimus, although mythology certainly underpins his work. Piero’s idiosyncratic sensibilities defy logic, and he seems to have wished to make his paintings impenetrable to rational analysis; Vasari accused him of “strangeness of the brain”. His Forest Fire has been pored over by many scholars proffering contradictory conclusions, and

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Fig. 9.2  Piero di Cosimo Forest Fire, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford

debate has endured regarding the sources of Piero’s references; he may have taken ideas from Lucretius or Vitruvius. Many of Piero’s motifs such as man’s use of fire, domestication of animals and construction of wooden huts occur in the works of those authors (Geronimus 2006). However, Forest Fire, circa 1505 (see Fig. 9.2), seems to predate the printing of the first, 1521, modern translation of De Architectura in Italy (Christie’s 2009). Contemporary woodcuts from Vitruvius’ book showing primitive buildings may have been influenced by Piero’s concepts (Schama 1995). In the centre of Forest Fire is the image of the forest burning; the many animals and birds fleeing include a lion and lioness juxtaposed with a domesticated cow. A farmer in contemporary clothes herds other cows towards his rudimentary wooden house. Most strangely, a pig and a deer to the left of the image have human heads. This landscape, although inhabited by ordinary farming folk and their livestock, is a symbolic landscape open to interpretation according to the viewer’s own pre-­perceptions. Nevertheless, taking the images at face value, the positioning of fire, forest, wild animals, domesticated animals and the farmer, surely shows an intention to pose ideas about human influence on the landscape regardless of what ancient authors may or may not have written. The humanheaded animals possibly hint at the interdependence of human beings and animals in an anthropogenic world. Piero’s Vulcan and Aeolus of around 1490–1500 shows men using fire to forge iron and erecting logs to build rustic columned structures, the designs from which the Classical tradition would evolve (Schama 1995). Piero was positioning ideas from history in order to determine how human beings may have evolved within the landscape.

9.1.3 Hunting, Forestry and Country Life Other early landscape paintings revealed little symbolic content, rather, illustrating the everyday life of people of their time. Today, these paintings often give an ­interesting insight into the life and work of people in the country side and their relationship to forests and their products, both of the aristocratic class and the peasants.

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The aristocratic pastime of hunting in France and Burgundy gave rise to an aristocratic style of painting celebrating its pleasures. Très Riches Heures is a prayer book illustrated for the Duke of Berry initially by the Limbourg brothers between 1409 and 1415 with later work done by other artists (Clark 1949). The calendars of the Très Riches Heures depict the hunt and other rural activities throughout the year. The Limbourgs had an eye for detail of workaday country life, and some months show a deep understanding of forestry. November shows swineherds looking after pigs as they feed on acorns beneath a beautifully detailed autumnal even-aged oak wood. Oak forests were valued, even vital, for acorn foraging or pannage (Koster 2005). In Wales, for example, income from pannage was one of the most widespread and important sources of forest revenue. Although almost disappeared, the practice survives to the present day (Linnard 2000). December of the calendars shows a wild boar brought down by hounds in front of an expanse of oak forest, typically retaining its grey-brown leaf cover well into winter. February shows a bitterly cold snowy day with a woodsman felling firewood whilst a mule carries away a load of faggot-wood. A farmyard in the foreground is enclosed with wattle fencing, as is the pen holding sheep under cover. The picture demonstrates how much the medieval farm depended on wood; the farmhouse, outbuildings, fences, barrels and cart are all made of timber. The farmer’s wife warms herself by the fire, burning wood, the washing dries above her head. At this time wood was ubiquitous; yew for bows, lime for bast matting, hazel for wattle fencing, willow for baskets, box (Buxus) for cogs and spindles, sycamore for turnery and spoons, ash for tool handles, oak for barrels, best spruce and sycamore for musical instruments. Even glass-making needed sycamore and beech potash (Koster 2005).

9.2 Poetic Landscapes as Concept Across Europe, landscape was embodied within bounded concepts varying in scale from a small painting to a nation state. The word incorporated notions of locus amoenus (pleasant prospect), Arcadia, the Golden Age, the sublime, the beautiful, the picturesque, wilderness or parkland, home or homeland according to taste or politics. Jacobo Sanazzaro’s Arcadia was one of the most influential books of the Renaissance. This poetic depiction of the shepherd’s life set out in Virgil’s eclogues relocates the Greek idyll into Italy and embodies themes of a lost Golden Age; wilderness, love, praise for nature and its gods and spirits (Curtius and Trask 1991). Published in Venice in 1502, it had probably been circulated as a manuscript previously. Giorgione almost certainly read it (Tobias 1995), and it may have influenced his painting La Tempesta. Gombrich mentions the 1521 Venetian inventory of artworks in which this paesetto or small landscape depicting a “thunderstorm, a gypsy and a soldier” appears. He described it as the first work of art to actually be labelled a “landscape” (Cosgrove 1998). Clark called it “the quintessence of poetic landscape” whilst

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admitting that no one knows what it represents (Tobias 1995). To the right of the picture a naked woman suckles her baby whilst seated upon a grassy bank by a river. Behind her is a small wooded area and further back a town stretches back into the distance. On the other side of the river stands a soldier, looking at the woman, and behind him are two broken columns and an unfinished wall in slightly strange juxtaposition. There is a heavy, sultry atmosphere; dark thunderclouds gather above the town and a bolt of lightning flashes. This could be an auspicious moment in the Classical sense, the storm an expression of Jupiter’s will (Price and Kearns 2003). The direct description – the mother’s breast flows whilst thunder rolls and lightning discharges – tends to suggest fertility, to which all European thunder gods are linked. There may be other clues; the largest tree behind the woman, on close examination, seems to be an oak, also linked to the storm gods (West 2007), and the two broken pillars could be a reference to Zeus, the Greek equivalent of Jupiter. Zeus was a climate god, responsible for sending rain, whose symbols were lightning and the oak, both associated with his sanctuary at Dodona. Pausanias wrote that Lycaon built an altar with two pillars bearing eagles for Zeus on Mount Lycaeus, the highest peak of Arcadia (Döllinger 1862). But above all else, the true value lies with the enigmatic quality of this image, and perhaps it is enough to accept it as a quintessence of poetic landscape.

9.3 New Symbolic and Factual Landscapes In Holland, where the term landskip, landscap or landscape is said to have evolved specifically in connection with painting towards the end of the sixteenth century (Lorzing 2001), an objective depiction of landscapes developed simultaneously with the scientific study of light and optics by the likes of Johann Kepler, Christiaan Huygens and Galileo Galilei. Simple telescopes were available in many cities across Europe by 1610, and scholars started to examine their world and the sky in great detail (Dijksterhuis 2004). In Dutch paintings, symbolism, myth and religion were displaced by rational observation. Clark suggests that the camera lucida, a small optical tool for displaying images onto paper, aided artists’ depiction of nature, producing what he called landscapes of fact. Jacob van Ruysdael (c. 1628– 1682) and his protégée Meyndert Hobbema (1638–1709) were noted for their depictions of trees. Clark called Ruysdael “the greatest master of the natural vision before Constable” (Clark 1949). He has also been described as an “arborial portraitist….who depicted trees so accurately that they can often be identified” (Sutton 2002). This is also true of Hobbema; Marshy Wood (c. 1660) clearly depicts old oaks suffering die-back, causing them to appear typically “stag-headed”. But it is The Avenue at Middelharnis for which Hobbema is best known. At its centre this painting shows an avenue of high-pruned trees receding into the distance with a small area of woodland on the left and areas of plantation woodland further distant. On the right is an instantly recognisable tree nursery and a worker is pruning young trees. Further distant are farm buildings and fields. Along the avenue people are

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walking; it is quite busy. But most noticeable of all is that this is an entirely manmade landscape. The high trees forming the avenue, possibly aspen, are of strange spindly appearance, achieved by constant high pruning perhaps for animal fodder. Apart from the small area of woodland in the left foreground, most of the trees in this landscape have been heavily lopped and shaped by man. The landscape has been adapted to match the needs of people. It might be a surprise then that this cool, direct representation of a utilitarian landscape is one of the London National Gallery’s most popular paintings (Lorzing 2001). The German painter Caspar David Friedrich (1774–1840) is known for his very detailed and realistic landscape paintings pregnant with symbolism. The intentions of Friedrich are best described by his disciple Carl Gustav Carus: When man, sensing the immense magnificence of nature, feels his own insignificance, and, feeling himself to be in God, enters into this infinity and abandons his individual existence, then his surrender is gain rather than loss...the oneness in the infinity of the universe (Rosenblum 1975).

Friedrich used trees and forests as totemic symbols of Romanticism to express the supernatural power of nature. Some of his most potent images are notable for their stark emptiness. When man is present, then he is absorbed by nature’s ­mysteries, often with his back towards the viewer, drawing the viewer into his experience. Friedrich and his Romantic contemporaries such as Englishman Joseph Mallord William Turner sought to portray religious experience outside the confines of Christian orthodoxy. A feature of the Romantic tendency was the attribution of human feelings to non-human subjects, particularly single trees, for example in Friedrich’s Village Landscape in Morning Light (Lone Tree) of 1822. This idiosyncratic ­empathy was called the “pathetic fallacy” by John Ruskin (Rosenblum 1975). In the ostensibly Christian Tetschen Altar of 1808 (see Fig. 9.3) a cross is sited upon a mountain top, oblique to the viewer and facing a luminous sunset. The surrounding fir trees may be read as symbols of spiritual renewal in a Christian context but also hark back to a pre-Christian Northern European mythology. Critic Friedrich von Ramdohr questioned this use of landscape to allegorise religious ideas and to awaken devotional feelings, claiming it an impertinence for a landscape painting to “worm its way into the church” (Rosenblum 1975). Herderian nostalgia for an imagined heroic past which points to a national revival is the underlying theme of Ulrich von Hutten’s Tomb of 1823. Within the ruins of a Gothic church a young German oak grows out of the tomb whilst a mature fir tree guards over the scene (Schama 1995). Gothic architecture is, like Friedrich’s imagery, a synaesthetic expression. The Gothic utilises natural forms to create stone metaphors of forest and organic growth. English critic and painter John Ruskin believed that the imitation of nature created “a sympathy in the forms of noble building with what is most sublime in nature” (Kellert 2005). The Gothic ruin was a recurrent theme in Friedrich’s work exemplified by Abbey under Oak Trees of 1810. This piece was called a “landscape of the dead” by one German poet (Rosenblum 1975); a bleak wintry pallid sky hangs ominously over a central ruined wall pierced by a tall Gothic window surrounded by dark, gnarled and menacing oaks, one of which has its

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Fig. 9.3  Caspar David Friedrich Tetschen Altar, Galerie Neue Meister, Dresden (public Domain image from The Yorck Project)

branches broken off so that the tree forms a rustic cross. Friedrich’s intense brooding Northern Romantic character is poles apart from the light airy works of his landscapist contemporary, the Englishman John Constable, even when they paint similar subjects. The latter’s Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop’s Grounds frames a Gothic spire between two arching trees, but this is in comparison a sweetened English idyll to be admired whilst sipping tea. It bears no heavy metaphors. The Russian artist Ivan Shishkin (1832–1898) was a founding member of the “Wanderers” or “Peredvizhniki”, a group of artists who turned their backs on Classicism and the Academy and took their works out to the people of Russia in a series of travelling exhibitions. This Herderian drive to rebuild Slavic national identity (see Chap. 1, Introduction) brought images of ordinary Russian folk ­living and working within the sacred Russian landscape out to be viewed by those very people. Shishkin attempted to express a spiritual narrative by painting directly from nature with obsessive attention to minute detail. He painted iconic depictions of Russian forest landscapes allowing historians precise glimpses into the past. A Rye Field of 1878 (see Fig.  9.4) captures a moment of forest history in an obsessive Pre-Raphaelite manner; he has painstakingly painted thousands of individual rye stalks. Old Growth pines stand within the expanse of rye, survivors from the fire and axe of the pioneers who cleared the forest for agriculture, their thick bark sufficient to protect them from the conflagration; mature Pinus ­sylvestris can survive in clumps and fire actually may aid seed release (Goldammer and Furyae 1996).

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Fig. 9.4  A Rye Field Ivan Shishkin (public Domain image)

Shishkin studied the natural sciences in order to better understand his subject and painted in the open air what was set before him; native Russian landscapes, rather than orthodox contrived Classical scenes. His influence on the Russian intelligentsia is said to have engendered their enthusiasm for the rural retreat or dacha (Lovell 2003). Scenes were selected but not altered for the sake of viewer or for the sake of aesthetics; in Windfallen Trees of 1888, spruce trees are uncompromisingly depicted leaning at different angles, root plates bared, honey fungus growing around a decaying, moss-covered stump in the foreground. Between the roots of the stump, spruce seedlings are growing. This scene is a lesson in nature’s cycles observed by a master; wind disturbance has cleared an opening so that light penetrates the forest floor allowing photosynthesis, in the background the closed canopy is shading the dark forest, but the sunlit opening has allowed natural regeneration to commence. The carbon cycle is shown in several phases; take-up in growing seedlings, carbon storage in mature closed-canopy forest, carbon release and ­recycling in the decaying wood. In the foreground we see a stream; the water-cycle completes a lesson. Mast-Tree Grove of 1898 was Shishkin’s last painting and his last lesson in history. Its scale alone at 2.4 m wide (Campbell 2004) gives reason for awe. Here is a lesson in societal exploitation of old-growth forest for strategic purposes. These pines are clearly massive and unusually for Russia, protected by a fence running across the foreground; they are special. Their height is emphasised because Shishkin depicts only the main stems. He has framed the scene with the crowns cut out of our view. These are the types of tree which were reserved for making ships’ masts on which European naval powers formerly depended to keep their wind-powered fleets moving, but by the time of this painting were no longer required because of the introduction of steam-power. Shishkin’s last work quite appropriately depicted the end of an age.

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9.4 Modern Transcendentalism and Symbolism Contemporaneously, two twentieth-century painters worked extensively, although not exclusively, on images of trees throughout their lives. They left in their work progressive series of compositions whereby their developing philosophies can be tracked through the changes in their imagery: Piet Mondrian (1872–1944) was born in the Netherlands and Paul Klee (1879–1940) was born in Switzerland. Both painters came from conventional middle-class backgrounds, reflected in their orthodox early work. Mondrian’s early paintings are pure, if late, Northern Romanticism. He was searching for an entry to the world of spirit rather than of surfaces (Rosenblum 1975), and in 1909 he joined the Theosophical Society (Read 1959), founded by Russian psychic Helena Blavatsky in 1875. This group had as its mission three objects: first to form a nucleus of the universal brotherhood of humanity, second to encourage the comparative study of religion, philosophy and science, and third to investigate the unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in human beings (Craig 1998). His work became saturated with spiritual metaphor. Under the influence of Rudolf Steiner’s theosophy, Mondrian worked on paintings such as Devotion of 1908 and Evolution of 1911 which suggested meditative, ­transcendental and otherworldly states of being. Trees, churches and the sea became Mondrian’s favourite subjects as his Romantic voice matured, ­perpetuating Friedrich’s themes into the twentieth century. Paintings such as Trees on the Gein by Moonlight and Woods near Oele, also of 1908, quiver with backlighting to accentuate the mysterious life of trees (Rosenblum 1975). In a series of paintings, Mondrian worked with the tree motif and different forms and colours as symbolic theme and metaphor. The Red Tree of 1908 superimposes a curved, leaning, dynamic, recognisably modelled tree composed entirely of arcs of pure Fauvist colour on a shimmering blue background. Mondrian used the same tree in The Blue Tree of 1909–10, but there is no longer any painterly modelling; this is an energetic ideogram. Mondrian was seeking single metaphors to express transcendental experience (Rosenblum 1975). In his Concerning the Spiritual in Art, Kandinsky tells us that the power of profound meaning is found in blue. It is the colour of heaven (Kandinsky 1977). Blue is also associated with the Madonna and Jesus Christ. Mondrian’s Gray Tree of 1911 seems to be the same tree again as in the red and blue versions but seen from the back. Colour is hardly present and the image is entirely covered in arcs which are recognisable as trunk and branches. The areas between the arcs are filled with large grey brushstrokes at angles which vary with the position of the arcs. Horizontal Tree of 1911 uses the same arrangements of arcs, but a red colour is present again in the arcs like a diagram of lines of energy. Horizontal and vertical greyish lines have been introduced, somehow relating to the diagram of arcs. The same tree is shown in Flowering Appletree of 1912. Now the arcs dominate. There are vestiges of short horizontal and vertical lines and a little colour in the region of the trunk, but without the clue in the title the viewer would not be sure of the subject, and viewed from a distance the arcs vaguely make a cruciform assembly. Composition

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Trees 2 of 1912/13 is bereft of colour and only the vaguest hint of tree forms remain amongst the mainly ­orthogonal, sometimes diagonal lines. Mondrian’s final reduction of his paintings to intersecting horizontal and vertical black lines bounding areas of primary colours can be seen as a spiritual path “the upward road, away from matter” (Frijhoff and Spies 2004), and not simply a path to aesthetic abstraction only. In 1916, Mondrian met Dutch philosopher and theosophist Mathieu Schoenmaekers whose thoughts had coalesced into a “positive mysticism”, the absolute principles of which were the horizontal and vertical line that could be brought together as the cross, the reduction of which he called “cosmic motion”. Schoenmaekers also stressed the mystical importance of the three primary colours, yellow, blue and red, as of course did Kandinsky. It is both significant and contradictory that the tree motif played such a central role in this development because anecdotes about Mondrian claim that “he must sit with his back to trees outside because he hates nature” (Beckley and Shapiro 1998). Paul Klee saw himself as philosopher first and painter second (Lazzaro 1957) and wrote extensively on the theory of art; “The artist cannot do without his dialogue with nature, for he is a man, himself of nature and within the space of nature” (Klee 1973). Klee compared the artist to a tree: From the root the sap rises up into the artist, flows through him, flows to his eye. He is the trunk of the tree….the crown of the tree unfolds and spreads in time and space, and so with his work. (Read 1959)

There was a great deal of mutual influence between Klee and his friend Franz Marc (they were fellow members of the Blue Rider group) who had also been searching for spiritual truths within nature. Klee suggested changing the title of one of Marc’s better known paintings The Trees Show Their Rings, the Animals Their Veins to The Fate of the Animals (1913). This painting represents, with its diagonal bolts of destructive energy, dying animals and broken trees, a sublime vision of suffering. It was a plea for destruction of the corrupt world (Rosenblum 1975). Thus, Marc was prophet of (but then at Verdun in 1916 fell victim to) the apocalypse of World War I. His English “enemy” counterpart, the war artist Paul Nash, was prohibited by his superiors from using images of the destruction the war wrought on men, animals and machines, so he settled for the device of the “pathetic fallacy” and used the forest as metaphor to convey his vision; smashed, amputated and maimed trees in a cratered quagmire (Spivey 2001). The title of the 1918 painting We Are Making a New World simultaneously reeks of irony and hints at the renewal through destruction Franz Marc had so desired. Klee’s early work was conventional, perhaps even anachronistic. He took Romantic motifs (ships, mountains, skies, flowers, animals and of course trees) and transformed them into hieroglyphs and pictograms, assembling them into surreal or whimsical landscapes that might have been created by a child prodigy. Use of line in the form of ideograms making up a visual syntax had a precedent in the Symbolist movement and was a reaction to the “decadence” of impressionism (Frijhoff and Spies 2004). By 1910, he had already found his voice; renditions of trees, so traditional in his earliest

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works, became experiments in line and colour techniques. He wanted to penetrate and capture the secret lives of trees and plants (Rosenblum 1975), making visual records using idiosyncratic scientific analyses which can be seen both in his writings and in his finished images. Klee’s notebooks include many ideograms of biological processes and analyses of tree structures and proportions using the golden mean. In the painting Before the Snow of 1929, the lone tree is drawn using single, clean lines which create several contoured areas (as if gradients on a map) each filled with a single colour suggesting trunk, perhaps branches or leafed areas. The tree leans slightly before a night sky in which can be seen clouds drawn in the same manner as the tree. They could be vapours emanating from the tree, maybe uptake or release. This could be a diagram from a scientific textbook encountered in a dream. The tree might also be a ghostly figure with outstretched arms; the pathetic fallacy is in play. Klee was obsessed with the minutiae of natural phenomena; light, wind, clouds, seasons, growth (Rosenblum 1975). Lone Fir Tree of 1932 is an analysis of tree growth reduced to a simplistic diagram of near-horizontal and vertical lines. The background buzzes with pointillist specks of colours. Klee continued to experiment until his death with different methods of interpreting trees in the landscape, expressing secrets of life through metaphors and using plants and trees as actors in his theatrical visions.

9.4.1 David Jones; a Coalescence of Ancient Themes In 1895, painter and poet David Jones was born near London to a Welsh father and English mother. He was interested in the Celtic tradition of his forefathers and juxtaposed it with Greek, Roman, Arthurian, British and German cultural influences. Jones found his mature, consciously naïve vision during the 1920s and focussed his gaze on Romantic icons. Some of his earliest images used the consciously medieval technique of wood-engraving (Gray 1989), the use of wood in itself a symbolic act. Although he painted from nature, he preferred to paint indoors looking out through a window, another Romantic motif (Blamires 1971). Directly after leaving art school in 1921, Jones converted to Catholicism and was introduced to the Catholic artists’ community of medievalist sculptor Eric Gill. Jones moved with the community from London to a monastery at Capel-y-Ffin, in remote Mid-Wales. He chose a medievalist, symbolic life founded on metaphysical values influenced by those conflicting cultures over which he obsessed. Jones was influenced by the Catholic philosopher Jacques Maritain, a critic of rationalism and modernity, and like the Pre-Raphaelites, with Romantic leanings to medievalism. Maritain’s philosophy sought to alter modern culture through art (Robichaud 2007). Multifarious strands of historical European culture made up Jones’ world view and they came together within his 1947 painting Vexilla Regis, inspired by the Good Friday hymn written by Bishop Fortunatus around AD 600. Jones pored over hymns looking for material to include in his poems which are scattered with references to trees, for instance “spring in the grove”, “arbour”, “lopped boughs”, the latter referring to the cross. In the hymn Vexilla Regis,

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Fortunatus says of the cross “Arbor decora et fulgida” or “Tree adorned and shining” (Robichaud 2007). Jones’ painting (see Fig. 9.5 overleaf) depicts three principal leafless trees within a fantastical Welsh forest, the central one adorned with garlands and pierced by four large nails. At its base are wild rose tendrils

Fig. 9.5  David Jones Vexilla Regis, Kettles Yard, Cambridge

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bearing white and red roses, white doves flutter around its crown. A pelican, symbol of Christ, sits in a nest within the crown of the tree to the left. The coniferous tree to the right has been felled, lopped and reset into the ground with wooden wedges; it too is garlanded and on top sits a Roman imperial eagle. The “lopped tree” motif occurs throughout history and relates to the concept of cosmic pillar. It also fits the description of a Maypole (Eliade 1958), for example like the tall fir trees described in The Golden Bough (Frazer 1932). The landscape is crowded with symbols from Celtic, Arthurian and Classical sources. A Greek temple stands on a distant hill next to a stone circle and an old tower. Wild horses canter through the forest encountering a fountain of life. This landscape of symbols depicts ancient ideas subsumed by Christianity (Blamires 1971). Towards the end of his life Jones retired to his room. Having little interest in the modern world, he lived his life through the Romantic, symbolic landscape he created in his paintings (Gray 1989).

9.4.2 Modern Symbolism: Irony, the Sacred and the Secular St. Anselm suggested in the twelfth century that objects in a landscape painting should be rendered in a utilitarian manner as symbols in order to avoid the experience of their sinful, sensual reality (Clark 1949). German painter Anselm Kiefer was a pupil of artist-philosopher Joseph Beuys, who was responsible for the urban afforestation project called Seven Thousand Oaks. Anselm Kiefer has produced utilitarian landscapes containing symbols of Germany’s painful, sometimes sinful extremist, Romantic past in a manner that St. Anselm might appreciate. One of his photographs of the late 1960s recalls situations and motifs used by Friedrich with the added discomfort that the single figure of Kiefer himself is depicted performing an ironical Nazi salute over the landscape; he is concerned with the German Romantic utilisation of myth and symbolism for better or worse and specifically in connection with nation-building (Schama 1995). His paintings have been called brilliant, bad, polit-kitsch, dense, dark, heroic, mythic, arcane, dangerous, spiritual and Romantic. Kiefer’s Wagnerian and Nazi allusions have led to accusations of him being a fascist, however, his references and allusions demand that the viewer be skeptical and well-informed of German history, myth and philosophy in order to make reasoned judgements of his images (Hutcheon 1994). Kiefer’s 1980 Paths of the Wisdom of the World, Hermann’s Battle uses the symbolic woodcut, a native German technique, to create a pantheon of the philosophers, military men, writers and industrialists (such as Kant, von Clausewitz, Fichte and Krupp) who, within a nation-building culture driven by forest mythology, variously contributed to Germany’s military-industrial complex. Images of their heads surround a group of bleak, battle-scarred, fir trees above a pyre of burning logs (Schama 1995). Kiefer has used forest, timber and wood-grain as multi-layered metaphors in paintings and woodcuts which together make up a map of Germany’s uncomfortable history from the time of the birth of Romanticism whilst reminding us of the individuals who

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made their mark on that history. He has produced symbolic landscapes to illustrate a history of Romanticism, nationalism and their extreme derivatives by utilising iconic Romantic motifs; trees and forest. Mark Rothko was born in Dvinsk (now Daugavpils in Latvia) in 1903. Dvinsk was and still is surrounded by a flat, thickly forested landscape interspersed with lakes. To the West of the city flows the great river Daugava, called the Dvina by Russians, which was one of the main timber shipment routes of the South Baltic region when Rothko was a boy. Rothko left Latvia in 1913 for America where he claimed never to have felt entirely at home. He felt as though he had been “transplanted” (Breslin 1998). His mature works, for which he is best known, are often classed as “abstract expressionism” although Rothko denied this definition of his paintings (Rothko and Lopez-Remiro 2006) with their rectangular “colour fields” sometimes separated by horizontal bands evoking “metaphorical suggestions of an elemental nature” (Rosenblum 1975). Flat landscapes like those around Dvinsk, when framed within a window, a painting or a camera, produce horizontal zones (colour fields); the simplest being earth and sky. The most basic framed forest landscape might be a green forest zone surmounted by a blue sky zone. Pared down landscapes had already appeared in Latvia. Pēteris Krastiņš in Forest of circa 1905 had already distilled the figurative landscape into simple textured zones of colour. His landscapes rarely included the human figure, rather forest or the lone pine (Sarapik et al. 2002). Rothko was described as well-read, brilliant, even a genius (Breslin 1998). It is reasonable to propose that those expansive Dvinsk landscapes helped form the sensibilities of Rothko as an intelligent, aware schoolboy. For the man attempting to find the “supernatural mysteries from the phenomena of landscape” (Rosenblum 1975) the colour fields produced by horizontal layers of landscape elements were a logical development of the Romantic obsession with capturing God in nature’s essence. What is more, Rothko’s melancholia and sense of displacement in America (Breslin 1998) may well have evoked the feelings for loss of landscape known to all exiles and often ameliorated by ­idealising that lost landscape in words or images. In 1961, he painted Green on Maroon, and whether or not there was any intention on his part, this painting of a green rectangle surrounded by maroon with a slightly darkened central band below the green immediately suggests a tree. Rothko, like so many Romantic artists before him, was consciously pursuing “dissolution of all matter into a silent, mystical luminosity…….religious experience”. Arguably Rothko continued in a troubled tradition which began as reaction to Classicism, science and industrialisation and developed into a search for the “sacred in a modern world of the secular” (Rosenblum 1975).

9.5 Conclusion Painters have, in their depictions, left concrete records of the multi-layered relationship we share with trees and forests making it possible to chart cultural, historical, philosophical and symbolic themes which reflect societal attitudes at precise

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moments in time. Paintings by their very nature reflect the attitudes and paradoxes evident in human perception of their environment. They are a form of human ecology in that they record the interaction of people with their environment, and we are defined by our ecology which is necessarily relative, historical and empirical; no one is an outside observer of nature (Lotto 2009). Projection of an image of parallel lines onto the retina creates an illusion of those lines converging, and our brains interpret this data as depth. Alberti attributed a spiritual order to the geometrical order of the diminishing pavement of perspective. Thus, perspective demonstrates man’s ability to ascribe depth to his world physiologically, psychologically and philosophically. Perspective may have originally lent spiritual depth to European painting but since Mondrian, its absence has been utilised to develop a sacred art out of the secular, exemplified in Rothko. Peoples’ need for belief, metaphor and symbolism is reflected in the act of painting, and so paintings help us to unravel the illusions and multifarious meanings we attribute to landscape, forest and trees.

References Aben R, de Wit S (1999) The enclosed garden: history and development of the hortus conclusus and its reintroduction into the present-day urban landscape. 010 Publishers, Rotterdam Alberti LB (1966) On painting. Yale University Press, New Haven Arnott M (2010) The Aberdeen Bestiary. University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen Baly J (1897) Eur-Aryan roots; with their English derivatives and the corresponding words. K. Paul, Trench. Trubner & Co, London Beckley B, Shapiro D (1998) Uncontrollable beauty: toward a new aesthetics. Allworth Communications, New York Bermingham A, Brewer J (1997) The consumption of culture 1600–1800: image, object, text. Routledge, London Blamires D (1971) David Jones. Manchester University Press, Manchester Breslin JEB (1998) Mark Rothko: a biography. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Burwick F, Pape W (1990) Aesthetic illusion: theoretical and historical approaches. Walter de Gruyter & Co, Berlin Casley C, Harrison C, Whiteley J (2004) The Ashmolian Museum complete illustrated catalogue of paintings. Ashmolian Museum, Oxford Christie’s (2009) Lot 47/Sale 2272 Vitruvius Pollio, Marcus. Christie’s, New York Clark K (1949) Landscape into art. John Murray, Edinburgh Cosgrove D (1998) Social formation and symbolic landscape. University of Wisconsin Press, Madison Cosgrove D (2006) Geographical imagination and the authority of images: Hettner lecture with Denis Cosgrove. Franz Steiner, Stuttgart Craig E (1998) Routledge encyclopaedia of philosophy, vol 1. Routledge, London Campbell P (2004) At the national gallery. Lond Rev Books 26:32 Cromwell PR (1997) Polyhedra. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Curtius ER, Trask WR (1991) European literature and the Latin Middle Ages. Princeton University Press, Princeton Dijksterhuis FJ (2004) Lenses and waves: Christiaan Huygens and the mathematical science of optics, vol 9. Springer, Dordrecht Döllinger JJ (1862) The gentile and the Jew in the courts of the temple of Christ: an introduction to the history. Longman, London Eliade M (1958) Patterns in comparative religion. Sheed & Ward, New York

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Fahlbusch E, Lochman JM, Mbiti J (2008) The encyclopedia of Christianity, vol 5, Si-Z. Wm. B. Eerdmans, Grand Rapids Frazer JG (1918) Folklore in the old testament, vol III. Macmillan, London Frazer JG (1932) The golden bough. Macmillan, London Frijhoff W, Spies M (2004) Dutch culture in a European perspective: 1900, the age of bourgeois culture. Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke Geronimus D (2006) Piero di Cosimo: visions beautiful and strange. Yale University Press, New Haven Goldammer JG, Furyae VV (1996) Fire in ecosystems of boreal Eurasia. Kluwer, Dordrecht Gray N (1989) The paintings of David Jones. John Taylor/Lund Humphries, London Hutcheon L (1994) Irony’s edge: the theory and politics of irony. Routledge, London/New York Kandinsky W (1977) Concerning the spiritual in art. Dover Publications, New York Kellert SR (2005) Building for life; designing and understanding the human-nature connection. Island Press, Washington Kemp M, Massing A, Christie N, Groen K (1991) Paolo Uccello’s ‘Hunt in the Forest’. Burlingt Mag 133:164–178 Klee P (1973) Notebooks, vol 2: the nature of nature. Lund Humphries, London Kleiner FS (2009) Gardner’s art through the ages: a global history, 13th edn. Thomson Wadsworth, Boston Koster EA (2005) The physical geography of Western Europe. Oxford University Press, Oxford Lazzaro GDS (1957) Klee: a study of his life and work. Praeger, New York Linnard W (2000) Welsh woods and forests: a history. Gomer, Llandysul Lorzing H (2001) The nature of landscape. 010 Publishers, Rotterdam Lotto RB (2009) R Beau Lotto – seeing myself see In: RSA (ed) RSA events. YouTube Lovell S (2003) Summerfolk: a history of the dacha 1710–2000. Cornell University Press, New York McNamee MB (1998) Vested angels: eucharistic allusions in early Netherlandish paintings. Peeters, Leuven Newall V (1971) An egg at Easter: a folklore study. Routledge, London Peebles RJ (1922) Vassar medieval studies. Yale University Press, New Haven Price S, Kearns E (2003) The Oxford dictionary of classical myth and religion. Oxford University Press, New York Read H (1959) A concise history of modern painting. Thames and Hudson, London Robichaud P (2007) Making the past present: David Jones, the middle ages, & modernism. The Catholic University of America Press, Washington, DC Rosenblum R (1975) Modern painting and the northern romantic tradition: Friedrich to Rothko. Harper & Row, New York Rothko M, Lopez-Remiro M (2006) Writings on art. Yale University Press, New Haven Salter D (2001) Holy and noble beasts: encounters with animals in medieval literature. D S Brewer, Cambridge Sarapik V, Tüür K, Laanemets M (2002) Koht ja paik: place and location. II, vol 2. Eesti Kunstiakadeemia, Tallinn Schama S (1995) Landscape and memory. Harper Collins, London Spivey NJ (2001) Enduring creation: art, pain, and fortitude. Thames and Hudson, London Sutton PC (2002) Dutch & Flemish paintings: the collection of Willem Baron van Dedem. Frances Lincoln, London Tobias M (1995) A vision of nature: traces of the original world. Kent State University Press, Kent Upton JM (1990) Petrus Christus: his place in fifteenth-century Flemish painting. Pennsylvania State University, Pennsylvania West ML (2007) Indo-European poetry and myth. Oxford University Press, Oxford

Chapter 10

Space and Place – Popular Perceptions of Forests Carl J. Griffin

Few spaces engender as wildly different opinions and perspectives as forests. To many individuals forests are magically enchanted, places of wonder and self-­ discovery. To others, forests are places to avoid, lairs of beasts and refuges of barbarism. Some even hold both seemingly contradictory sentiments to be true. Indeed, in western popular culture the idea that forests are places to escape to but in which one needs to be wary of manifold dangers holds remarkably deep. Those who lived in forests, it will be shown, often did lead very different lives to those who dwelled without. This, in turn, helped to foster both different values and beliefs and a strong degree of suspicion of forest dwellers. To live in a forest was not only to be placed somewhere apart, but was also to be labeled as different and potentially dangerous. This chapter seeks to explore these dynamics and beliefs in the context of the cultural histories of European forests, though particular reference is made to English forests (for the location of English forests and place names see Fig. 10.1, and for those in the English counties of Dorset, Hampshire and Wiltshire see Fig. 10.2). It also locates these histories in the context of the evolution of agrarian capitalism – to which forests were often perceived as the economic “other” – and broader European discourses about civility and “progress”. Necessarily such an analysis rests upon a range of overlapping perceptions and perspectives of forests. As such, this chapter starts with a discussion about their evolution and connection to the more-than-human lifespaces of forest dwellers.

C.J. Griffin (*) School of Geography, Archaeology and Palaeoecology, Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast BT7 1NN, Northern Ireland, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_10, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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Fig. 10.1  Map of the location of English forests and place names (Griffin and Alexander)

10.1 Space and Place 10.1.1 A Range of Perceptions, a Range of Perspectives In one version of the story told to countless children, Hansel and Gretel are led into the forest by their woodcutter father, who, on the instruction of their mother, intends to abandon them there. The plan almost succeeds. But the children,

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Fig.  10.2  Map of the location of forests and place names in the English counties of Dorset, Hampshire and Wiltshire (Griffin and Alexander)

c­ ognizant of her machinations, laid a trail of pebbles as they went through the forest and after escaping from the clutches of the would-be cannibal of a gingerbread house followed their makeshift trail to safety. Thus, the forest is not only the source of employment and a place of fantasy, but also a place so fraught with danger that two ill-designing women chose it as the location for their ill-gotten plans. Whilst these gender relations are unusual in the sense that they invert the standard cultural ­representation that forests are the lairs of dangerous men, through such fables generations have been inculcated with a shared understanding. To paraphrase a famous children’s rhyme, if they go down to the forest, they will be in for a big surprise. Forests have also provoked similarly varied – and strident – responses from social and economic commentators. According to social reformer and landscape aesthete Reverend Thomas Gilpin, the New Forest (Hampshire) was home to an “an indolent race” made “wretched in the extreme” by “every temptation [to] pillage and robbery”, but its “natural” beauty was without parallel in southern England (cited in Stagg 1989, p 137). Agriculturalist and “radical” politician William Cobbett saw no redeeming features whatsoever. Of the second largest English ­forest he claimed: …a poorer spot than this… there is not in all England; nor, I believe, in the whole world (Cobbett 1830/2001, p 425)

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Such comments were far from unusual. As Abraham and William Driver wrote on the very first analytical page of their report on the agriculture of Hampshire: Many parts… are well wooded, and adorned with a great number of beautiful seats and villas; but we are sorry to observe such immense tracts of open heath, and uncultivated land, which strongly indicate the want of means, or inclination to improve it, and often reminds the traveller of uncivilized nations, where nature pursues her own course, without the assistance of human art (Driver and Driver 1794, p 10)

Thus, whilst forests might contain the beautiful and civilized in the form of v­ illas and the potentially productive in the shape of trees, they were fundamentally uncivilized and inefficient due to the lack of cultivation. Moreover, the comparison between the extent of forest wasteland in “civilized” England and other ­“uncivilized” countries was deliberate. That England and Wales were once densely wooded but by the end of the eighteenth century had at most 80,000 km2 of woodland and by the turn of the twentieth century had the lowest level of woodland cover of any Europe state was a source of considerable pride (Thomas 1983, p 194). To clear forest land was central to the civilization process. Indeed, to claim a country was covered in woods was to claim it was overrun with savages. So deeply held was this belief that even relatively lightly wooded Ireland was, according to one Elizabethan, a country of “wood-born savages”. Even the word savage derives from sylva, the Latin for wood (Thomas 1983, p 194). As Schama (1995) has noted, these differing attitudes to forests tend to symbolize the essence of national identity: a zeal for order in France; a militaristic spirit in Germany (see also Chap. 11); a transcendental connection with creation in America. Because of the long written history of the ways in which we perceive forests, it is important to think through the broader historical-linguistic contexts in which popular perceptions of forests developed. What follows, largely through the lens of the British experience, attempts to unpack the intellectual and etymological baggage of the word forest (see Chap. 12). Before we begin to consider the development of popular perceptions towards forests, it is necessary to briefly outline the geographical concepts critical to how and why we understand and react to certain places and spaces in the way(s) in which we do.

10.1.2 Understanding Popular Perceptions of Forests In a landmark paper published in 1947, the American geographer J.K. Wright coined the term geopiety to denote the sense of piety felt by humans in relation to both the natural world and geographical space (Wright 1947). For instance, the poetry of the nineteenth-century English labouring poet John Clare expresses a strong degree of attachment to particular places in the landscapes of his native Northamptonshire. This affinity transcended simple affection; it reached the level of a quasi-religious connection. Similar expressions of spiritual connection can be found in the writings and paintings of Romantic artists (see Chap. 9) and even in the

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reportage of later explorers. When such feelings are shared by a group of people, it may help to forge a sense of belonging and, through the sense of others not belonging to their locale, territory. This understanding of territoriality develops in relation to the assemblage of all things in the space (the morphology, buildings, flora, fauna etc.), but as many geographers and philosophers have realised is often most passionately articulated in relation to non-human features. In the countryside where – at least until the last 60 years – work for most residents involved a close proximity to animals and plants, this connection could be deeply felt. As the social chronicler George Bourne ­proclaimed in relation to the labourers of his part of rural Surrey: From long experience – experience older than his own, and traditional amongst his people – he knew the soil of the fields and its variations almost foot by foot; he understood the springs and streams; hedgerow and ditch explained themselves to him; the coppices and woods, the water-meadows and the windy heaths, the local chalk and clay and stone, all had a place in his regard – reminded him of the crafts of his people, spoke to him of the economies of his own cottage life; so that the turfs or the faggots or the timber he handled when at home called his fancy while he was handling them, to the landscape they came from. (Bourne 1912/1984, p 72)

The connection was as much visceral and physical as it was spiritual and emotional and was a central way in which individual and group identities were formed (see Jackson and Penrose 1993). In relation to forest dwellers or those that had common rights pertaining to forests, the connection between fauna and flora and identity was particularly strong. Such individuals’ household economies revolved around the living resources of the forest, thereby generating a strong bond that transcended practice. This place-based identity politics played out both through self-identification as being different to those not from the forest and the exclusionary discourses as applied by those who lived outside of the forest. For instance, the residents of the New Forest – the “foresters”– were known in the rest of Hampshire as a people apart. When in September 1800 a food riot was threatened at Romsey, a few miles to the north of the New Forest, the Mayor wrote in exasperation to the Home Office to warn that the antagonists were “a formidable body” of “New Foresters”. The same action was not taken when residents in Romsey’s neighbouring arablepastoral villages made similar threats (Latham 1800). As Keith Snell has shown in relation to individual’s assertions of local attachment on their gravestones, residents of agrarian parishes would often include the phrase “of this parish” on their gravestones whilst forest dwellers would instead include, for instance, “of Charnwood Forest” (Snell 2003a, p 104). It should not be too surprising that many environmental groups have developed out of initially highly localised campaigns to protect areas over which groups have a profound affinity. The ability of environmental groups to mobilise feelings of geopiety though are reliant on the presence of “charismatic” mega flora and fauna. Indeed, as Jamie Lorimer has recently highlighted, groups attempting to protect biodiversity often display an acute taxonomic partiality in basing their campaigns around such charismatic species. For instance, oak trees as a form of “mega flora”

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figure strongly in personal and national iconography at the expense of smaller, less visually dominant species (2006). As Richard Mabey (2007) has recently noted, even the beech tree notwithstanding its status as the climax succession species in much of Europe has been culturally marginalised compared to the oak. Any space can, conversely, provoke fear and revulsion. In part, these reactions develop out of the place-based identity politics dynamics addressed above: I am not from there and do not know what to expect if I go there. Or in a more extreme form: they are not the same as me and must therefore be less civilized. The discourse of fear is also manifested through a fear of the space itself, not least in relation to the physicality of the landscape and what it might conceal. Such fears might relate to getting lost amongst the trees, as in Hansel and Gretel’s fable, a claustrophobia and fear of the dark and shade created by trees (Jones and Cloke 2002, p 28–29). Or it might develop through a fear of what might be concealed within, a discourse that continues today through the fear of physical and sexual assault in public parks (Madge 1997). Certainly, the fear of forests (xylophobia) as harbours of dangerous wild animals – or even mythical creatures – is deep-rooted in experiences of attacks by bears and wolves upon humans and domesticated animals. Again, such attacks have been richly generative of many fables and folk stories that have acted to propagate ­xylophobia through the centuries. As Vito Fumagalli has shown in relation to the transformation of the Italian landscape in the Middle Ages, this fear was in part responsible for the widespread destruction of Italian forests and subsequent ecological collapse and social disorder (Fumagalli 1994, p 104–125). As the forest grew ever smaller, wolves and other animals became more daring in their attacks. Humans were no longer something to be avoided, but a food source. This, in turn, led to a ruthless campaign to eradicate predators and ever more vitriolic and fantastical accounts of forest animals. People also began to frequent wild areas less regularly leading to perceptions that such regions were “different, alien and hostile” (Fumagalli 1994). Those who lived in forests, by default, must also be rough and barbarous, a creature of the forest rather than civilization (Porteous 1928/2005; Thomas 1983, p 194–195). Antipathy was also generated by the fact that forest animals would wander onto neighbouring farmland and destroy the crops. As William Stevenson wrote of Cranborne Chase in Dorset and Wiltshire: “The Chase is pernicious to the farmers in the neighbourhood…the depredations of the deer… are great, and cannot be prevented” (Stevenson 1812). Not too surprisingly, farmers in the vicinities of Cranborne and other forests and chases were chief agitators for disafforestation – that is to say the removal of the chase from the jurisdictions of forest law – and disenfranchisement (see Hawkins 1998). To others though, the fear of dangerous animals within the forest acted as a spur to the assertion of masculinity through hunting and offered visceral thrills by exploring the forest and outwitting the “wild” (Thomas 1983, p 145; Beaver 1999). As noted in the introduction, individuals such as Thomas Gilpin found a unique beauty in forest landscapes. Others though viewed forests very differently. Cobbett wrote of Ashdown Forest (Sussex) that it was “verily the most villainously ugly spot I ever saw in England” (Cobbett 1830/1957). Not only did Cobbett and other

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commentators consider heaths, bogs and decayed woodlands to be an affront to notions of agriculture efficiency, but they also posited that the iconography of the landscape itself represented chaos and disorder in comparison to the neat geometric lines of efficient agriculture. In this sense, forests represented, and continue to ­represent, primeval spaces.

10.2 Forests in the Landscape and the Popular Imagination 10.2.1 Changing Meanings, Changing Contexts There is no one single definition of what a forest is – or is not. Not only do understandings of what forests are vary between countries, but there is also a substantial gap between legal and popular perceptions of forests. Moreover, popular definitions have changed over time. Thus, in medieval England there was no difference between the legal definition of a forest as a space owned by the Crown and set aside for the exclusive hunting rights of the Monarch and popular definitions. In the early twenty-first century, whilst the legal definition still holds over those remaining “Royal” forests, the general usage of the word “forest” refers to all large wooded spaces. The word forest (forêt, in French) derives from the latin forestare, that which comes from the exterior or something foreign or alien (Sahlins 1994, p 29). In much of Europe, the concept of the forest was therefore directly related to the understanding that forests were places apart. It is telling therefore that according to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), the word forest was not in general use in England – at least if documentary evidence is a useful guide – until the late thirteenth century, i.e. sometime after the Norman invasion of 1066. Moreover, the first recorded use of the word occurred in the Domesday Book of 1086 (Rackham 1976) (see also Chap. 4). This is important for the simple reason that even if woodland was equated with “foreigners” and “outsiders” in Saxon England, it suggests that the creation of large numbers of Royal Forests by William I (the Conqueror) altered perceptions as to the role of wooded spaces in the countryside. As Rackham (2006) has stated, there was already a well-developed sylvi-culture in England before 1066. The scale of some industries during the Roman occupation suggests extensive coppicing, not least focusing upon the extensive iron works in the Kentish and Sussex Weald and what later became known as the Forest of Dean. The “colonization” of England continued in the period following the Romans’ departure, though the rate of woodland clearance slowed and the use of the remnant woods became less intensive. By the time of William I’s survey of 1086, some 50% of the 12,580 recorded settlements held woods – and this figure fell further in the proceeding years (Rackham 2006, p 110–117). By 1250, a more stable pictured had emerged and a much more intensive management and protection system deployed (James 1981, p 16). Therefore, it is likely that in most contexts the use of the word forest from c.1300 related less to the idea of what was contained in forests (“foreigners”),

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but instead related to the other Latin etymology of forest as “to keep out, to place off limits, to exclude” (Sahlins 1994). Thus, in England and, to an extent, France, “forest” became synonymous with those spaces over which specific laws were enacted to exclude, or more specifically to protect the vert (essentially, all flora) and venison (and other game) for the sole benefit of the Monarch. In this sense, whilst forests as hunting reserves existed before the Conquest, they were now afforded greater legal protection and became much more extensive (see Langton 2005). What, as we have already noted, did not occur though was an increase in the area under trees. Some forests were barren and exposed, for instance Exmoor (Devon), whilst others contained extensive tracts of heath, bog and deer pasture. According to the eighteenth-century naturalist Gilbert White, Woolmer Forest (Hampshire) consisted “entirely of sand covered with heath and fern…without having one standing tree in the whole extent” (White 1789/1993). Thus, whilst many forests were densely wooded and potentially offered shelter to the bandits and criminals of popular lore, it was the fact that most forests had few (legal) residents and were located at a distance from major population centres that positioned them both literally and figuratively as places apart. To many individuals they were largely unknown, though their ubiquity in some areas meant that many individuals either benefitted from employment, common rights to pasture and fuel, or illicitly through the theft of wood and game. It is unclear as to when the general usage of the word forest as referring to any extensive area of woodland came into effect. According to the OED, this meaning was in general literary currency by the middle of the eighteenth century – and was even occasionally deployed by the late sixteenth century. It is clear though that the legal disafforestation and enclosure of many forests in the sixteenth and early ­seventeenth centuries and the later ransacking of forests during the Civil War and the following Commonwealth rendered the legally-derived meaning of forest ever less important. Changing attitudes to the growth of trees to satisfy a perceived shortage of timber in the late seventeenth century arguably marked a more decisive turning point (Sharp 1975). The publication in 1664 of John Evelyn’s famous Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees, and the Propagation of Timber in His Majesty’s Dominions helped give public voice to these concerns. Sylva was hugely influential in helping to forge the new governmental policy of creating large timber plantations on forest “wastes” for the supply of Naval timbers (Evelyn 1664). Evelyn’s ideas were also taken up with gusto by commercial woodsmen. As Roger Miles has pointed out though, whilst there was a massive upturn in tree planting for commercial and picturesque ends in the following century, such planting was still founded upon earlier attitudes to tree care rather than a “mass-production outlook” (Miles 1967, p 37; also see Daniels 1988). It was not until surgeon William Roxburgh’s late eighteenth-century application of climatological and ecological theories to tree growth in India and later morefamed nineteenth-century German experiments with “scientific forestry” that understandings as to what forests and forestry were decisively changed (Tsouvalis 2000, p 24–25). By the outbreak of the First World War, only 3% of the wooded area of Britain was owned by the Crown, whilst most of the private woods were still

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dominated by the ancient management technique of coppicing (Edlin 1947, p 85, cited in Tsouvalis 2005, p 88). As Rackham (2006) has suggested, in 1914 many woods “would still have been recognisable to a medieval surveyor”. Nevertheless, in the 100 years before 1914, the term forestry had come to be universally understood to refer to the management of woodland. The creation of the Forestry Commission in 1919 – established to ensure that in the case of any future world war Britain would have a reserve of general purpose timber – helped to lodge these meanings and perceptions within the popular mind. Not only did the management of the remnant Royal Forests pass to the control of the Forestry Commission, but they were also charged with purchasing and planting further land with timber trees, something made possible by depressed inter-war land prices. The Commission also made grants of £2 to landowners who planted their non-wooded land with timber trees (Rackham 2006, p 69, 458). Finally, in law, as well as in popular usage, forests as had long been the case in the rest of Europe referred to all spaces in which trees were managed. This understanding is somewhat simplistic though in the sense that in the old Royal Forests large areas remained free from trees whilst other areas of “ancient” woodland were not commercially exploited (Tubbs 2001, p 162–163).

10.2.2 Forests as Places Apart This boy is forest-born, And hath been tutored in the rudiments Of desperate studies. (William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 1623/2003, p 160)

As noted in Sect. 10.2.1, forests have long been viewed as places apart from other landscapes and settlements. Such distinctions are understandable in areas ­dominated by arable fields and pasture. In many parts of Europe though forests, or at least the area under trees, dominated the landscape. Today, some 30.7% of Norway is wooded, whilst neighboring Finland is Europe’s most densely wooded nation with 73.9% forest cover (Anon 2006, p 11). The situation in England was, as noted, rather different, but some counties were densely forested. In Hampshire, at least 15 forests and chases were created – Ashley (“West Bere”), Alice Holt, Buckholt, Chute, Forest of Bere (“East Bere”), Freemantle, Harewood, Hambledon Free Chase, New Forest, Pamber, Parkhurst, Pernhill Wood Chase, Stourfield Chase, Waltham Chase and Woolmer – which covered over half of the county (James 1981, p 46–47; Jones 2005, p 10) (see Fig. 10.2). Hampshire was not only dominated by forest in terms of geographical area, but also economically and iconographically. Even today, the county’s emblem is a wild boar, the so-called “Hampshire Hog”. Neighbouring Wiltshire had a higher proportion of forest cover in the Middle Ages than any other English county (James 1981). Perhaps more critically though, the phrase “half our history” can be applied to describe, as John

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Langton and Graham Jones have recently asserted, “the hunting-and-gathering side of Britain’s ancient rural economy” (Langton 2005). Notwithstanding these important qualifications, in many parts of Europe there were few woods of any size and little forest. It is unclear though as to how this uneven spatiality impacted upon the geography of popular perceptions. Thus, whilst it remains a moot point as to whether the forest dweller was treated with less suspicion and the forest less feared in densely-wooded Slovenia than, say, sparselytreed Turkey (see Merlo and Paiero, 2005), it is clear that many national discourses placed forests as something apart from other spaces. Indeed, the very fact that restrictive forest-specific laws were imposed throughout much of Europe in an attempt to protect the property of the Monarch from the ravages of the people is evidence of the structural ways in which this “othering” of space was officially propagated. Forest law set forests, and therefore their residents, apart. The fear and revulsion of forests was driven through these exclusionary dynamics (see also Sect. 10.1.2). These acted on both national and local scales. On the one hand the Crown or the state attempted to protect its assets and maintain its exclusive privileges, yet agricultural and economic commentators remarked with ever greater fervour that forests were an inefficient use of natural resources. On the other hand beliefs that forests were dangerous places and home to people “not like us” developed out of a heady mix of experience and lore. This culture of local xenophobia, as Snell (2003b) has aptly labelled the phenomena, is particularly acute in relation to areas on the literal margin. As Shields (1993) has demonstrated, marginal (or “liminal”) places often host peoples who engage in cultural practices that are considered “other” to “mainstream” society. Thus, in comparison to the landless labourers and peasants that made up the bulk of the European rural population in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, forest dwellers by virtue of the bio-physical possibilities of their spaces of everyday life engaged in very different cultural practices. As John Archer has shown in relation to attitudes to gamekeepers in nineteenth-century East Anglia, living on the ­geographical fringe in woods and coverts attracted considerable mistrust and suspicion (Archer 1990, p 119–125). Forests were also notorious as offering attractive residences for squatters. The New Forest, for instance, supported a large community of squatters whose encroachments were arguably the major source of irritation to the Verderers, the body responsible for the protection of forest resources. The processes of assarting – the grubbing up of trees – during the land-hungry thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, later land grants and purprestures all served to reduce the area of the waste and, conversely, to increase the size of the population dependent upon the exploitation of forest resources (see Tubbs 2001, p 83–84; Reeves 2006). The collapse of forest management in the period between the start of the Civil War and the Commonwealth further exacerbated these problems (James 1981, p 60, 119; Underdown 1985, p 136–137). In the eighteenth and nineteenth century, the number of small enclosures made by squatters further accelerated, something not helped by fees and rents being levied as an income generation strategy in retrospect upon enclosures (for the example of East Bere, see Driver and Driver 1794, p 44). These illegal

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enchroachments were principally made by the labouring poor of the surrounding countryside, though even private landowners were not averse to trying their luck in seizing large amounts of land from the Crown lands. The attraction of forests to squatters was partly because they offered cover. Arguably of greater import though was that the ability to live illicitly off the resources of the forest allowed for a greater independence than agrarian capitalism provided. Indeed, those who held common rights and those who used the biophysical resources of the forest beyond the law were largely able to subsist without resort to wage labour. According to G.E. Briscoe Eyre, the late nineteenth-century New Forest was characterised “even in…hard times” by a “low percentage of pauperism”, something that could be “distinctly traced to the judicious exercise of common rights”. Wastes were the New Forest dweller’s “cottager’s farm” and “the source of his livelihood and of a modest capital” (Briscoe Eyre 1883 cited in Tubbs 1965, p 33). This independence from the “disciplining” mechanisms of waged labour was an affront to the supposedly all-embracing power of agrarian capitalism and further evidence that forests were places apart. New Forest commoners were, according to agricultural observer Charles Vancouver, an “idle, useless and disorderly set of people” who subsisted only by their systematic abuse of the resources of the forest (Vancouver 1810, p 496). Forest resources, not least deer, provided temptations to others too. Forest wardens, officers and their employees were frequently accused of taking considerably more than their allowance of perquisites, something that was central to the protests of the so-called Waltham Blacks whose campaign against the abuses of forest officers resulted in the notoriously draconic Black Act of 1723 (see Thompson 1975; Broad 1988). To those who did not live in the forest, hold forest office or employ, or did not hold common rights, forest resources provided ample – and lucrative – incentive to pursue a life of crime. According to Anthony Chapman in his open letter calling on the proprietor of Cranborne Chase to disenfranchase and enclose: the Chace having been for many years a nursery for, and temptation to, all kinds of vice, profligacy, and immorality, whole parishes in, and adjacent to it, being nests of deer-stealers, bred to it by their parents, and initiating their children in it, they naturally contract habits of idleness, and become pests of society … These being evils which should not be permitted in any civilized country, as no private property ought to exist so prejudicial to the community at large, we trust your lordship will concur with us in remedying so great a mischief. (Chapman 1791, p 22–23)

Once these “allurements to irregularities” were removed, so claimed Gilbert White, forests were: [O]f considerable service to neighbourhoods that verge upon, by furnishing them with peat and turf for firing; with fuel for the burning their lime; and with ashes for their grasses; and by maintaining their geese and their stock of young cattle at little or no expense. (White 1789/1993, p 29)

Through the opportunities that they offered, forests not only “othered” forest dwellers and other local residents, but also literally placed them apart from “normal” social constraints. These beliefs were further propagated by Christian missionaries

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who saw forests as refuges of paganism and false gods, not least through the image of the part human, part tree “Green man” (see Harrison 1992). The wooded region of the Meonwara people, roughly approximate to the area later covered by Waltham Chase and East Bere, was, according to Bede in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, among the last parts of England to be converted to Christianity (Bede 731/1990, p 225–227).

10.3 The Cultural Distinctiveness of Forests 10.3.1 Floral and Faunal Cultures The gathering of wood was crucial to the welfare of forest families, a practice usually undertaken by women and young children rather than by men (Shakesheff 2002, p 6–8). Not only could almost all tree products be put into the fire – roots, woodcutting chips, shavings, trimmings, sawdust – to provide fuel for heating and cooking, but any surplus might be sold off to provide a source of income (Neeson 1993, p 160, 176). Trees were, therefore, crucial in sustaining plebeian households. Rights to gather wood were, however, highly place-specific. For instance, whilst the French Napolenic Civil Code was rooted in the primacy of private property and negated customary rights, in practice both forest grazing and the collection of fuel stuffs were, within limits, tolerated. As Simon et al. (2007, p 344) have suggested, this toleration was largely pragmatic, for if the forestry administration had forbid such activities the economy of surrounding communities would have been devastated. Restrictions imposed in English forests relating to what was the legitimate bounty of common right holders were even more complicated. Rights of est’over (repair wood) granted to some copyholders (leases which were not restricted by a specific period or lifespan) were legally binding. Moreover, copyhold deeds tended not to specify what trees were, and what trees were not, subjected to claims of est’over (Neeson 1993, p 160). For those without rights to gather wood the costs of purchasing fuel wood or coals, estimated in 1790s England to average £2 8s a year – the equivalent of a month’s labouring (Davies 1795, p 181, 185 cited in Neeson 1993, p 165) – were both high and variable. Many proletarian families were thus forced to steal wood. Forest resources were necessarily always under considerable pressure from neighbouring communities. Not only were people kept warm and free from starvation by rights to forest resources, but the very practices of gathering helped generate a sense of collective ownership and independence from the world of the traded commodity. As such, wood, like wheat (see Thompson 1971), took on an important symbolic value and political potency for the poor. This combination of practical uses and cultural importance meant that the relation between the poor and trees, whilst fundamentally embedded in capitalistic property rights, eluded commodification. Through such uses trees offered a way in which the poor could suffer capitalism. As the

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Dorset dialect poet William Barnes proclaimed: “On woodless downs we mid be free/But lowland trees be company” (Barnes 1859/1905). Highlights of the customary calendar were richly threaded through with the symbolism of forest trees. May Day garlands of lush green oak boughs symbolised fertility. Later, Mayday customs shifted to Oak Apple Day (29 May), the public festival backed by state and church to celebrate the restoration of the monarchy in 1660. Oak boughs were attached to doors and placed in windows to symbolise the future Charles II successful concealment in an oak tree at Boscobel after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester (Bushaway 1982, p 74–75). The collection of oak boughs became a contentious issue though. Whilst the ceremony itself was sanctioned as customary practice, as the nineteenth century progressed, attitudes of farmers and landowners shifted. This was in part a reaction by the use of the ceremony by the rural poor to gain largesse and doles through the sale of oak boughs to householders on pain of forfeit (Bushaway 1982, p 79–80). The collision between environmental riches and the ecological wellspring of much popular custom meant that forests were ideal spaces for the development of early scientific understandings of natural history. Most famously – and importantly – amongst these forest-based writers in the English-speaking world was the aforementioned Gilbert White of Selbourne, the Hampshire parish that contained most of Woolmer Forest. Whilst it is possible that his landmark Natural History of Selbourne could have been written in many locales in eighteenth-century rural England – such were the ecological riches of many parishes with “ancient countryside” (see Lovegrove 2007) – forest spaces often offered a diverse range of landscapes and habitats. White’s native Woolmer Forest was only seven miles long and two and a half miles wide but contained “sand covered with heath and fern… diversified with hills and dales”, bogs and several large lakes. Woolmer therefore proved “a very agreeable haunt” for a wide range of wild fowl, and before overhunting had been home to large numbers of red deer, grouse and rabbits. The forest fringe provided an ideal habitat for partridges which were bred “in vast plenty” (White 1789/1993). This rich wild zoo in an otherwise, to quote White, “lonely domain”, proved a fruitful place for developing both a connection and an understanding of flora and fauna. As Thomas has perceptively noted, whilst many of his contemporaries were decidedly averse to “toads, spiders and other creatures ­conventionally thought repulsive”, White showed nothing but fascination (Thomas 1983, p 69). The exploitation of forest resources and the close proximity of the natural world in everyday life engendered not only an understanding but also a decidedly ethical respect for the natural world.

10.3.2 Everyday Cultures Whilst forests were alternative spaces to those controlled by the market-driven ­logics of agrarian capitalism, to reduce them down to mere spaces of existence though is deny their cultural distinctiveness. As we have already seen, in the forests

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of southern Hampshire non-Christian traditions persisted longest. Similarly, with the rise of religious conformity in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries ­dissenting sects such as the Baptists and Methodists took advantage of the paucity of Church of England chapels and churches to establish their own missions. In totality though, religious observance in forests was below that of non-forested ­agricultural communities (Snell and Ell 2000, pp 60, 64, 69, 118). For instance, the so-called Battle of Bossenden Wood of 1838 that occurred in an extra-parochial (“without church”) ville called Dunkirk in the Forest of Blean, Kent, was in part inspired by the Book of Revelations preaching of a self-proclaimed Messiah. The Kentish authorities’ analysis of the Battle was that it would not have occurred had Dunkirk contained an established Church. Their solution: to build a church (Reay 1990). Similarly, Selwood Forest on the Somerset-Wiltshire border was perceived to be refuge of “bandits” until Viscount Weymouth built a church there in 1712 and began to cut down the woodland (Malcolmson 1980, pp 86–87, 92). This was not a dynamic peculiar to England and Wales. In the Baltic, pagan religions were even longer lived, a goddess known as the “Forest Mother” being common to both Latvia and Lithuania (Gimbutas 1963, p 194). The relative social and economic independence of the forest dweller was ­arguably well-suited to religious non-conformity. The reliance upon the collection of fuel and food, some of which was sold or bartered to purchase those goods which could not be gathered in the forest, or the tending of stock grazing upon forest wastes gave a very different rhythm to the everyday life of the forest commoner in comparison to the agricultural labourer. Moreover, from written and oral histories it is evident that forest dwellers had more leisure time than those in employment (Short 1997, 1999, 2004). One way in which this time was used was for sport. As White wrote of Woolmer and Alice Holt forests, the abundance of rabbits and deer not only tempted forest dwellers to eek out a living through the (illegal) sale of venison through urban fences and other game to passing higglers, but also encouraged the poor to treat poaching as a form of sport. “Unless he was a hunter”, wrote White, “no young person was allowed to be possessed of manhood or gallantry” (White 1789/1993). Thus, such commoners were not only, potentially at least, financially independent but also assuming the leisure pursuits of their social betters. “Commoners”, as Jeanette Neeson has put it, “had a life as well as a living” (Neeson 1993). This cultural distinctiveness rather than economic independence is arguably central to the remarkable endurance of the tale of Robin Hood, the Sherwood Forest dwelling anti-establishment hero of the poor and dispossessed. Whilst, as Langton (2005, p xi) has noted, the “Robin Hood” perspective has clouded much thinking about the history of forests, it is clear that Robin-esque rebels did dwell in forests. This is not to say that all forest dwellers were lawless rogues or fighters for social justice, but rather that forests figure disproportionately in the history of rural conflict. It is perhaps no surprise then that many of Balzac’s anti-establishment figures dwelt or worked in the forests of his native France. Indeed, European forests have long been at the forefront of national concerns about social order. Protests over

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enclosure, the elimination of common rights and land clearance on the DorsetWiltshire borders in mid seventeenth-century England were perceived to represent a genuine threat to national order. Whilst these protests essentially were concerned with the essentially local protecting common rights of access to woodlands for fuel, pannage and grazings (Manning 1989, p 98, 101–102, 262–263), the reaction of Parliament was to bring in universal laws against anyone suspected of theft (Bushaway 1982, p 77–78). The response to the protests of the aforementioned Waltham Blacks was similarly extreme. The so-called Black Act passed by Parliament in 1723 introduced more capital statutes in one single piece of legislation than any other European country had in their entire criminal codes (Radzinonwicz 1945, p 72; Thompson 1975). Whilst these landmarks of forest protest have received considerable attention from historians and historical geographers, more everyday forms of resistance have provoked little study (though see Bushaway 1982; Griffin 2008a, b). Notwithstanding these historiographical gaps, it is clear that some forest places were more prone to protest than other. Agitations over the creation of sylvicultural enclosures in the New Forest were a persistent feature of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries with commoners regularly knocking down protective fences and setting fire to enclosures (Griffin 2010). The large Hampshire parish of Hambledon on the fringe of Waltham Chase and East Bere had a justifiable reputation as a rather lawless place. Not only was it a key locale in pre-Black Act agitations, but it remained a focus for conflict over the following century witnessing post-Black Act protests, rare rural food riots and early protests against the imposition of the New Poor Law of 1834 (Thompson 1975, p 165–166, 228–229; Palmer 1800; Wells 2002). The Cranborne Chase parish of Sixpenny Handley – “a singular place” with a “wild and dissolute population” (Okeden 1830a, b) – was similarly protest prone. Indeed, Handley men were responsible for the first protest episodes in Dorset during the quasi-insurrectionary “Swing Riots” of 1830 (Hobsbawm and Rudé 1969). Robert Malcolmson’s study of the colliers of Kingswood Forest in the eighteenth century serves as a useful reminder though that sometimes it was not so much the independent culture of forest dwellers that supported protest but the culture of particular occupational groups that forest industries supported (Malcolmson 1980). As noted elsewhere, trees were often the form and site through which the state regulated human activity (Griffin 2008a; for the colonial context see Agrawal 2005, p 74). Consequently, trees became the site of struggles between forest dwellers and the state. As Simon et al. (2007, p 350) have demonstrated in the context of nineteenth-century France, these struggles “reflected a certain sense of modernity… [which] made possible the creation of new rules of management and planning that have endured until today”. It should therefore be no surprise that James Scott’s Seeing Like a State begins with a critical consideration of the ways in which the development of scientific forestry in nineteenth-century Germany was an example of how the state enrols the “natural” in the regulation of rural space (Scott 1998, p 11–24).

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10.4 Conclusions: Persistences and Reimaginings Whilst this chapter has been primarily concerned with changing historical-geographical understandings of forest space, it is important to note that many of the perceptions explored have proved to be remarkably persistent. Although it is impossible to delineate how much the persistence of the idea that forests are spaces apart is due to the extraordinary longevity and popularity of forest-based children’s tales, there can be little doubt that forests are still held in the popular mind as dangerous places. In part, this longstanding discourse has been partially mitigated by increasing global concerns over the loss of biodiversity and the dwindling rain forests of equatorial Africa, South America and Asia. Nevertheless, the gap in perceptions between those “exotic” and “endangered” forests at a distance and those “ancient” forests nearer to the home of Europeans remains fundamental. Far away forests that do global environmental good pose no threat, whereas by comparison forests on the doorstep still potentially could be the lair of wild animals and men. Perhaps the persistence of this discourse is due to the allegorical nature of forest tales. Perhaps it is due to the continued presence of dangerous animals in many Continental European forests and the reintroduction of long since extinct “native” wild species into British forests. Perhaps it is due to the continued othering of forests in the media whether through the reportage of violent attacks on lone individuals in wooded areas, the existence of criminal hideaways in forests or people endangered by out-of-control forest fires. Either way, this “othered” discourse still has a remarkable hold over the popular imagination. And yet, the role of forests has changed dramatically. In Rackham’s delineation of the phases of English woodland history, he has suggested that in the period post1975 the fortunes of woodland and forests have staged something of a recovery. The shift away from the post-war obsession with coniferization – a policy that has fundamentally shifted the ecological and cultural balance of much British ancient woodland – and commercialization of state forests had allowed forests to regenerate. In the last two decades, “native” trees have especially benefitted from the shift away from the intensive management of conifer stocked plantations (Rackham 2006, p 70). Declining wood prices, not least for pulped soft woods and coppiced-wood, something partly brought about by the rise in paper recycling, combined with the increased “greening” of politics has led to a shift away from market-led production to an emphasis on conservation. Allied to this shift has been an increased emphasis upon the amenity potential of forests. Opening up forests for dog walkers, horse riders, picnickers or even developing forest-based resorts – as in the British example of “Centre Parks” – has helped to partially rebalance the role and meanings of forests in popular perceptions. The British experience serves as a mirror for much of Europe. Even the once productivist German forests are increasingly managed from a conservationist and recreational perspective (Crook and Clapp 1998). Notwithstanding such shifts, as Peterken (1996) has noted the existence of “virgin” forest, that is to say “old growth” forest with little or no active recent management, is almost exclusively confined to the north-east and south-east

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Europe. The implication being that even conservationist discourses are underwritten by interventionist practices. This shift also evidences the changing relationship between forests and the state. Whilst it is somewhat ironic that the recent focus upon the recreational value of forests mirrors the purpose for the initial foundation of Royal forests, it is clear that forests are now democratic and open to all rather than a playground for Monarchs. Nor are forests any longer simply revenue generators for the government. This is not to say that forests no longer have any economic role. As Kitchen et al. (2006) have recently identified, the creation of “forests” as a catalyst for economic and social regeneration has assumed a significance amongst national policy makers. Moreover, as Cloke et al. (1996) have suggested, Government sponsorship of the creation of the so-called National Forest in the English Midlands represents something of an attempt to reform nature-society relations, relocating both literally and in the popular mind the place of nature in contemporary society. It is intriguing then that long-standing perceptions, not least amongst women, that forests are dangerous places have partially mitigated the success of “community” forests (Kitchen et al. 2006, p 840).

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Chapter 11

Materiality and Identity – Forests, Trees and Senses of Belonging Owain Jones

The striking and rich materialities of trees and forest landscapes can become entangled in the creation of both individual and collective identities in many ways. This is often articulated through ideas of place and landscape and can operate on intermeshing scales which span from local to global. The differing ways identity is performed through trees and forest landscapes, be it through work, history, culture or politics, are thus a complex outcome of entanglement between the human and the trees and forests themselves. Their physical form and lively materiality also play a part in the bonds that exist between peoples and forests in many differing forms. In this chapter, linkages between forests and identity are explored in a number of interrelating ways.

11.1 Introduction (Ahmad is a Palestinian returning to the home he was evicted from many years earlier. He is now old and blind). ‘There was a lemon tree here,’ Ahmad said to Moshe, ‘I planted it. Is it still here? Is it still alive?’ Nuha and Moshe rose and stood on either side of Ahmed. They led him slowly to the corner of the garden. Ahmed extended his arms, running his fingers up the smooth, hard bark, over the soft knobs on the tree’s base, and along the slender, narrowing branches, until, between his hands, he felt the soft brush of leaves and, between them, a small, cool sphere: a lemon from the tree he had planted thirty-four years earlier. Zakia watched from the table in silence, tears in her eyes. Ahmed’s head was among the lower branches, and he was crying silently. (Tolan 2007, p 269)

O. Jones (*) Countryside and Community Research Institute, University of Gloucestershire, Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Longlevens, Gloucester, UK e-mail: [email protected]

E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_11, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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This passage might be about a single tree rather than a forest landscape, but its eloquence shows how trees become symbols of identity; representing place, belonging, and, in this case, loss of place. Trees may become powerful presences which articulate practices and memories of home and other forms of identity and belonging. Forests create powerful landscapes which can enclose the person, enclose whole communities, even nations. In Tolan’s (2007) shocking account of the displacement of a Palestinian family from the home they had built, and the subsequent relationships between them and the Jewish family that takes over their house (this is a non-fictional account), the lemon tree is a central material and symbolic object onto which the emotions and identities of the displaced attach. Long’s (2009) research into how trees and desert reforestation have been used by the Israeli state in waging its battle for land and national identity within former Palestine shows how forests can become entangled in the most bitter disputes about identity, nationhood and homeland. Forests are of course made up of individual trees, yet they are not mere populations of trees, but whole formations of ecology, custom, politics, legal status and land use. The material and symbolic significance they have for identity comes both from the individual and collective material presences of trees in complex relation with all these intersecting registers. The nature of specific trees; their size, form, growth, material (economic) qualities of their timber and fruit, the sensory “data” they give off (appearance, sound, smell), their roles in ecological and biosphere processes, their changing temporal or seasonal presences and their spatial distribution, all contribute to the way forests become cultural symbols (Davis 1988) and become entangled in the construction of identity. This is a key process in which the cultures of forests in Europe (Watkins 1998a, b) and across the world are expressed and practiced. In the following sections, such interlinkages between the materiality of trees and forests and the idea of place, and place and self are discussed. “Scales” of identity – individual, local, national, and so on – are considered briefly. A further set of contested constructions of identity in relationship to forests is then considered which revolve around differing ways of reading human and non-human nature and the relationships between them. This work draws from previous research into trees and place (see Jones and Cloke 2002) and also readings of many literary and non-fiction accounts of what could be called “tree culture”, for these works are not only accounts of a range of practices of forests, materiality and identity, but are also, to some extent, expressions of it themselves.

11.2 Identity Identity is a complex and contested term. Here, identity is taken to be a performed status, having to be created and maintained in the flux of individual and collective everyday life. That flux is at once cultural and material, reflexive and non-reflexive, embedded in the physiology and DNA of our bodies, but also scripted and scriptable in relational, cultural, economic, material and non-material relational arrangements. Beyond individual identity there are differing forms of collective identity

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which span between groupings such as family, community and nation. Forests may be bound up within identity at all these levels. In the following discussion, identity is considered as being influenced by relational, material and temporal processes where materialities and agencies of trees (Jones and Cloke 2008) are entangled with ecological, cultural, political and economic processes in the formation of identity. For the purposes of this chapter notions of identity are linked to notions of place. Place and identity are entangled in many ways (Adams et  al. 2001). The performance of identity is the construction of the self in all the contexts which surround us. To construct and perform one’s multiple identities is to construct understandings and practices of one’s place(s) in the world. Individuals operate in multiple interlinking ways within cultural and material worlds; thus, identity may involve threads of gender, class, ethnicity, religion, family, memory, history, regionality, nationality, economy, politics and so on. To build and perform identity effectively is the very condition of being a successful, or at least sustainable, human entity. It is an important task. To lose a sense of one’s identity is to be at risk, and this is why to lose one’s home (land), one’s place in the world, is such a big concern. We create our identities individually and collectively in various ways (while in no way being in full control of the process). One key way in which we build senses of self and place is through our relationships with the material world. Significant manifestations of materiality, notably arranged as landscape, are likely to “catch our eye” – or “heart”. This is where trees and forest landscapes come into play. As some of the most remarkable living forms on the planet it is no surprise that trees influence identity formation and practice at levels ranging from the individual, through local, regional and national scales, to the global. There is a chance that trees and forests, and the spaces they form, are fundamental to the very construction of human identity. E. O. Wilson’s (1984) notion of biophilia suggests humans are “hardwired” to respond to and value nature. Trees and forests are some of the most obvious and ubiquitous forms of nature that we might attach ourselves to. The earliest humanoids were said to have developed in savannah type landscapes – semi-open landscapes with a scattering of trees. As a species we have grown up with and within trees and forests. Graves (1961) charts in extraordinarily arcane detail how trees/forests were bound into the ancient spirituality of the Celtic world, and forests entangled in the spiritual, political and military wars (the “battle of the trees”) which came with Roman and Christian occupation of land and culture. Consider the lack of trees or forests. Without them we seem to stand on the bare earth, in the open, exposed to the fearsome heavens. The great American writer of landscape, William Least Heat-Moon (1991), describes the moment when a traveller crossing America moves from the wooded landscapes of the east into the open, treeless vastnesses of the middle prairies. To encounter treelessness of such distance has often moved [ ] travellers to discomforture rather than rapture. Of the prairies Will Cather wrote [ ] “between that earth and that sky I felt blotted out. The protection and sureties of the vertical woodland, walled like a home and enclosed like a refugee, are gone, and now the land [ ] is a world of air, space, apparent emptiness, near nothingness. (Heat-Moon 1991, p 12)

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Forests and woods (and areas of buildings) are the fur of the earth in which we dwell as fleas do on a host; they are our medium.

11.3 Forests, Identity and Place Harrison’s (1991) consideration of time, nature, place and landscape turns to trees as iconic markers and makers of places. Talking about the huge old forest trees in his local landscape he says, “to stand beneath one of these maimed colossi is to be overwhelmed by its powerful, resonant presence (135)”. These oak trees are “the living tissue of time” which Harrison believes “to be indispensable parochial monuments, landmarks, milestones and other points of reference by which each person can take his or her own bearings in time and place (139)”. In treed landscapes “the continuities of time and place are made visible, immediate and above all, tangible” (Harrison 1991: ibid). Senses and practices of identity need anchoring and orientating in place and time and trees and forests can play key roles in this. The following section shows how materiality and agency of trees in forest landscapes become enfolded in the creation of senses of place and within those, senses of identity.

11.3.1 Forests as Material Places of Becoming The sheer size of some mature trees has implications in the formation of “place”. The scale of other organisms has psychological and aesthetic effects on the “self ” and implications for the way we react to them (Jones and Cloke 2002). To be dwarfed within spaces created by trees may imply feelings of awe, fear or comfort, and the parallels between forest glades and religious architecture such as the remarkable medieval gothic cathedrals have been remarked upon (Hall 1813). “The world appears before us, elicits our attention, demands our concern, beckons or discourages participation” (Grange 1997. Trees in forest landscapes often pre­ sent themselves as dominant in our field of vision for “our eyes are so fixed that the space in front of us dominates our consciousness”. As John Meehan argues: “trees don’t really make an impact until you start looking up at them” (Nicholson-Lord 2000). Murray Bail (1999) in his novel Eucalyptus says: “It is trees, which compose a landscape”. The psychology of being enclosed is powerful and complex, connecting tree-places to geographies of both refuge and fear. Furthermore, Rival (1998) points out: “the analogy between trees and human bodies is often quite explicit” (see also Perlman 1994). Humans and trees are related through the vertical axis; because of our balance and our eye orientation, humans are sensitive to a “vertical dynamism” (Bachelard 1988). This is why “verticality has such an immense significance in orientating us in the world” and why “we connect more fully and sensitively with the vertical relation between sky and earth or between soil and those things that grow upward from it” (Casey 1993), it is “one of the bases of humanness and treeness” (Perlman 1994).

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These various associations between human and tree embodiment are covered in depth elsewhere (e.g., Perlman 1994). Compositions of trees in landscapes are accompanied by inevitable associations and affective responses; for example, Harrison (1991) concludes of a large horse chestnut tree “I defy anyone to share a home with such a prodigal and restless organism and be impervious to its presence” (Harrison 1991, p 37). Through their growing and changing physical presence over time trees chart the flow of that time in their very bodies (Ingold 1993) and thus become symbols of, and companions to, people’s own passage through space and time. The flows of energies which are so obvious in trees and forests when considered over a range of time periods – from the moment, to seasons, decades, even centuries – vividly represent the processes of (relational) life, and it is in such processes that the driving agencies of the world reside – rather than in discrete (human) actors (Barad 2007). This is why trees and forests are so affecting to human life and culture.

11.3.2 Forests of Places of (Sensed) Dwelling Forests are places where people and other animals can develop rich forms of dwelling. New phenomenological approaches to dwelling pioneered and developed in the work of anthropologist Ingold (1993, 2000) offers an account of being-in-the-world where the individual is embedded in time, place, practice and the materialities of the landscape. It is significant in this context of thinking about forests and identities that Heidegger’s original formulation of dwelling famously returned to peasant life in the Black Forest to illustrate his notion of a dwelt, authentic life. But for Heidegger such “authentic” dwelling of peasant in landscape had been overwritten and erased by modernity. The blood and soil, if not the rustic, aspects of this version of dwelling was stripped away by Ingold who offered a more general account of how all lives are in fact dwelt, but how certain landscapes might offer particularly rich examples of dwelt life. Human and non-human life is read as an immediate yet also enduring, relational process of bodies in place and space which are mobile, sensing, engaging, responding, exchanging, making, using, remembering and knowing. This process-based, vitalist view of life is closely linked to phenomenology and stands in opposition to dualised, rational Cartesian based approaches. Trees and forests remain compelling situations for dwelt life (Ingold 1993; Cloke and Jones 2001) as the everyday lives of individuals and communities are immersed in the fabric of forested landscapes, permitting engagement between the materiality of the landscape and the senses. This forges identities and senses of place and landscape of practice, which Ingold calls “taskscapes” (2000). The size, nature and form of trees engage our senses; sights, sounds, smells and touch of trees are celebrated in myriad ways. The variety of tree types, their flowers and fruit, form, colour, leaf shape, canopy density all react to and “capture” shifting weather and light conditions. The complexity and richness of differing forests compositions create differing examples of “local distinctiveness”. Different types of leaf flicker in different ways in different wind speeds. In sunshine, ash trees seem

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to turn a glimmering silver when a steady breeze lifts their leaves so the underneath surface reflects the light. It is such density and variation of detail that pours into our senses and memories that can be so important in the formation of “place perception”. “It is the sounds and smells and sights of places which haunt us” (Gussow 1971 cited in Mabey 1997, p 150). Ordinary, everyday trees produce stunning acoustic and visual performances which may be taken for granted or passionately appreciated. They can be articulated in all manner of artistic expression as exemplified by painter John Constable (see Daniels and Brett 1999) or in the “woodland” novels of Thomas Hardy. The novel Under the Greenwood Tree opens thus; To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has it voice as well as its features. At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall. And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy their individuality. (Hardy 1978, p 39)

This passage points to the richness of experience and the specificities of material relational becoming; each tree species has a specific sound in the wind, changing through the seasons, and becoming part of the “texture of place” which is engrained into dwelt identity. Places are best thought of as dynamic processes of ecological entanglements (Thrift 1999) where all manner of things and forces combine to produce the practice of everyday life. Roger Deakin in Wildwood describes specific local relationships between artists and forests and also instances of regional forest culture; for example, the way of life in the walnut forests of Kyrgyzstan where families and even whole villages continue their relationship with the ancient forests: “During late September and October thousands of people in the Ferghana Valley migrate to the forest and set up camp for up to 6 weeks to harvest the walnuts” (Deakin 2008, p 313). As he joins in the local practices, he becomes marked by the work as do others “by now, having shelled and eaten a good many nuts, my hands and Zamira’s were nearly as black as everyone else’s. Everyone in Ortok has black hands, stained by the potent dyes in the walnuts” (ibid) “I was amazed at the sheer number of people we saw living and working in the forest. Kasper said 10,000 people were camped out in the Ferghana Valley just now. The walnut harvest was an essential feature of their lives, economically and culturally” (ibid, emphasis added).

11.4 Forests and Practices of Identities Place is also a complex and contested notion. Place can be considered as somehow bounded material space, but the notion of place as process and the influence of networks reaching far beyond their apparent boundary should be recognised (Massey 2005). Place and identity operate in many ways and at multiple scales. Threads of “forest” interweave with place identity on many levels.

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11.4.1 Global Sense of Identity To some, it might seem odd to talk about a “global” sense of identity, the idea of a global sense of place and all earthly organisms as a community. However, some environmental thinkers see the lack of this global sense of identity as a key driver to modern society’s seemingly wreckless and unstoppable unpicking of the planet’s environment. To engender some notion of planetary sustainability we need to understand the interconnectedness of all life on earth and act accordingly. As Rolston (1999) argues, the Earth itself must be considered as a place, as the “home planet” for us all. Pictures of the Earth from space and from the moon were seminal moments in the development of modern environmental sensibility; they gave sense to the idea of the Earth not only as a place, but a small, startlingly beautiful and fragile place floating in the vastnesses of inhospitable space. These iconic images, used by the green movement to reinforce the idea of “spaceship Earth”, imply that “we are all in the same boat” and Earth is a precious single community of interconnected processes, ecosystems and habitats as in the sense of Lovelock’s (1988) notion of Gaia. Forests have become central in this growing construction of the planet as a place of life. Environmental discourses point out that forests (of differing kinds) span the world and play a key part in nature’s constitution of a liveable biosphere. Thus, the destruction of forests, particularly tropical rainforests of the developing world, were perhaps the iconic environmental issue of the 1980s and 1990s, before the threat of climate change gained global significance. The high profile given to deforestation by environmental NGOs helps to engender a sense of planet as place and planet at risk. Radford’s (2001) report on the UNEP’s (United Nations Environment Programme) satellite survey of forest loss between 1990 and 1995 predicted “the Earth’s remaining closed canopy forests and their associated biodiversity are destined to disappear in the coming decades (Radford 2001)”. The Global Trees Campaign run by a coalition of NGOs and the UNEP (Gates 2000) claimed that “more than 8,000 tree species, representing 10% of the Earth’s tree flora are threatened with extinction through forest loss and destruction” and that “almost half of the original forest cover of Earth has been removed” (Gates 2000, p 6). Some have suggested that these figures are exaggerated (Alvarado et  al. 2001), but the overall sense of loss and threat to arboreal biodiversity is hard to deny. This issue illustrates how scales of belonging, concern and identity interpenetrate. Many high-profile direct action campaigns against forest clearance, whether for harvesting or development, voiced very local landscape issues, but sentiments were in part infused and driven by wider global concerns. Tree protesters such as Julia Hill who lived in the top branches of a giant redwood for over a year (see Franklin 1999) see themselves caring for a particular tree, a forest, a local place and the planet all at once. In this deep ecological type vision, the division between tree, home, self and planet break down to be replaced by an ecological consciousness of connected self.

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11.4.2 National Sense of Identity Forest landscapes may express culture and national identity. For example, Simon Schama (1995) in Landscape and Memory compares the different meanings of forest to the national cultures of Germany, France, England, America and Poland; militaristic spirit in Germany, passion for order in France, transcendental connection with the “Creator” in America and struggle for national freedom in Poland. Forest as national icon alongside culture, politics and memory are all key ingredients of identity (Zerubavel 1996). Creation of an American sense of nationhood was inextricably bound up with its forests and wildernesses, but contradictory readings of forests emerged; as utilitarian resource managed by conservation according to Gifford Pinchot (1901), or vital spaces of spiritual significance meriting strict protection according to John Muir, pioneer of the preservationist movement. In the light of such tensions, Proctor (1996) asserts that American forests have long been “a contested moral landscape” where understandings of the old growth forests and trees as economic resource, habitat, recreational amenity or wilderness came into sharp confrontation. In the English context, Schama (1995) points to the “greenwood” as a refuge from state tyranny; a theme in Rutherfurd’s novel The Forest which depicts generations of life in the New Forest. In it one of the central characters ponders one of the great oaks in the heart of the forest. When Albion reached the tree he dismounted. [ ] He was glad to come and rest under the spreading oak. Why was it, he wondered, that the great oak had this power to revive him? What was its magic? Was it just the huge, gnarled strength of the tree? The fact that it had remained there, a living thing yet unchanging, like an ancient rock? Both these things, he thought; and the falling acorns, and the rustling leaves. There [ ] was something else – something he had often felt when he stood by the trunk of some full-grown spreading oak. It was almost if the tree were enclosing him within an invisible sphere of strength and power. (Rutherfurd 2000, p 236)

Such images of England as pastoral and “green at heart” had hedgerow trees, patchworks of deciduous woodland and the great forests as central icons. Schama (1995) also highlights the analogy between the character of timber and the character of the nation; “hearts of oak” (see also Tsouvalis 2000). There is a great tradition of British landscape writing which places treed landscapes at the heart of England. For example, H. E. Bates marvels at the harmonious quality of wild tree blossom in Britain, how it seems that as one tree ceases to flower, another starts (perhaps ecological nicheing) and how their colours are of a particular and harmonious register: how is it that this current of cream and white and pink goes on and on through the wild trees of Britain almost without break or variation? The chestnut and the crab [ ] are white and pink. The dogwood and the elder and the lime are cream. The rest [cherry, blackthorn] are white [ ] We have no wild exotic blossoming trees of scarlet or blue or purple. There is a sort of northern delicacy, almost fragility, about them all. (cited in Mabey 1997, p 189)

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British identification with the oak derives not only from notions of freedom granted by the greenwood, but also with oak as key material for ship-building, giving rise to British naval supremacy. The very material qualities of oak; its rugged grain, toughness and durability (tannins contribute to durability, tyloses contributing resistance to moisture penetration) contributed to Britain’s success as imperial power at the cost of overuse of its forests to the extent that forest cover dwindled to one of the lowest of all developed nations. The forging of other national identities, sometimes through resistance to colonial powers or invading forces, and even the fight for national independence, can be linked to forest. According to the Finnish Government (2007): The forests and their culture played an exceptionally important role in Finland’s gaining of independence in 1917. The developing forest industries in the modern sense, the products of which earned 80% – 90% of Finland’s export revenues at that time, provided the necessary economic foundation for independent state. Furthermore, the forests had an important spiritual significance. Finnish artists who had studied abroad in the late 19th century discovered the national identity in the country’s forests and in the Ballad Lands of the Kalevala – embodying the heritage of the hunting and fishing culture and swidden cultivation.

The Caledonian Forest in Scotland, reduced to mere fragments over the centuries, is today caught up in complex entanglements of Scottish identity, ecology and land use (Toogood 1995). This is particularly reflected in relationship to vexed and ­contested histories where population clearances by landowners are entangled with the idea of forest clearances for new land uses imposed by those with the power. But equally reforestation of the indigenous forest seems to favour some versions of national identity over others. There are of course differing forms of “forest” such as old growth or primary forests, new commercial forests, temperate rainforests and the tropical rainforest. All these physical identities bring cultural baggage with them which may well be fiercely contested and which will affect how trees, people and places are understood and acted upon. For example, Slater (1996) suggests that the construction of the forests of Amazonia as “Edenic Rain Forest” results in policy decisions which “wreak havoc on the lives of both trees and people”. Similarly, Goin (1996) tells of the sudden realization that “the virgin forests” (as labelled by a logging company for political expedience) he saw when driving in the United States were in fact commercial plantations, and that this had felt as if someone had “punched [him] in the gut”. This revelation led him to reassess his view of the American landscape from one based on Romantic/Transcendental views of “Nature” to a position which he terms “Humanature”. Cronon (1996) has written compellingly on how “wilderness” is a complex historical idea in which differing forms of landscapes, including forests, are imaged and contested by ideologies of nature. Forests are not always markers and makers of identify. The reverse can be so, particularly in cases where commercial planted forests overwrite previous landscapes. In the UK, twentieth-century modernist, industrial forestry bought large areas of conifer forest plantations to many upland areas. There were seen as challenges to existing authentic identities of nationality and landscapes and were deeply

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reviled, for example, Massingham’s (1988) essay “The Curse of the Conifers”. As Wright (1992) put it, We British … have looked at those coniferous plantations and decided we do not like them. We have brewed up a frantic symbolism of revulsion around them. We deplore the dark world beneath the coniferous canopy … those wretched fir trees are as deprived of individuality as people under communism. (Tsouvalis 2000, p 308, citing Wright 1992: ibid)

Interestingly, the dislike of conifers is often accompanied by further political or ideological discourses. The martial ranks of conifers marching across hillsides (Fairbrother 1970) invoked scarcely settled fears of invasion as well as the notion of cold war communism. This distaste for communities of alien trees species in the English landscapes has been linked to racist constructions of nationhood. The xenophobia non-native trees often inspire was then tackled … conifers were seen as alien imports, ‘plainly lacking the cultural credentials of the native broadleave … [L]ike other immigrants, these fir trees “all look the same” to the affronted native eye. (ibid)

The persistence of trees over time can bring unwelcome makers of (national) identity to life long after that identity has been cast off. This is so the case in a German forest near Zernikow where a vast swastika planted of larch trees which stood out (golden in the autumn) in a forest of darker green conifers was planted in 1938. The trees were felled after the Second World War, but had re-sprouted and controversially became visible again in the 1990s (Karacs 2000). A number of trees were felled in 1995 and again in December 2000 to remove the symbol, apart from single trees standing on a private ground (Bischoff 2000).

11.4.3 Regional Sense of Identity Within national identities there can be regional identities, and these too can be expressed in forest landscapes and override or be more important than nationally constructed identities. There are numerous examples of this to be found in Europe, USA and across the world. In the UK, there is a wealth of regional forest culture. Rackham (1996) charts the detailed specific history of woods/forests as they have developed in differing parts of the UK. Mabey (1993, p 21) describes how wind-breaks of stunted pine-belts have come to signify the Breckland landscape, embodying a heritage and ecology which has been to some extent lost, but the remainder of which eventually came to be recognized and protected as “unique and defining” elements of this particular landscape. Rowe (2006) brings the picture more up to date showing how the new community forests of UK which have been planted in the last three decades should be read as cultural landscapes. Part of these ambitious projects is not only to create new forest landscapes but to create new regional identities associated with them. This is a vital element of creating these new forest landscapes for without the forming of regional

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and/or local identities, these forests will struggle to be maintained as healthy, cultural, physical and economic landscapes. In Europe, there are regional forest cultures in many countries. These can be bound up with histories of war, invasion and resistance. They can also build upon local customs of foraging, hunting and subsistence agriculture. In France, regional identity carries with it very specific forms of hunting in forest settings, as in the pigeon hunting tradition in the pine forests of Les Landes South West France. In the USA, an extraordinarily rich psychogeography of forest and woods can been seen in music, literature and film/television. From Bill Bryson (1998) to the songs of the Handsome Family and the television series Twin Peaks (David Lynch), woods are places where “unimaginable things could happen to you” (Bryson 1998, p 13). Variations are marked by ecology, regional and local culture. It should be noted that the linking of forests with regional identity has occurred in colonial and post colonial settings. This reflects how power, politics, trade, military conquest and conflict over many centuries have folded into local and regional landscapes in terms of terrain, ecology and local custom. Because of their material qualities, trees and forests can become key players in such processes as they provide cover, material to exploit and can hinder occupying forces. The terrible wars and atrocities conducted in the forests of Eastern Europe and Russia are one example.

11.4.4 Local and Individual Sense of Identity Around the world, there are many examples of local campaigns to protect local, indigenous forests resources (Zelter 1998). In research conducted by Cloke and Jones, all the above forces could be seen at play in the linkages between trees, forests and identify. But at the local level the broader associations of national and regional identify can be scrambled or even inverted. In the now defunct Somerset coalfield (UK), many conifer plantations were planted on the industrial spoil heaps thrown up by centuries of mining. These grew into established plantations, prominent and unusual in their rural settings, and became the last obvious physical reminders of the past mining days which had shaped many of the local towns and villages. As UK forestry policy changed to favour the regeneration of woods and forests with native broadleaf trees, some of these plantations came under the threat of clearing. But local resistance to this was fierce because these local communities were drawn to the local distinctiveness of these peculiar plantations and the mining heritage they represented. In other words, local sentiments and attachments to these types of “alien” planted trees and the places they formed overrode the more general nationally scaled aversion to this type of plantation Equally, we can expect these national, regional and local perceptions to be deconstructed by particular individualized relationships with wooded landscapes. For example, Cloke et al. (1996) have shown how intimate and detailed constructions of forest can emerge from broad (and sometimes stereotyped) national symbolic forms. The link between self and forest can operate at the most intimate bodily level as captured by Anita Leslie (1981) in her memoir of growing up in Ireland.

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We returned to the bliss of Monaghan woods. There I could run for hours amidst the huge trees … Alone in the woods, I had only to stare up into the leaves to know a sensation of leaving my body. I swept into tree form. Once or twice when autumn had turned our forests to red-gold I came home so exalted by this feeling of transformation, of having roots and waving arms and rustling leaves, that I was unable to speak. (Leslie 1981, p 67)

Franklin’s portrait of Julia Hill, high in the ancient Redwood she lived in for a year, and other portraits and accounts of direct action against forest clearing, show how people’s individual lives and identities can become intimately bound up with forest landscapes and their protection. This also applies to forestry professionals whose work and life identity can be tied to forest management and even forest ­felling (St Baker 1944).

11.5 Complex and Contested Identities Given the incredible richness of interaction between forests and society at all the levels sketched out above, it is not surprising that there is much complexity, messiness and contradiction to be found. This includes fundamentally different readings of nature, the human place in nature and what that being-in-nature does for collective and individual identity. Schama (1995, p 517) points out that “there have always been two kinds of arcadia: shaggy and smooth; dark and light; a place of bucolic leisure and a place of primitive panic”. This speaks to a Janus view of forests from within western society. Forests are both paradise landscapes linking back to ideas of Eden and/or virgin nature (Hecht and Cockburn 1989) and also threatening, wild and dangerous places. This is not merely about danger to life and limb through real and imagined human and non-human risks that forest spaces could pose, it is also more insidious, unsettling risk of losing one’s very sense of self in spaces that creep with otherness (see also Chap. 10).

11.5.1 Forests as Spaces of Otherness Forests have long been interpreted and practiced as spaces where otherness – that is identities forged and practices outside the norms of society, outside the structures and orders of civilised culture – can flourish. Foucault’s telling example of the Panopticon, where the self is shaped and self-regulated by the constant presence of an authoritative, normalizing, gaze, shows the extent to which clear lines of sight, control and authority are critical to the control of otherness. In a very literal sense, forests can obstruct normalising control by being spaces resistant to the penetration of authoritative control. For this and other reasons forests have been constructed as other to civilisation. Harrison (1992) writes

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Western civilization literally cleared its space in the midst of forests. A sylvan fringe of darkness defined the limits of its cultivation, the margins of its cities, the boundaries of its intuitional domain; but also the extravagance of its imagination []. The governing institutions of the West – religion, law, family, city – originally established themselves in opposition to the forests (Harrison 1992, p ix)

The forest has been a space of refuge from the state, a place of solitary retreat where one can develop as a transcendental being (Thoreau 1972) (see below), of resistance to occupying military forces. But it can be other space in yet further perhaps more idiosyncratic ways. Many novels and other forms of literature can be found which explore the idea of forest as a space where individual and/or collective otherness can unfold. Sam Taylor’s novel The Republic of Trees tells a tale of a group of older children who run away to live “wild” in a forest in France. Here, their individual and collective identities transform and develop beyond the strictures’ of “civilisation” and spiral towards a Goldingesque climax. Another beautifully crafted version of otherness in the forest is Italo Calvino’s novel The Baron in the Trees. In this story a child, fed up with the strictures of home, and after an argument with his parents, climbs up a holm oak in his parents garden (in Italy) and from then on lives exclusively in the canopy, with forests that extend away from the garden as his kingdom, away from the adult authority of the ground. The canopy of the Forest of Dean is also a place of escape and power for the young Philip Marlowe in Dennis Potter’s The Singing Detective. Here, the division of space is not lateral as in forest separated from non forest areas, but vertical as in the ground of conformity and the freedom of the canopy. Forests can be landscapes of “orthodox” gaze. The work of Urry (1990) and Wilson (1992) in particular has been influential in demonstrating how the gaze of visitors to a landscape is often mediated and directed by tourist representations and educational materials. We are invited to inspect and photograph the landscape from clearly signed viewpoints, to traverse the landscape on way-marked routes and to understand the landscape via punctuations on those routes where interpretative information is provided. Such experiences will often have been preceded by idealized representations of the landscape in advertising brochures. Thus, the imagined geography sparked by representations of, say, a forest can be reinforced by the interpretative gaze provided. But there is undoubtedly a powerful imagined geography of centre and periphery and exclusion where all manner of grotesque peoples (Sibley 1995) were present either as “natives” or “exiles”. All manner of otherness has flourished in forests including the last indigenous tribes who have yet to be integrated into modernity. These of course live in old growth forests, and perhaps it is the case that otherness finds less space in commercial and managed forests of modernity. Forests were entangled in the contested spiritual, politic power struggles of early England and indeed Europe as Robert Graves in the White Goddess and Sir James G. Frazer in the Golden Bough show.

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11.5.2 Forests as Places to Lose Identity The corollary of the idea of the forest as a space of otherness is the forest as a place where one can lose one’s very identity. Forests have been one of the main settings of European folklore, fairy tales and children’s stories; the work of the brothers Grimm and of Hans Christian Andersen being prominent examples (see also Chap. 10). These paint the forest as a place of allurement and excitement, but at the same time a place of risk. And the risk is not merely the danger of being lost in a physical sense, or even attack or death, it is the more unsettling risk of slipping out of place – slipping out of one’s identity and not being able to return home. This notion of the forest as a place to become lost forms the fabric of some iconic epic poems and other dramatic forms. It is a theme of John Spencer’s The Faerie Queene (1596) and Shakespeare’s Midsummer’s Night Dream (c. 1594). In John Milton’s masque, Comus, performed at Ludlow Castle (1634) a virtuous maiden strays into the woods and the drama revolved around the spirit Comus’s attempts to lure her into pagan excesses where the (regulated) self is subsumed. Figures of humans with animal heads represent those who have lost their identity and even humanity as they have succumbed to temptation, and they entice the lost innocent to join them. Within the navil of this hideous Wood, Immur’d in cypress shades a Sorcerer dwels Of Bacchus, and of Circe born, great Comus, Deep skill’d in all his mothers witcheries, And here to every thirsty wanderer, By sly enticement gives his banefull cup

The twentieth-century poet Stevie Smith captured this threat of woods and f­ orests to those who get lost. This slyly, deeply poignant poem speaks of the space of the wood as a place to get profoundly lost, and a place where light is excluded and a place where time takes on a different quality. Fairy Story I went into the woods on day And there I walked and lost my way When it was so dark that I could not see A little creature came to me He said if I would sing a song The time would not be very long But first I must let him hold my hand tight Or else the wood would give me a fright I sang a song, he let me go But now I am home again there is nobody I know. Stevie Smith (2001)

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11.5.3 Forests as Places to Find Identity The romantics felt that the strictures of society wrote over the individuality of “man”. Spaces of nature, particularly wild nature, wildernesses of high mountains and forest were where the sublime could be glimpsed in ecstatic awe, and through such contact, the individual can become “himself ”; were places where one could escape society and find oneself in the context of nature and even universal being. In effect the romantics endorsed the idea of the forest as a space of otherness, but this was not an otherness to be feared, or policed, but an otherness to be embraced as the true emergent (individual) self. You could indeed lose yourself in the forest, but that process was one of shedding the skin inscribed upon you by society, and out of that transformation a new “authentic” individual would emerge. These ideas were echoed by the transcendentalists and the protoenvironmentalists of America as typified by Henry David Thoreau famous texts Walden and The Maine Woods. The postmodern era, which extends anti-enlightenment aspects of romantic thought, continues this idea of nature and forests as a place of discovery of the free becoming self and has increasingly seen the reclamation of nature and spirituality (Matless 1991). For many, the notion of tree and forest is not only paradisal, but spiritual. The search for identity both individual and collective has not only used elements of nature as a reference point, but the nature – society borderline itself. Entering the forest is one of the most powerful means of crossing that border as the human body becomes subsumed into the larger, enclosing material spaces of the forest.

11.5.4 Forests: Gender and Identity Although there has not been room here to go into many other constructions of forest identity outside that of scale, it is important to consider forests and identity in relation to gender. There has been a wealth of research and activism in this area, often driven by feminist and ecofeminist studies, which have highlighted many issues surrounding women, forests and spaces in the developed and, particularly, the developing world. These issues range from the linking of women and nature in the patriarchal gaze, questions of gendered work identities (including research) to questions of contested forest (resource) control and conservation or exploitation between indigenous peoples and differing external forces such as the state (Campbell et  al. 1996; Otswald and Baral 2000; Nightingale 2002). Efforts have been made to give perhaps some of the most invisible people on the planet (in literal and in power terms) – remote forest dwelling communities -voices in global debates about the environment (Townsend 1995). Feminist informed

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anthropology (e.g., MacCormack and Strathern 1980) shows how in non-western forest dwelling societies, gender identities do not simply map out in terms of women and nature and men labour and exploitation, but rather that in differing societies, complex and differing patterns of gendered relations with the forest exist. Nightingale (2002) and Reed (2000) bring feminist perspectives to the fore in the consideration of natural resource management and activism in conservation, respectively. Follo (2002) and Madge (2000) discuss gender issues in the practice of research in forest settings. The very productive linking of environmentalism and feminism (e.g., Monk 1992; Nesmith and Radcliffe 1993) has shown not only how social, cultural and political meanings have been inscribed on landscapes, but also how these meanings are gendered. One important outcome of this has been to define the dominant masculinist characteristics which have been transposed as distinctively “human” in relation to nature – for example, rationality, transcendence and intervention in, domination and control of nature as opposed to passive immersion in it (Plumwood 1993). Another outcome has been to recognize the other to predominantly masculinist landscapes by identifying those landscapes where women do not fit, do not belong, or are forbidden.

11.6 Conclusion Both the terms forest and identity cover a wide range of complex meanings and associations. As forests have significant (uneven) presences across the globe and throughout history, and identity has been a central issue in human societies from their uncertain beginnings, the possible associations between these two terms are legion and cannot be fully covered in a chapter such as this. The chapter aimed to show some examples of how forests and identities have been entangled in differing ways, at differing scales, both spatial and in terms of group or individual identify. It has tried to show that forests are entangled in the (social) construction and performance of identity in a number of ways, while at the same time being real, living material forms which add their own qualities to two-way processes of association. Trees and forests are some of the most remarkable forms of life and space on the planet. As humans have grown to become what they are, they inevitably attach themselves to the environment around them through processes of biophilia (Wilson 1984) and topophilia (Tuan 1974). Not only are forests key mediums of identity formation in these ways, the implications of the loss of forests through deforestation and climate change may send profound cultural and physiological shocks through individual and collective identities which are akin to trauma (Williams 1992). Acknowledgements  Thanks to the editors for their interest and support and to Professor Paul Cloke with whom the ideas in this chapter were developed.

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References Adams P, Hoelscher P, Till K (2001) Textures of place: exploring humanist geographies. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis Alvarado J, Korhonen K, Palo M (2001) 8750 threatened tree species in the world? In: Palo M, Uusivuori J, Mery G (eds) World forests, markets and policies. World forests vol III, vol III. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 95–96 Bachelard G (1988) Air and dreams: an essay on the imagination of movement. Dallas Institute Publications, Dallas Bail M (1999) Eucalyptus. Panther, London, p 16 Barad K (2007) Meeting the world halfway: quantum physics and the entanglement of matter and meaning. Duke University Press, Durham Bischoff (2000) Der Hakenkreuz-Wald bei Zernikow kam unter die Säge. Berliner Zeitung, 5 Dec 2000 Bryson B (1998) A walk in the woods. Black Swan, London Campbell C in collaboration with the Women’s Group of Xapuri (1996) Out on the front lines but still struggling for voice: women in the rubber tappers. Defense of the forest in Xapuri, Acre, Brazil. In: Rocheleau D, Thomas-Slayter B, Wangari E (eds) Feminist political ecology: global issues and local experiences. Routledge, London/New York, pp 27–61 Casey ES (1993) Getting back into place: towards a renewed understanding of the place-world. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, p 80 Cloke P, Jones O (2001) Dwelling, place, and landscape: an orchard in Somerset. Environ Plann A 33:649–666 Cloke P, Milbourne P, Thomas C (1996) The English national forest: local reactions to plans for renegotiated nature-society relations in the countryside. Trans Inst Br Geogr 21:552–571 Cronon W (ed) (1996) Uncommon ground: rethinking the human place in nature. Norton, New York Daniels S, Brett S (1999) Trees and woods in British art. In: Miles A (ed) Silva: the tree in Britain. Ebury Press, London Davis D (1988) The evocative symbolism of trees. In: Cosgrove D, Daniels S (eds) The iconography of landscape. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Deakin R (2008) Wildwood: a journey through trees. Penguin, London Fairbrother N (1970) New lives, new landscapes. Penguin, Harmondsworth Finnish Government (2007) Forest. http://www.finland.bg/public/default.aspx?nodeid=36229& contentlan=2&culture=en-US. Accessed 7 Sept 2009 Follo G (2002) A hero’s journey: young women among males in forestry education. J Rural Stud 18(3):293–306 Franklin S (1999) The time of trees. Leonardo Arts, Milan Gates (2000) Trees in trouble. A new campaign to save the world’s rarest species, supplement to BBC wildlife magazine, October. BBC Wildlife Magazine, Bristol Goin P (1996) Humanature. University of Texas Press, Austin, p vii Grange J (1997) Nature: an environmental cosmology. State University of New York Press, Albany, p 72 Graves R (1961) The white goddess. Faber & Faber, London Gussow A (1971) A sense of place. Friends of the Earth, San Francisco Hall SJ (1813) Essays on the origins, history and principles of gothic architecture. W. Bulmer, London Hardy T (1978) Under the greenwood tree. Penguin, Harmondsworth Harrison F (1991) The living landscape. Mandarin Paperbacks, London Harrison RP (1992) Forests: the shadow of civilisation. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Heat-Moon WL (1991) PrairyErth: a deep map. Andre Deutsch, London Hecht S, Cockburn A (1989) The fate of the forest. Verso, London Ingold T (1993) The temporality of landscape. World Archaeol 25:152–174

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Chapter 12

Definitions and Concepts – The Etymology and Use of the Terms Forest and Landscape Kirsten Krogh Hansen and Hanna Byskov Ovesen

The previous chapters illustrate how the terms forest and landscape can be used in different contexts. This can vary from the very tangible meaning of being a source of material goods to the rather intangible relationship based on a personal perception. Each time these terms are discussed in one way or another, the approach to the discussion is – consciously or unconsciously – based upon a certain meaning, theory or concept. The aim of this chapter is therefore to describe the etymology of the terms forests and landscapes with examples from different European languages and to discuss the different interpretations of these concepts within science and everyday terminology. The reader will gain an insight into the complexity of forest and landscape and achieve an understanding of the fact that these concepts are dependent on the individual’s use and perception.

12.1 The Use of Concepts In everyday language, concepts are often indefinite and the demarcation is imprecise. Distinctive for concepts in our everyday language is that they are based on an implicit knowledge of the prerequisites. Through the clarification of the concepts the prerequisites are sought, thereby making them explicit. It can however be complicated to outline explicit prerequisites for a concept. On the contrary, concepts in scientific terms are explicit, in other words the definition is evident. The difference between everyday definitions and the scientific definition of concepts is the added care the academics take to specify their practice, correct their errors and misunderstandings and share their findings with others (Hatch and Cunliffe 2006). In scientific coherences, stipulate definitions are often outlined, and the researcher/scientist determines the meaning of the concept without pretending that K.K. Hansen (*) and H.B. Ovesen Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_12, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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it is consistent with the usual. The clarification of concepts is therefore all about determining the essential and adequate prerequisites that comprise a concept (Harnov Klausen 2005). To make sure that these stipulate definitions are not meaningless or inconsequential to the reader, it is important to include as much as possible from the usual prerequisite of the concept – or at least illustrate how the stipulate definition emanates from the prevalent denotation (Harnov Klausen 2005). The explicit definitions of concepts are important in order to avoid confusion. If, for example, you need to compare forest across borders, it’s very important to assess forest based on the same definition. The next sections will state the numerous understandings and definitions of the two concepts forest and landscapes and look into the origins of the words and the historic development of the concepts. In the present day use of the concepts, the economic, physical and mental/social perceptions of the concepts are presented.

12.2 Forest 12.2.1 Etymology The meaning of the word forest has changed dramatically from its original meaning to the contemporary sense of the word. In the times of the Normans’ rule of Great Britain (1066-Middle Ages), forest was a place partly owned by the Crown and an area subjected to stringent laws designed to preserve game for royal hunting parties. The fact that trees may have been growing in the forest were largely incidental (James 1981; Muir 2000, 2008) (See also Chap. 4). Many of the earlier words for forests were connected to their utility, and even though we today agree that forests have something to do with trees and get their characteristics from trees, there are other characteristics that have largely been connected with the term forest. They were useful, familiar places full of resources, but they were also places of mystery and concealed threats. These mysteries and concealed threats can be found in the German word Wald that originally meant wilderness, or it can be found in the Latin word forestis which originally meant what is outside the door. In the Nordic mythology, humans were descendants from Ask and Embla who the Gods had created from trees, and forests were the stage for human lives (Oustrup 2007a). In classic Greek mythology, Adonis was born from trees, Daphne was turned into a tree and Zeus had groves of trees (Muir 2008). The medieval vocabulary of forest is largely derived from place names. These old names must have been used to identify distinctions between different types of forests (Muir 2008). Today, these distinctions in the forest are achieved by adjectives. Differences in vocabulary are illustrated in Table 12.1. Some of these words are still in use today (for example grove and copse), and some of the words are still in use in the language it derives from. For example, the word lund that derives from the Old Norse lúndr (Rackham 1995) is still in use today in the Scandinavian languages with the same meaning of the word. The table

12  Definitions and Concepts – The Etymology and Use of the Terms Forest and Landscape 181 Table 12.1  Terms describing forests in modern English and during medieval times (adapted from Muir 2008, p 52, 54) Medieval words covering the same meaning – derived Present day description of forests from place names Small compact forest Grove, shaw, lund, holt Larger wooded areas Wood, wald Coppiced forest Spring, fall, copse, hollin Open forest Ley Forests cleared for agriculture Ridding, sart, stock, stubbing, royd

above also notes wald that according to Muir (2008) derives from Old English and referred to an extensive forest. Today, Wald is still found in the German language and here it refers to any forested area of a certain size. The vocabulary of today has largely two distinctions: • Plantation: to do with forestry and production (cultivated) • Forest: covering any wooded area of a certain size (natural) The same can be found in Danish – plantage and skov; in German – Forst and Wald; or in Italian – foreste and bosco.

12.2.2 Present Use Today forest is a synonym for a large tree covered area or a place for timber production (James 1981; Muir 2008). This can also be seen from the following definitions of forest. Princeton University defines forest as: The trees and other plants in a large densely wooded area Land that is covered with trees and shrubs (Princeton University 2009)

According to Iowa Department of Natural Resources, forest is defined as: […] an ecosystem, an association of plants and animals. Trees are its dominant feature. They provide many of the benefits of forests like habitat, quality water, recreation, climatic amelioration and wood products. The plants and animals that make up a forest are interdependent and often essential to its integrity. (Iowa Department of Natural Resources 2009)

The various definitions of forest show that forest can be understood in a number of ways. On the basis of the above-mentioned definitions, forest is mostly ­understood as an area or piece of land with trees and/or shrubs where trees are the dominant feature. Table 12.2 encompasses different forest definitions classified by the agency that has developed this definition of forest. Neither of the definitions includes lands that are predominantly under agricultural production. They all focus on native and natural forests.

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Table 12.2  Forest definitions as classified by different agencies Forest definitions Key characteristics Forest An area covering more than 0.5 ha with trees higher than 5 m and a canopy cover of more than 10%, or trees able to reach these standards in situ Forest is determined both by the presence of trees and the absence of other predominant land uses Natural forest Forest as above, but further naturally regenerated native species. Frontier forest Ecologically intact, native forest Type of Forest

Many different types of forests. The type is defined according to canopy species, hydrological and soil conditions

References Food and agriculture Organizations of the United Nations (FAO 2005)

FAO 2005 World Resources Institute (Islam et al. 2009) Darst et al. 2003 (USGS)

These definitions indicate that forest can be regarded as a physical concept because of the physical elements that the different definitions feature, i.e. the percentage of canopy cover, the height of the trees, the specific area cover. However, forests are more than just trees and canopy cover. Basically, forests can have two different roles: • Productive role • Protective role It has been estimated that 2% of the world GDP is based on wood-based products (Wardle and Kaoneka 1999). Forests contribute to basic needs like energy (e.g., firewood), but also to modern living in the form of furniture and packaging. The protective role of forest has to do with non-wood products. These are, among others, the ecosystem services that humans receive from an ecosystem. The Earth as an ecosystem is tied together by cycles of water, nutrients and through the dynamics of climate (Perry 1994). Forests influence all three of these elements, and the protective role of forests derives from ecosystem services like the conservation of soil and water and the adjustment of among others the carbon cycle (Wardle and Kaoneka 1999). The reader might have heard that the Amazonas rainforest is the lungs of the Earth. Whether this is completely true is up for discussion, but it definitely indicates how important forests are to the planet. The Earth without forests would be a very different planet, and it would certainly be less liveable (Perry 1994). This is not only because of the many physical services forests provide, but also because of the psychological meaning forests have for many people. If we look back at the distinctive definitions of the plantation and the forest, respectively, the plantations have an almost purely economic purpose, with a side

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effect of non-marketed goods. Forests, on the other hand, as natural woodland, have other purposes than the economic. Forman (1995) gives an example from a developing country where the village leader shows a westerner around their forest. The forest has many different purposes, it provides food and energy, but it is also a spiritual place, a place for ceremonies, a place that provide incense, it works as fire protection and it is also a place for remembrance as it is a place where the ancestors won the final battle against invaders. So, besides a physical understanding of forest, there can also be a more psychological and individual interpretation and approach. Forest can be defined by the individual’s ideas, experiences and knowledge about forests. It is the individual’s perceptions of forests and opinions regarding the purpose or use of the forest that determines the individual’s preferences. By asking about these opinions and perceptions of forest, it is possible to see what reasons the individual has for visiting the forest. Oustrup (2007a) has divided perceptions of forests into three categories: • nature minded • emotional founded • cultural minded The individual’s perception of forest is closely connected to the relationship the individual had with the forest in childhood and youth. In this way individuals growing up with a limited contact to nature show a great admiration for nature and an awareness of the differences between the natural and the urban environments. On contrary, individuals growing up in close contact with nature have a sense of closeness to the natural environment that characterized their childhood (Ohta 2001; Kaae and Møller Madsen 2002). Whether an individual is nature minded, emotional founded or cultural minded, or has a more economic understanding or use of forests has therefore, to some extent, to do with previous experiences. Individuals with “nature minded” perceptions of forest will describe the forest as a place where nature is free of human interactions, and they go to the forest to experience it as nature (Fink 2002). To experience the forest, you have to walk in it, taste it; sense the life and natural processes that the forest represents. Individuals with this perception of forests will often walk off the beaten tracks where they believe that experiences await them. They do not use the facilities found in the ­forest; they would rather sit down on a log (Oustrup 2007b). Experiences of forest fauna are for the nature minded the essence of the visit in the forest (Oustrup 2007a). The forest becomes a refuge for the nature minded, and the ideal is an untouched forest (Kaae and Møller Madsen 2002; Ohta 2001). Individuals with an “emotional founded” perception of forest also describe nature experiences as things they seek in the forest (Oustrup 2007a). However, they focus more on what these nature experiences give them. Nature is only valued from what it can give, rather than the fact that nature might have a value on its own (Bruun 2000). The forest offers one an alternative setting to the city; thus, giving individuals the opportunity to relax and de-stress (Ohta 2001). This is the reason

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for the emotional founded to visit the forest. They enjoy sitting quietly in the forest and in that way experience the sounds and scents of the forest, which they bring home and recall with joy (Oustrup 2007b). An individual with the emotional founded perception of forest has no need to be in the forest to get a forest experience. Even a photo, painting, a tale about the forest, a view from the office window or a glance in the rear-view mirror gives them the impression of being there (Juel 2002; Oustrup 2007b). They use the facilities in the forest and enjoy sitting on a bench at a vantage point. They request information signs, particular those describing a subject of symbolic importance, for instance tales linked to certain trees, natural phenomena or cultural marks (Oustrup 2007a). The forest experience is for the emotional founded created through a cognitive understanding of the sensuous experiences created in the forest (Bille and Lorenzen 2008). Individuals with a “cultural minded” perception of forest focus on the forest as a cultivated space (Fink 2002; Oustrup 2007a). Experiences of the forest as nature are secondary, but they enjoy the cultivated forest and often use the forest as a backdrop for exercise, experiences or social interactions (Kaae and Møller Madsen 2002). The cultural minded would also describe a drive through the forest as an outing, because they have no need to be outside to have a feeling that they have visited the forest (Juel 2002). They rarely use the facilities of the forest, they would much rather have a brisk walk and afterwards return home and have a cup of coffee on the sofa (Oustrup 2007a). They do not visit the forest in order to obtain specific experiences. They enjoy the forest during their visit, and if they cannot get to the forest they will find other spaces that can fulfil their needs (Oustrup 2007b). The three categories of perception of forest are ideals, which indicate that an individual rarely belongs in only one of the categories. Other categories are possible, like the economical minded person who is interested in the monetary value of a forest, maybe as the forest owner, or the ecological minded who is worried about the loss of biodiversity. An individual will often belong in several categories, but the majority of the individual’s views will mainly belong in one of the categories. There is a distinct difference between the concept of forest and the concept of landscape. Forests are largely defined by their vegetation, whereas landscapes do not have the same luxury of being defined so easily. The concept forest has ­therefore not traditionally been a research area. Research conducted on forests has typically focused on gaining greater economic return. Today, as the importance of forests with regard to climate change is better understood, more research is carried out including other functions of forests as well.

12.3 Landscape 12.3.1 Etymology Landskipe or landscaef derives from the Dutch schap(e), schep, ship, meaning shape or appearance. In medieval England, landskipe or landscaef referred to a specific piece of land, managed, occupied and controlled by an identifiable group

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of individuals. This Old English sense of landscape as jurisdiction seems to have gradually disappeared from use when, by the seventeenth century, the related Dutch word landschap entered the English language (Hoelscher 2006). The above-mentioned underlines that the term landscape was introduced during the Renaissance where it was an idea or a way of viewing the world. The term was and still is visual and artistic (Cosgrove 1985). By 1630, landscape referred to both paintings and large-scale rural scenery that were pleasing to the eye (Hoelscher 2006) (see also Chap. 9). Simultaneously, landscape has also been linked to the practical understanding of space (Cosgrove 1985). This can also be seen in historical references concerning landscape where only a few have had the objective of describing the landscape itself. The objectives have been regarding the ownership, the use or the possible taxation of the landscape (Fritzbøger 2007). Landscape has historically been important in regard to the use of the landscape rather than the appearance or the content, i.e. the significance of the landscape has been its usefulness. The basis for this was the financial thinking that prevailed in the ­mid-eighteenth century. In Denmark, the aims of the description of the Danish landscapes and regions were to estimate the available resources. Only by the end of the eighteenth century, the landscape descriptions started to include geological descriptions and details regarding soil and landforms/geomorphology (Larsen 2006). At the beginning of the nineteenth century, a new philosophy of nature was brought to Denmark from continental Europe. In this philosophy, nature was part of a wider context where among others the arts, science, history, religion and philosophy all were relevant in the study of the surrounding environment. With this new philosophy, the Romanticism was introduced throughout Europe; greatly influencing how the landscape was perceived, that is as an artistic element (Larsen 2006). In academic geography, the use of the concept landscape started in Germany. Here, in the late nineteenth century, the concept evolved into a science describing relations between the surrounding environment and the human impact upon it. Focus was on landforms of certain areas, but also on categorising the settlements, village types and agricultural systems of these areas. Thus, the word Landschaft stood for a specific area defined by identifiable material features, both physical and cultural (Hoelscher 2006). In 1925, the American geographer Carl Sauer refined this understanding of ­landscape (Mayhew 2004). Sauer saw landscape as a way of describing the relations between humans and environment with focus on the human impact. He proposed landscape as an alternative to environmental determinism in geography (Duncan 1994). After the prosperity of landscape during the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, the term began to fade in the period of the 1940s–1960s. During this time, geographers wished to define and analyse dynamic regions as a part of the economic and social development, and for this the previous static and descriptive use of landscape was not considered adequate. In recent years, geography has once again started working with landscape. Today, the study of landscape not only uses quantitative methods, but also includes qualitative methods and thereby forms a holistic view of landscape including physical and cultural aspects (Cosgrove 1984). These aspects are by Tress and Tress (2001) defined as environmental, social, cultural, aesthetic and economical.

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12.3.2 Present Use Today the different meanings of the concept landscape depend on whether they were developed within the natural, the social sciences, the humanities or the arts. Furthermore, the specific disciplines within these fields have developed their own traditional applications and concepts of landscape (Tress and Tress 2001). Thus, the approach to the landscape concept or an analysis of landscape is dependent on both subject knowledge and the objective of the research (Antrop 2000). To illustrate the different applications of landscape, two definitions follow. The definition of landscape according to Princeton University: an expanse of scenery that can be seen in a single view painting depicting an expanse of natural scenery embellish with plants do landscape gardening an extensive mental viewpoint (Princeton University 2008)

The definition of landscape according to the Oxford dictionary of Geography: An area, the appearance of an area, or the gathering of objects which produce that appearance. (Mayhew 2004, p 293)

These definitions of landscape show that the term can be understood in a number of ways. Landscape can be a view, but it can also be a genre in the arts that portrays this view. Landscape can also be a category referring to an area with physical ­characteristics that are distinctive for the area (Arler 2004). The size of the area is often undefined, but can span from a land register to a territory defined by national borders, oceans, creeks, etc. The content of this area can be subject of classifications, mapping and legislation (Hansen-Møller 2004). The physical characteristics of a landscape is not only the natural occurring ­elements. It can also be elements shaped by humans, such as ploughed fields, burial mounds, wind turbines, buildings, etc. This landscape is often referred to as a ­cultural landscape formed by the same geological and climatic processes as any landscape, but also influenced by human activities (Møller 2000; Byskov Ovesen and Krogh Hansen 2008). Landscape has many meanings. Atkins et al. (1998) defines landscape as these six points: Landscape as scenery Landscape as topography Landscape as nature Landscape as environment or habitat Landscape as artefact Landscape as place, location and territory (Atkins et al. 1998, p xvi-xvii)

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Other points could be added to the list, but maybe that would be a question of wording rather than a question of a new point or category. One might think that landscape as system is missing, but it can be argued that landscape as system is another wording for landscape as nature and/or landscape as environment or habitat. No matter the wording, the physical landscape can be seen as a system of ­elements connected to each other by energy, matter or even information. This understanding of landscape might seem close to the understanding of ecosystem, but landscape is distinguished from ecosystems by the way it is embedded in a geographical context (Farina 2006). In other words, in landscapes the geographical positioning of the elements is important. Also landscapes provide ecosystem services like forests do. However, one thing distinguishes landscapes from forests – the economy. There is a whole economy based on forestry, but the same cannot be said for landscape. Landscapes can influence watersheds and the microclimate, but there is no distinguishing vegetation for landscapes that can be cashed in on. The way landscapes are used economically has to do with its visual origin. Many countries, national parks or regions sell themselves on the amenity values of their landscapes and the benefits of tourism related to this. Furthermore, landscape can be regarded as a category referring to the perception of an area that denotes a place and its surroundings as entity in the way it is perceived, observed and interpreted by individuals (Arler 2004). This understanding can be referred to as landscapes of the mind (mindscapes). Lorzing (2001) has constructed three levels of landscapes of the mind: The factual landscape (The layer of knowledge) The visual landscape (The layer of perception) The emotional landscape (The layer of interpretation) (Lorzing 2001, p 48)

The factual landscape is made up by a body of facts. Knowledge and insight is an important factor in the comprehension of the landscape. Although this knowledge­can be intuitive and incomplete, the understanding of the landscape is affected by this knowledge. Facts and assumptions are inevitable parts of the landscape experience, and therefore this level of landscape is what you know (Lorzing 2001). The visual landscape can be stated as what is seen, heard and sensed. Here knowledge of the landscape does not have a significant influence (Lorzing 2001). The result of this is that the visual landscape can be described as what is under your feet and stretching to the horizon. Therefore, the visual landscape consists of rocks, soil, vegetation, water, animals, etc. (Muir 1999). At first glance this comprehension of the landscape appears objective. However, there is a certain subjectivity of the understanding of the visual landscape which can be seen in various artists’ different depictions of the same landscape. This level of landscape is what you see (Lorzing 2001). For the emotional landscape, facts and perceptions are only the first steps towards an individual’s comprehension of what is seen. They are important in the interpretation of the landscape, but a more profound understanding is influenced by the

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individual’s emotions. Therefore, the emotional landscape is subjective (Lorzing 2001). The emotional landscape is a perceived landscape consisting of emotions, memories and hypothesis regarding landscape as it is seen (Muir 1999). This level of landscape is what you believe (Lorzing 2001). The interaction of these three levels shows that landscapes to a certain extent can be perceived as a mental construction. The comprehension of landscape is influenced by what is known and seen and thereby creating a landscape of the mind, based on knowledge, perceptions and emotions. This creation is not a new landscape but a mindscape of an already existing landscape (Lorzing 2001). Hence, the creation of a mindscape underlines that landscape can be perceived both as the real factual and physical world, but also as a mental construction of a more emotional character (Lorzing 2001).

12.4 Conclusion The use and understanding of both forest and landscape as concepts has changed in the course of time. Consequently, countless perceptions of the concepts exist. This chapter has given an insight into the economic, physical and mental/social perceptions. Thus, the perception of forest and landscape is dependent on the individual and how he/she uses and understands either concept. Because of the changing meaning and the individual use and understanding of the concepts, it is important for the researcher to define how the concept is used in their work or present publication to avoid confusion and gain comparability. It is also important for the researcher to be aware of the definition of the concept given in the literature, so that the research is not based on incorrect assumptions and links comprehensions that cannot be linked.

References Atkins P, Simmons I, Roberts B (1998) People, land and time – An historical introduction to the relations between landscape, culture and environment. Arnold Publishers, London Antrop M (2000) Background concepts for integrated landscape analysis. Agr Ecosyst Environ 77(1–2):17–28 Arler F (2004) Det er ikke til at se det – Om det fraværendes betydning for aflæsningen af landskaber og deres værdi. In: Hansen-Møller J (ed.) Meningen med landskab – en antologi om natursyn, Museum Tusculanums Forlag, København S Bille T, Lorenzen M (2008) Den danske oplevelsesøkonomi – afgrænsning, økonomisk betydning og vækstmuligheder. Forlaget Samfundslitteratur og Imagine, Frederiksberg C Bruun J (2000) Natur, national identitet og engagement i miljøspørgsmål, Danmarks Pædagogiske Institut, København N Byskov Ovesen H, Krogh Hansen K (2008) Nationalpark Vadehavet – natur, identitet og landskab. (National Park Wadden Sea – Nature, identity and landscape). 8th semester’s project, Integrated Geography, Aalborg University, Denmark

12  Definitions and Concepts – The Etymology and Use of the Terms Forest and Landscape 189 Cosgrove D (1985) Prospect, perspective and the evolution of the landscape idea. Trans Inst Br Geogr New Ser 10(1):45–62, Blackwell Publishing on behalf of The Royal Geographical Society (with the Institute of British Geographers) Darst MR, Light HM, Lewis LJ, Sepúlveda AA (2003) Forest types in the lower suwannee river floodplain, Florida – A report and interactive map. U.S. Geological survey water resources investigations report 03-4008, Tallahassee Duncan J (1994) Entry: landscape. In: Johnston RJ, Gregory D, Smith DM (eds) Dictionary of human geography, 3rd edn. Blackwell, Oxford, pp 316–317 Farina A (2006) Principles and methods in landscape ecology – towards a science of landscape. Springer, Dordrecht Fink H (2002) Et mangfoldigt naturbegreb. In: Agger P, Reenberg A, Læssøe J, Hansen HP (eds) Naturens værdi, vinkler på danskernes forhold til naturen (The value of nature, aspects of the Danes’ relationship to nature). Gads Forlag, København Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (2005) Global forest resources assessment 2005, Progress towards sustainable forest management. FAO Forestry Paper 147, Rome Forman RTT (1995) Land mosaics: The ecology of landscapes and regions. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Fritzbøger B (2007) Chapter 2: Det åbne lands kulturhistorie. In: Vestergaard P (ed) Naturen i Danmark: Det åbne land (Denmark’s Nature: The open landscape). Gyldendal, København K Hansen-Møller J (2004) Landskab: Habitat/Område/Symbol – En model til analyse af meninger med landskab. In: Hansen-Møller J (ed) Meningen med landskab – en antologi om natursyn. Museum Tusculanums Forlag, København S Harnov Klausen S (2005) Hvad er videnskabsteori? Akademisk Forlag, København K Hatch MJ, Cunliffe AL (2006) Organization Theory – modern, symbolic and postmodern perspectives, 2nd edn. Oxford University Press, Oxford Hoelscher S (2006) Entry: cultural landscape. In: Warf B (ed) Encyclopaedia of human Geography. Sage, New York, pp 75–78 Iowa Department of Natural Resources (2009) Forestry definitions at Iowa Department of Natural Resources. Entry Forest. www.iowadnr.gov/forestry/definitions.html#forest. Accessed 27 Jan 2009 Islam ST, Khan MH, Marinova D (2009) Diverse approaches in defining forest ecosystems and its implications on biodiversity management. www.undp.org.bd/library/reports/Diverse%20 approach%20in%20defining%20forest.pdf. Accessed 22 Jan 2009 James NDG (1981) A history of English forestry. Basil Blackwell, Oxford Juel H (2002) Natur i firkanter. In: Agger P, Reenberg A, Læssøe J, Hansen HP (eds) Naturens værdi, vinkler på danskernes forhold til naturen (The value of nature, aspects of the Danes’ relationship to nature). Gads Forlag, København Kaae BC, Møller Madsen L (2002) Holdninger og ønsker til Danmarks natur. In: Agger P, Reenberg A, Læssøe J, Hansen HP (ed.) Naturens værdi, vinkler på danskernes forhold til naturen (The value of nature, aspects of the Danes’ relationship to nature). Gads Forlag, København Larsen G (2006) Chapter 2 Udforskningens historie. In: Larsen G (ed) Naturen i Danmark: Geologien (Denmark’s Nature: Geology). Gyldendal, København K Lorzing H (2001) The nature of landscape – A personal quest. 010 Publishers, Rotterdam Mayhew S (2004) Entry: landscape. In Oxford Dictionary of geography, 3rd edn. Oxford University Press, Oxford, p 293 Muir R (1999) Approaches to landscape. MacMillan, Houndmills and London Muir R (2000) The new reading the landscape – fieldwork in landscape history. University of Exeter Press, Exeter Muir R (2008) Woods, Hedgerows and Leafy Lanes. Tempus, Chalford Møller PG (2000) Landskab og kulturel bæredygtighed. In: Møller PG, Holm P, Rasmussen L (eds.) Aktører i landskabet (Actors in the landscape). Odense Universitetsforlag, Odense Ohta H (2001) Aphenomological approach to natural landscape cognition. J Environ Psychol 21:387–403

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Oustrup L (2007a) Skovopfattelse blandt danskere og i skovlovgivningen (Forest perception among Danes and in the forest law). Forest & Landscape Research, no. 38-2007. Danish Centre for Forest, Landscape and Planning, Hørsholm Oustrup L (2007b) Skovopfattelsen. Grønt Miljø no. 2-2007, Frederiksberg, p 10–12 Perry D (1994) Forest ecosystems. The John Hopkins University Press, London Princeton University (2008) WordNet at Princeton University. Entry Landscape. http://wordnet. princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=landscape. Accessed 15 Apr 2008 Princeton University (2009) WordNet at Princeton University. Entry Forest. http://wordnetweb. princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=forest. Accessed 27 Jan 2009 Rackham O (1995) Tress and Woodlands in the British Landscape – the complete history of Britain’s trees, woods and hedgerows, Revised edn. Weidenfeld & Nicolson, London Tress B, Tress G (2001) Capitalising on multiplicity: a transdisciplinary systems approach to landscape research. Landsc Urban Plann 57:143–157 Wardle P, Kaoneka A (1999) Perceptions and concepts of the importance of forests. In: Palo M, Uusivuori J (eds) World forests, society and environment. Kluwer, Dordrecht

Part IV

Chapter 13

Tree Use and Landscape Changes – Development of a Woodland Area in Sweden Mårten Aronsson and Eva Ritter

The presence of trees in landscapes is closely connected to their value of benefit in the daily life of humans. This value has been subject to changes over time along with the change in land use, technology and life style of people. Self-sufficient farmers, although primarily concerned with obtaining and managing as much space as possible for agricultural production, also relied heavily on products derived from the local tree species. Exceptions from this were farmers near the coast and harbours and in regions with iron-works. When farmers cut and burned the forest they got both space and nutrients for fields, meadows and pastures. In regions where soils were more suitable for cattle breeding, land use was determined by the demands of the cattle, because there are many more cattle and other domestic ­animals than people in farm households, and it takes a much larger area to feed cattle than human beings. In the present chapter, the development of a woodland area in south-eastern Sweden is related to changes in land use, population density and the use of forest resources. It illustrates how the value of trees for people can have a major impact on landscape characteristics.

13.1 The Area of Bråbygden The area described in this chapter is called Bråbygden and is situated in the middle of Kalmar county, south-eastern Sweden. Bråbygden consists of 14 villages and two single farms in the south-western part of the municipality of Oskarshamn, Kristdala parish (Fig.  13.1). Stora Bråbo and Lilla Bråbo are two of the largest M. Aronsson Swedish Forest Agency, 551 83 Jönköping, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter (*)  Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57, 9000 Aalborg, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_13, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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Fig. 13.1  Map of the area of Bråbygden with its hamlets and single farmsteads. It lies on a rather flat plateau with mostly deep moraine cover in the infield. It is the utmost eastern slope of the SouthSwedish Highland, running from west to the east. The highest point, located in the ­western-most part, is the mountain of Stockklinteberget (143.3 m a.s.l.) and the lowest point is about 90 m a.s.l. The bedrock is dominated by Archaean bedrock, mainly granite, with an ­unusually high amount of greenstone bedrock. This is clearly reflected in the landscape by a high amount of hazel, lime and elm. The precipitation is about 550 mm yr−1 (map: Örjan Laneborg, ref: Lagerås 1996)

v­ illages. In this region, nature given conditions have always been better for cattlebreeding than for arable farming. The landscape that developed from this land use was dominated by vast green swards, small and scattered fields, wetlands and grazed forests. It was divided in so called infields and outfields. The infields contained the buildings, meadows and sometimes a small fenced pasture (Fig. 13.2). There were no forests in the infields, only scattered stands, single trees, pollards, fruit trees, etc. Meadows were dominated by broadleaved trees, pollards and hazel (Corylus avellana). Coniferous trees were not wanted and therefore removed from the infields. The outfields were mainly used for forest grazing. Trees species in the outfields were both deciduous and coniferous. Because of bad road infrastructure, timber was not sold until the beginning of the twentieth century. Instead, trees were used for the household and many ­sidelines, e.g., tar distillation. Due to population growth pressure on the outfields successively increased from the middle of the eighteenth century to the late ­nineteenth century, leading to expansion of the arable fields and a more open and treeless landscape. Mainly after the Second World War there has been a radical change of land use resulting in a totally new landscape. Conifer plantations managed by ­clear-cutting dominate the development whilst grazing and burning of areas for management purposes have ceased almost completely. The half-open mosaic-landscape dominated by deciduous trees is replaced by a successively closed and dark spruce-dominated landscape. This development severely threatens cultural and social values; but perhaps unlike other typical conifer-dominated forest regions, the area of Bråbygden is still characterized by a rich biodiversity.

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Fig. 13.2  Half-open infield landscape in Bråbygden with semi-natural pastures and fields near the border to the outfields – “the forest” (photo: M. Aronsson)

The historical source material in Sweden is generally too scarce and sporadic in time to give a clear picture of forest-, tree- and landscape development. There are doubts regarding reliability of the different source materials; some old words and notions have no definition and others cannot be strictly translated to English. The notion of “forest” is problematical; varying definitions occur in different times and contexts. It is therefore of great value that for the Bråbygden area detailed records survived from the medieval times to present time, such as pollen analyses, cadastral maps,1 topographical literature, old forest inventories,2 letters from medieval times, oak-inventory, estate inventories and the landscape itself. Recently, finds of Mesolithic and Neolithic settlements have been made in the region of Bråbygden (Dahlin 2006) and a burial ground from the Bronze Age and early Iron Age, but no graves from late Iron Age. Pollen diagrams from just outside the area indicate agriculture and grazing during Viking times and early medieval times, while no farms have been documented from this period; human impact seemed to have been restricted to seasonal use from the surrounding districts. First records to demonstrate a continuity of settlement and agriculture date from medieval times; the oldest document known from Stora Bråbo is a letter from 1357 (Axelsson and Rahmqvist 1999). The oldest known document concerning Lilla Bråbo is from the year 1540. Farm establishment sites seem to have been chosen for possibilities to create wide meadows and good pastures. The landscape also contained small Large-scaled cadastral maps of 1701, 1778 and 1914. The description of forests in Stora Bråbo in 1766.

1  2 

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areas for food production on arable fields or slash-and-burn areas known as swidden in older English, swithing in Old Danish or burn-beaten land when literally translated from Swedish. This land use pattern created different ­conditions for forests and trees, influencing their distribution, species composition and age-structure.

13.2 Tree Species in the Bråbygden Area To understand the condition and development of forests, trees and landscape, one must have some basic knowledge of the use and importance of different tree species during the time of self-subsistent households. Trees were needed for many purposes and products. Larger timber was utilised for construction, and young trees or bushes were used for fences, handles, charcoal production, tar-distilling, firewood and basket-weaving. Leaves and small branches were used for fodder, and bark was harvested for tanning and roof-material. The fruits, berries, nuts, acorns, sap and resin of many trees species were collected. It is also important to know that the age, size, management, etc. of individual trees of the same species determined the quality and use of the tree, e.g., for the making of different tools. Large numbers of the most valuable tree and bush species were necessary for survival on every farm.

13.2.1 The Natural Tree Vegetation The Bråbygden area is situated in the boreo-nemoral forest zone which is characterized by mixed deciduous and coniferous forests. Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) and oak (Quercus robur and Q. petraea) are important trees in this part of south-eastern Sweden. Norway spruce (Picea abies) immigrated late in the area, approximately 800 AD, and has never been dominant under natural conditions. It entered Sweden from the east over the Baltic Sea and reached southern Sweden from the north. On its way, it met beech and hornbeam which were moving northwards from southern Sweden. Spruce and pine are the only two important coniferous tree species in Sweden. Their different demands on site conditions and their competition whether mutual or towards other timber species have been of great importance for their use, distribution and thus the development of the landscape. Norway spruce is the only shade-tolerant and shade-giving coniferous tree in Sweden, growing on more or less fertile soils suitable for fields, pasture and meadows where it may compete with broad­ leaved trees. Today, it generally dominates on the outfields, but also in many infields in the boreo-nemoral zone. In Bråbygden, on the other hand, until medieval times spruce never had a large impact on the landscape or the presence of other tree species. In contrast, Scots pine is not shade-tolerant or shade-giving and prefers poorer soils. Broadleaved trees occur spontaneously only in specially favoured environments, e.g., ash (Fraxinus excelsior) on moist nutrient-rich soils, elm (Ulmus glabra) on fertile soils, lime (Tilia cordata) in boulder-rich and sunny environments. Moraine with a high amount of so called greenstones (basic igneous rocks, e.g., diabase)

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favours all broadleaved trees as well as hazel and plants with a high demand of nutrients in the soil. Magnus Gabriel Craelius (Craelius 1774) gives a rather detailed description of the most important trees of the area in his book Attempt of a Landscape Description (Försök till Ett Landskaps Beskrivning): Pine grows best on hard sand- and gravel-heaths in so-called stenjätter (compacted moraine, rich in stone and gravel) and rather on such ground, which cannot be used for fields, meadows and enclosed pastures. It occurs also in bogs and on good soil, but does not get on very well there,… Spruce grows best on so-called “sidländ” (sloping often moist ground) ground and on green-swards. Juniper likes to search for good soils, but is as well mostly present in the sandy-heaths.

This information is confirmed by several later written sources. Pine is typically indicative of soil not suited for fields and meadows, mostly not even for pastures, while spruce implies good soil conditions suited for meadows, pastures or slash-andburn. These factors are important keys for understanding the forest and landscape development of Bråbygden as well as most other forest regions in southern Sweden.

13.2.2 The Function and Use of Tree Species On the outfields, Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) and birch were the most important trees. Pine sawlogs were used for building material, and both pine logs and roots were also the raw material for tar-distilling; not only a very important occupation for local farmers, but also at national level “Stockholm” tar was a major export. As in other countries such as the Baltic States and Germany (e.g., Nürnberger Staatswald in the South), the biggest and tallest pines, called ­storverksträd, were used for ­ship-masts. They had to be 18 m (60 ft) in length with a diameter of at least 40 cm in the thick end and 26.7  cm in the thin end (Cnattingius A edit. 1894). The durability of Norway spruce (Picea abies) was lower than that of pine although its strength combined with lightness made it ideal for structural components and floors. Spruce was also useful for roofing shingles. Typical Scandinavian and Baltic domestic “sleeping” or ­horizontal log construction utilised these various properties and products of pine and spruce. Spruce mostly indicates more or less fertile soils. Thus, spruce stands were successively felled, contributing nutrients and space for arable fields, pastures and meadows. Smaller pines and spruces, young or old, were used as fence-material. Birch (Betula pendula and B. pubescens ssp. pubescens) was the most important source of firewood and was also used for making potash. Large quantities of firewood were needed on farms; the fire gave both warmth and light in the house and was therefore burning almost day and night. The bark was used for covering roofs, and birch leaves were the most important fodder for sheep. Other important leaf-fodder trees were ash, lime and aspen (Populus tremula), but also alder (Alnus glutinosa) and sallow (Salix caprea). Birch was probably the most common tree in the Swedish landscape. As a so-called pioneer species, birch needs open mineral soils for efficient seed-growing. It is favoured by burnt and abandoned fields and is seldom browsed by

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cattle. Birch sap can be tapped at the end of winter, before leaves appear, producing a nutritious drink. Oak (Quercus robur and Q. petraea) forests were very important for pig breeding during years with abundance of acorns, but the most important use of oak timber was for shipbuilding. Furthermore, oak bark was used for tanning. Hazel (Corylus avellana) was the dominating species of forest understoreys and meadows. Hazel benefits soil, improving quality with its leaf litter and scattering light and shade on the meadows. Hazelnuts were an important food source since they have a high energy value and are easy to store. Woven hazel branches were used in many products such as baskets and “wattle” panels. Trunks of juniper (Juniperus communis) were very important for fence-building; 1 mile of wooden fence needed 4,000 junipers. The berries were used to make a much appreciated drink. Crab-apples (Malus sylvestris) were used as fodder for pigs and horses and even for food. The berries of the Wild cherry (Prunus avium) were used to make different kinds of food. Most of these historical applications of the different tree species survived until the late nineteenth century, and forests continue to provide firewood, leaf fodder, fruits and berries. However, today industrial timber is the main product.

13.3 Human Impact on Forests, Trees and the Landscape Changes in the landscape of the area of Bråbygden are closely related to human activities; the consequence of forest disturbances through fodder collection, forest fires, slash-and-burn, tar-distilling and population growth in the parish resulted in the loss of forest cover in the area.

13.3.1 Grazing and Browsing Grazing was the principal impact factor on the forest, trees and the landscape. In order to support subsistence farming, all ground in Bråbygden was grazed or browsed to some extent during the growing season. The main and most important grazing grounds were the outfields; “the forest.” Horses, oxen and young cattle spent almost all of the period from the beginning of May to October in the grazed forest. Cows often had a special enclosed pasture near the infield. Sheep and goats were normally kept on the least fertile, often boulder-rich grounds, but by the beginning of the nineteenth century farmers had ceased to keep goats. Species preference and browsing impact of animals varies; cattle eat leaves and twigs from young trees and shrubs except for birch, alder and coniferous trees, goats browse even these species. Cattle use their tongues to tear away leaves and small branches but goats and sheep use their teeth to browse more heavily, sometimes debarking, but anyway seriously hampering re-growth of young trees. Over time, only a few scattered birches, pines, junipers, spruces and alders survived in

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the increasingly treeless grazing grounds Rising cattle numbers, concurrent with population growth, accelerated slash-and-burn in the outfields. Thus, forest cover continued to decline.

13.3.2 Forest Fires and Slash-and-Burn Cultivation Fire has always been a very important impact factor on forests, influencing ­existence, distribution, composition of species and age-structure. Historically, fire disturbances have been of three main types; burning of shrubs and heather to improve low-­ yielding pastures, slash-and-burn, and forest fires (forests were sometimes deliberately put to fire). Slash-and-burn provided for 1 or 2  years rye (Secale ­cereale) harvest without extra manure; it then provided improved grazing for many years. It became a normal way of balancing cereal production with cattle breeding. In the region of Bråbygden, natural forest fires were very common. In parts of eastern Småland, forests have burned up to five times per century. Fire favoured pine and old oaks which were capable of surviving fires, allowing continued growth, while it was especially lethal to spruce. Fire also led to heavy regeneration of pioneer-trees such as birch, pine and aspen. For unknown reasons, forest fires decreased remarkably during the late eighteenth century by which time forests in Bråbygden were very open and dominated by deciduous trees; these conditions may have helped reduce the occurrence of forest fires. No complete compilation of all forest fires exists for the area of Bråbygden. However, the biggest known forest fire is well documented (Sjöö 2006). In 1825, a so-called inhysesman (a person living on a farm but not owning any land) in Stora Bråbo lit a slash-and-burn area and failed to keep the fire under control; it spread across an area more than 6 miles in circumference. Massive damage was inflicted on the invaluable forest of Stora Bråbo; more than 1,000 oak trees were destroyed (compared to Sect.  13.5.1, oak inventory of Stora Bråbo 1820). Since the oaks belonged to the Crown, the poor inhysesman was fined 20,000 riksdaler (this was then an unimaginable amount of money, enough to buy more than 200 normal farms.) The fine reflected the very strong pressure that the Crown put upon the farmers not to damage any oak-tree. Slash-and-burn fields were established both on forest and pasture ground. All ground (excepting the most nutrient-poor soils, ground with very thin soil cover or the wettest soils) has normally been through several slash-and-burn cycles. On ­better ground, this technique could be repeated between intervals of about 30 years. Craelius (1774) describes the most common kind of ground and forest suitable for slash-and-burn (burn-beating): Right burn-beaten lands, which are used for rye-cultivation, in this district mostly consist of mould, which when she has a greensward, is called horfves- eller hagemarck (“pasture”), on it grow mostly small pines, spruces, birch and juniper, and here and there in the ­sidderne, alder.

The clearing and burning freed considerable amounts of nutrients; partly from the ashes and also partly from decaying roots and mycorrhizae, the so called

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r­ öjningsgödslingseffekt (Romell 1957). Rye and turnips were the most common crops. Harvests were mostly bigger than on permanent arable fields; rye from burnbeaten fields was said to grow as tall as a man. The straw was therefore useful as roof-covering. After 1 or 2  years cultivation big amounts of raspberries (Rubus idaeus) and strawberries (Fragaria vesca) were harvested. After the field-phase, areas were normally grazed. Another 10–12  years later heather and regrowth of birch, pine, spruce, etc. could be so dense that grazing would cease. Useful species might then be retained until felling at the end of the 30 year slash-and-burn cycle. A very famous and often quoted sentence by the Swedish scientist Carl von Linné is about slash-and-burn or “burn-beating” in Småland: When the farmer here cuts down the trees and burns the land by burn-beating, he obtains from his otherwise quite useless forest and soil, a mostly fine grain, and for several years after that a good pasture of grass. (Linné 1749)

It should be noticed that Linné refers to the forest as “quite useless”. Today, the same region is called “The woodshed of Sweden.”

13.3.3 Tar Distillation and Charcoal Production Since pre-historic times, tar has been the ubiquitous waterproofing product for timber. Within Bråbygdan, every village had its own tar kiln; mostly for domestic consumption, but tar was also produced for sale. Only pine wood was used. For each tar-barrel (126 l = 32 gallons) produced were required approximately fifty ­middling-thick pine trunks and eight to ten days work. (unknown source)

Formerly, pines were ringed, thus inducing traumatic resin duct formation for increased resin content in the wood, all of which was utilised. Later on, mainly pine stumps alone were used. Pine wood was heated in the tar-kiln with reduced oxygen supply in order to vaporise and drive out resin acids, from which several end-products were made, including tar, grease and turpentine; the remaining charcoal was of very high quality. Charcoal burning was an important industry in iron-making districts but in Bråbygden it was of little importance except during the Second World War.

13.3.4 Pollards and Leaf-Fodder Harvesting Apart from the leaf, which is gathered from the deciduous trees felled on the burnbeaten land is leaf also taken in enclosed pasture lands, meadows and in the open forest. (Craelius 1774)

Leaves were important as fodder for the cattle and could be cut from most deciduous trees. Use of leaf-fodder influenced distribution and even local survival of tree

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species. Leaves from broadleaved trees were considered to be the best and given to the cattle. In contrast, sheep favoured birch leaves and horses were given aspen leaves. When leaves were harvested from young trees, these were mostly felled and the trunks used for firewood or other purposes. Older trees were pollarded above browsing height to allow uninhibited regrowth. On the infield meadows, typical pollards were ash and lime. In the outfields, birch was the dominating pollard; this was the case for Bråbygden where their local name was “storbjörkar” (big-birches), because the trunks on old birch pollards sometimes grew very thick. An inventory of pollards from 2008 recorded almost 5,000 pollards in Bråbygden and its nearest surroundings; 352 pollards, mostly lime and ash but also some maples, were noted in Stora Bråbo hamlet. Pollarding is still performed, but for management purposes rather than fodder provision; today, broad-leaved pollard trees, mainly lime and ash, are considered very important as landscape features and for promotion of biodiversity and as a biocultural heritage.

13.3.5 Population Growth At the time of the inventories for the geometrical map of 1701, the population of Kristdala parish was probably above 1,000 inhabitants; only 160 years later it had increased to 4,600 inhabitants. Stora Bråbo existed already in medieval times, possibly as a single farm. In 1778, there were 11 farmers in the village. This population growth had a major impact on the use of outland resources, which again determined the development of the landscape. More people increased the need for arable fields, cattle and the expansion of settlements. As a result, wetlands were drained, ­meadows were converted into arable fields and slash-and-burn cultivation was intensified. The loss of meadow-land was mainly compensated by transforming pastures to ­meadows. To supply the accelerating need for new buildings and fences, many old and young pines, spruces and junipers were felled. The growing number of cattle increased grazing pressure; consequent damage to trees and bushes meant less regeneration and reduced tree cover with thinner stands and fewer trees. From late seventeenth century to late nineteenth century, crofts (smallholdings) were established on the outland. Crofters did not own the land, but can be characterized as “small farmers”. They increased pressure on the outlands and other resources even more. However, crofters also planted trees and bushes on their holdings and tended to favour deciduous trees in their meadows and pastures.

13.4 Landscape Development During Medieval Times Landscape changes during medieval times in the area of Bråbygden were caused by two major impacts; settlement of farmers who established farms and started to cultivate the area permanently, and the arrival of new tree species. Generally,

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this period was characterised by a great diversity of tree species and a dynamic development of the landscape. Already during the early medieval times, arable fields with cereals and weeds were present as well as pasture land. Nevertheless, human impact remained rather small until a very marked increase occurred c. AD 1300–1350, indicated in four pollen analyses carried out in close vicinity to Bråbygden, where curves for cereals, weeds, juniper and other light-demanding species (oak, hazel, lime, ash and elm) rose strongly (Hjelmroos M. and Persson T., unpublished data). This coincides with a very marked fall for the Picea curve. Previously, at about AD 800, Picea had reached its rational limit3 in the Kristdala parish (Aronsson and Persson, unpublished), but after the decline during medieval times it did not reach high values again until the twentieth century. Furthermore, three new tree species entered the area; spruce, beech (Fagus sylvatica) and hornbeam (Carpinus betulus). Their appearance was only temporary as nowadays spruce dominates the plantations whilst a few planted beech trees remain in the area of Bråbygden and the whole of Kristdala parish. Hornbeam is not any longer present at all. Thus, the Middle Ages probably marked the period in which the forests of this area were at their most varied and species-rich during historical times; conditions were optimal for establishment and expansion of agriculture and cattle-breeding. The landscape was a mosaic of areas with conditions varying from natural through different degrees of human impact and providing favourable conditions for a rich diversity of trees and bushes. The landscape would also have been rather open with the presence of light-demanding birch and Scots Pine shown by the highest values of all tree species in the pollen analyses. Other evidence for existence of farms and an open, cultivated landscape can be found in the old names of the local villages. Local place names can reveal the ­historical development of landscapes. In Bråbygden, most contemporary hamlets already existed as single farms during medieval times and many have names ­containing suffixes typical of the times, such as – boda (“barn for storing hay etc. ­during the winter”), – hult (“forest stand, often deciduous trees”) and – ryd (cleared area). The name Applekulla (“apalda collae”, 1357) gives interesting information of the landscape at that time. Apple (lat. Apald) refers to Crab-apple which is a very light-demanding tree-species only growing in open or half-open landscapes. Hence, these names indicate the existence of farms, fields, meadows and pastures already in the fourteenth century. Also a pollen analysis from Höckhulte göl (“small lake”) in the adjacent village of Höckhult implies the spread and intensification of arable fields as well as pastures in the middle of the thirteenth century. The 1701 geometrical map of Bråbygden does not cover Stora and Lilla Bråbo but includes two adjacent villages and six crofts (smallholdings) north and north-east of the area. Useful information about the situation in Stora and Lilla Bråbo may nevertheless be extrapolated, because of the similarities in natural conditions between the two areas. The description of the outfield indicates that there were good pastures and enough forest for firewood, construction timber, fencing, leaf fodder and näverflänge (harvest of

The lowest percentage of spruce pollen that indicate local presence of spruce.

3 

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birch-bark). Moreover, there was forest enough for burn-beating of 3–4 so-called skäppeland yearly (one skäppeland = 1/6 tunna, one tuna = 4 bushels = 32 gal). Clearly these were rather well-stocked, to some extent rather dense forests (no shortages whatsoever are mentioned) containing big, old pines and probably also old spruce. Smaller dia­ meter, mostly young, pines and spruces are indicated as well as big junipers, all needed for fence construction. In 1701, birch was very likely the most common of all tree species and is represented by big trees suitable for leaf fodder, firewood and harvesting of birch-bark as well as young trees. Oak is not specifically mentioned, but we know from later (eighteenth century) sources that oak was common both in infields and outfields within most hamlets of Bråbygden. Alder and birch (Betula pubescens ssp. pubescens) were most certainly present in marshes and around lakes.

13.5 Landscape Development Since the Eighteenth Century In the second half of the eighteenth century, landscape development was not only affected by changes in forest and land ownership, but also changing functions of forests and rights to use certain tree species. Nevertheless, all trees were still important for the self-subsistent households; only oak trees, needed for shipbuilding, were owned by the Crown and thus could not be touched by local farmers. Damage or felling of oak could be punished with high fines (see Sect. 13.3.2). The settingaside of sites for so-called återplanteringshage (enclosed area for planting of trees, mostly oak) reflects the importance of trees both for self-subsistent households and for the Crown. This development could be considered as one of the first attempts to manage and sustain timber supplies.

13.5.1 Forest Description and Forest Functions In the Forest Description of Stora Bråbo of 1766, different types of forest can be distinguished according to their primary function; timber forest, horvesmarks and hagskog (a tree-bearing ground used for grazing and harvesting fuel- wood, fencing material, etc.). Timber forest only grew “here and there”, sparsely scattered only covering the needs of the many households in the hamlet. A growing population and burgeoning cattle numbers increased sawn timber requirements and so, in 1708, owners of Stora and Lilla Bråbo requested permission to build a sawmill for domestic timber supply (Bankeström 1999) as the nearest sawmill was 6 miles distant. In 1797, sawmills in the district were taxed. By this time, the sawmill in Stora Bråbo was one of four within Bråbygden, but could only be used at times of strong water-flow, usually in spring, and even then production was limited. In contrast to timber forests, horvesmark covered a wide area. Horvesmark can be regarded as a product of felling trees, slash-and-burn practices and consequent grazing.

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The notion horvesmark has been used in written sources since the eighteenth ­century and is still in use among the oldest farmers within area; Craelius (1774) defined it as “greensward arisen after burn-beating” and Johan Ernst Rietz writes that horvesmark is “greensward, enclosed pasture land where before was burnbeating land” (Rietz 1867). It provides a substrate capable of being grazed, converted into meadow or converted into arable fields by breaking the greensward (Aronsson 1980). Many horvesmarks were overgrown with birch, alder (sometimes also with juniper and spruce) and many oaks of various sizes; these were rather a hindrance because they could not be felled or damaged. Hagskog forest covered the largest area of the outfields and Craelius gives a detailed description of this forest type: usually used for burn-beating, wooden fences and leaf – fodder harvesting. This forest grows on green-sward, which here is called horvesmark. Spruce, Qvall or kuvtall, juniper, alder and birch are mostly together in this kind of forest; but alder and spruce are best in sidder, on the best green-sward, when birch and pine get on best on drier green – sward, but the juniper get on equally good in all places.

The Forest Description document of 1749 stated that 11 farmers (åboar) in the hamlet of Bråbo divided the forest between them in a sämjedelning; meaning that they agreed upon a division of the forest without participation of an official land surveyor. Also mentioned are four enclosed pastures, overgrown with “small ­forest” and partly cleared. The book Attempt to a landscape description (Försök till ett landskaps beskrivning) of 1774 by Magnus Gabriel Craelius is considered to be one of the best and most reliable topographical books in Sweden. Craelius’ description of a “general forest” reflects the open structure and species composition of Bråbygden’s forest: Forest mostly consists of coniferous trees, pine, qvall (small, badly grown pines, authors note)…, spruce and juniper. And is birch mostly among them, and where coniferous forest is on good soil, also oak, alder and other deciduous trees.

Presence of light-demanding birch indicates an open, disturbed forest, with high human impact influencing tree species composition. Craelius also clearly differentiates the forest types found in 1774 within the area of Bråbygden: But neither spruce nor juniper should be considered as forest, only as burn-beating area and “hagskog”. The pine forest is what in this region is meant by the word forest. This forest is used for house- and saw-timber, material for tar-burning and charcoal-burning. But here and there are also some mastträd and spiror” (tall and thick pine trees).

A rather dismissive oak inventory of 1820 gives detailed information on siting and physical condition of the oak trees around Lilla and Stora Bråbo, respectively: Lilla Bråbo: Bråhultegärdet and Storgärdet, on each of them a lot of half-big and minor scrubby and knotty Oaks. Hemhagen, some half-big and minor Oaks with short trunks and small branches. Sjöhagen, some big useless Oaks. The outland, Among pine- and spruceforest a lot of half-big and minor as well as some big Oaks –all of them toppfornde (dry, dead branches at the top of the tree),damaged. Most of them totally useless. Stora Bråbo: “Hemgärdena: A lot of big, half-big and minor, spread, lopped, toppfornde Oaks. Hästhagen: A lot of half-big and minor, partly lopped partly short-grown scrubby

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Oaks. Some useless oaks, felled without permission. Lillhagen: Some small useless Oaks. The outland: An uncountable amount of half-big and minor Oaks, of long growth, but covered with mosses and to a great extent toppfornde, some of them still fresh, stand among pine- and spruce-forest. Also some big vrakek” (big and totally useless oak).

Changing societal values pertaining to oak trees such as these would of course influence contemporary judgements to include words such as “amenity” “­conservation” and “biodiversity”.

13.5.2 Landscape Development Landscape development can be followed on maps from 1778 to 1918. The map of the Storskifte4 land of Stora 1778 does not give detailed information about tree species, structure or distribution of forests. However, various tree symbols (from single ones to groups of ten) may be read as indicating single or scattered trees and smaller or larger groups of trees, illustrating a great variation in the outfields. Only large dense forest stands and wide areas without trees were ­lacking, with the exception of pine stands managed to produce good timber. In the western area called “the forest”, situated furthest from the infields, tree symbols are most abundant while they successively decrease towards the infields. The symbols probably represent mature and rather big trees. The map is followed by the text: The forest consists of rocky and uneven ground, whereupon a bog is situated, called Degermåssen, overgrown with birch, alder and small pine-wood. The greensward on dry ground is overgrown with a lot of oaks, of which a large part are useless, also something for timber and fence material is found here.

Simplified maps of the Storskifte and the Laga skifte5 in 1914 (Sjöö 2006) show land use and landscape structures typical for cattle-breeding hamlets in forest regions at that time (Fig. 13.3). Few people with many cattle result in wide ­pastures, many meadows on the outfields, and only small areas of arable fields. Slashand-burn for rye cultivation was also found on the outfields. The Forest Map of Crown Prince Karl from 1846 (Fig. 13.4), is based on reports from parish priests in Sweden and it roughly describes the condition of forests ­during the nineteenth century. Three categories of forest are recorded: (A) Forests containing, to a lesser or bigger degree, storverksträd (really big trees mainly used for ships’ masts, shipbuilding, etc.) and timber-trees (dark green, almost black colour on the map) (B) Forest mainly suitable to fire-wood and coal-burning (mid green colour on the map) (C) Scrub forest (light green colour on the map) The Swedish term “storskifte” means the act of evaluation, redistribution and merging a large number of fields with the objective that each farmer should get fewer but bigger fields. 5  Description, evaluation and division by a land surveyor of all land with the main objective that each farmer should get as few and as suitable fields as possible. 4 

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Fig. 13.3  Simplified map of the Storskifte of Stora Bråbo in 1778 and Laga skifte in 1914. Red: farm-buildings and building-site; yellow: fields; green: meadows; white: forest, forest pastures, and enclosed pastures. The fields and meadows surrounding the building site constitute the infields. All land west of that constitutes the outland (from Sjöö 2006)

It should be noticed that only category A has more or less dense forest with big and old trees. Category B is dominated by smaller and younger trees, birch, spruce alder, etc. It seems to correspond well with Craelius hagskog. Category C is ­dominated by bushes. The area of Bråbygden is situated in the transition zone between zone A and B. This is in accordance with other source material from the time, although in the local source material category B dominates. The map also reveals an absence of thick forests along coasts and in the nemoral forest zone. Dense forest is only common at the borders between counties. These areas represent marginal areas from a settlement and farming point of view, often rich in boulders and nutrient-poor marshes. They are therefore not suitable for arable fields (slash-and-burn) or ­meadows, mostly not even for pasture. Cutting and transporting timber was a ­problem in this terrain. A small-scaled (1:100,000) topographical map from 1875 shows a very clear distinction between symbols for coniferous and deciduous forest in Stora and Lilla Bråbo. The outfields, except for westernmost parts, are covered with symbols for deciduous trees. Distribution of coniferous forest accords with the 1918 description (see below) and also the forest landscape of today. The map of “The Laga skifte” in Stora Bråbo in 1918 shows no tree symbols and no written information about

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Fig. 13.4  The Forest Map of crown prince Karl (1846) based on reports from the parish priests in Sweden. Forest categories shown on the map are (a) dark green: forests with timber trees; (b)  mid green: forests mainly suitable for fire-wood and coal-burning; (c) light green: areas dominated by bushes (Riksarkivet)

forest conditions at the time of the survey. Nevertheless, the map reflects a landscape characterized by strong population growth requiring arable land, pastures and timber forest. Almost all meadows on the outland are converted to arable land, and many new fields have been established in the forest and forest pastures. Some meadows are still mown. The outland was thus still mainly a resource for agriculture and cattle-breeding.

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13.5.3 Land Use Changes During the Twentieth Century At the beginning of last century, agriculture and cattle breeding were still the main occupation in the area of Bråbygden. However, land use and forest functions were gradually changing; timber became an increasingly important source of income for local farmers. Choice of tree species and forest composition reflected a growing commercialisation of forests; the first conifer plantations and clear-cuts appeared in the 1960s. Information about land use in the early twentieth century was obtained from interviews with the last 16 old persons, born during the 1890s, who were still living in Bråbygden and other parts of Kristdala in 1979 (Kvarnström and Sullivan 1979). Furthermore, a local farmer who has lived and worked on his farm in Stora Bråbo all his life was interviewed in 2008 (Aronsson 2008, unpublished data). Few old people live in Stora Bråbo today. A common answer to questions about the forest during the childhood of the interviewees born in the 1890s was: “The forest was not worth anything!” Rather, they confirmed that the outfield, “the forest”, was still a resource mainly for agriculture and husbandry in the middle of the twentieth century and on some farms even later than that. The 1920s had marked the transition to timber sales becoming an important farm income, and forest grazing ceased on farms in Stora Bråbo around the beginning of the 1960s, as in other hamlets. On a few farms it lasted to the 1980s, and two farms still have cattle on “the forest” today (Johansson 2008, unpublished data). Last records of burn-beating are from the first decade of the twentieth century (Kvarnström and Sullivan 1979). In parts of Bråbygden and Kristdala parish, tar was produced until the early twentieth century (Johansson 2008, unpublished data). During the Second World War, great changes occurred in the use of the forest and its resources. In the beginning of the 1930s, there were many aspen, birch, oak and hazel in the forest and fewer really big pines and spruces, but deciduous trees, ­pollards and hazel were utilised for charcoal to a large extent, and many trees were felled to fuel cars and buses. Great quantities of firewood were cut in the extremely cold winters in the beginning of the 1940s. The fields on the outland were tilled until the early 1950s. After that they were grazed and planted with pine in the 1960s; the populations of elk (Alces alces) and roe-deer (Capreolus capreolus) were still low enough not to damage the plantations. The meadows on the outland were mown until the late 1940s. After that they were grazed and later planted with conifers. The first plantations of conifers were still only on small areas. At the same time clear-felling first appeared on small areas without the aid of machinery. Nowadays, all the former outland, except from a few enclosed pastures near the infields, is covered with forest, and forestry is the only land use (Aronsson 2009, unpublished data).

13.6 Some Thoughts About the Future The area of Bråbygden is still a very marked mosaic forest-landscape. Young plantations of spruce and pine alternate with small clear-cut areas and large areas of former hagskog and pastures. Because of the high grazing pressure from

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Fig. 13.5  Pine forest replaced by spruce plantation due to large populations of elk and roe-deer; Stora Bråbo (photo: M. Aronsson)

p­ opulations of elk and roe-deer, pine plantations are severely damaged and plantings are almost exclusively spruce (Fig. 13.5). The character of the former hagskog is lost through selective cutting of most deciduous trees in order to improve the conditions for pine or spruce. The enclosed pastures are partly planted, partly overgrowing. Living birches and junipers are still rather common and indicate that natural succession is not very old. Large stands of really old trees are scarce. Some big, old pine, spruce and oak trees still exist. Rather large stands of younger oak exist on ground where oak probably has a very long continuity. In open environments, e.g., along roads and brooks, hazel is still very common and individual elm, lime and crab-apple trees have survived. In and around the fens and bogs are many alder, pine, birch and Salix-species. The environment around abandoned crofts is still half-open with surviving trees, bushes and planted flowers. Pasture and meadow flora are still present in notable displays around the crofts and along the forest roads. This very mixed forest landscape has become increasingly important for biodiversity and from a social point of view. It is remarkable to find patches of very species rich semi-natural greensward flora in the forest more than 2 miles from the hamlet centre. However, the forest landscape continues to change; slowly so far, but most certainly accelerating. Modern forestry in Sweden is almost totally based around machines and monocultures of conifers, especially spruce. Government policies and market-based certification look good “on the paper”, however, their effect at forest level has so far been small. Such forestry creates a totally new forest landscape, monotonous, difficult to access and with an impoverished biodiversity; a plantation forest landscape. In Sweden, attempts to ameliorate these negative aspects have so far had little effect considering the character and seriousness of the problems. More efficient means of solving the negative impact of this development are needed in order to preserve the social, natural and cultural values of the forest.

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Otherwise, many forests in this and other areas of Sweden will lose their rich ­biodiversity and be of little or no interest to the general public in the future. The forest landscape in Stora Bråbo fortunately is still only at the beginning of this process; it is still varied, accessible and has a rich forest biodiversity. It survives as a living example of the development of landscapes under different land uses and human impacts.

References Aronsson M (1980) Markanvändning och kulturlandskapsutveckling i södra skogsbygden. In: Människan, kulturlandskapet och framtiden, Kungl. Vitterhets, Historie och Antikvitetsakademien, Konferenser 4, Stockholm Axelsson R, Rahmqvist S (1999) Det medeltida Sverige, Band 4, Aspeland, Sevede och Tunalän, Riksantikvarieämbetet, Stockholm Cnattingius A edit (1894) Tidskrift för Skogshushållning Craelius MG (1774) Försök till ett Landskaps Beskrivning, Stockholm Dahlin M (2006) Mellan åsar och vattendrag, Oskarshamn Lagerås P (1996) Vegetation and land-use in the Småland Uplands, southern Sweden, during the last 6 000  years. Lundqua Thesis, Volume 36. Lund University, Department of Quaternary Geology Linné C, Skånska resan, förrättad år 1749, Edit. Carl- Otto van Sydow, Stockholm, 1959 Rietz J E (1867) Ordbok öfver svenska Allmogespråket, Lund Romell L-G (1957)”Man-Made Nature” of Northern Lands, Statens Skogsforskningsinstitut, Stockholm Sjöö V (2006) Historik över Bråbygden, G- tryck Skough Christdala Sochn 1766, Krigsarkivet, Stockholm

Nomenclature Mossberg B, Stenberg L (1992) Den nordiska floran, Wahlström & Widstrand

Chapter 14

Forest Landscapes in Europe – Visual Characteristics and the Role of Arboriculture Eva Ritter

Not only agriculture, but also arboricultural activities have affected the character of many European landscapes profoundly. Natural forests may only have survived in the less populated north-eastern and south-eastern parts of Europe where management has been restricted and vegetation patterns follow climate and soil conditions more closely (Peterken 1996). In most other regions, farming and forestry can be considered the architects of the landscape (Meeus 1995). Trees are remarkable landscape elements and therefore central for the character of a landscape. The spatial distribution of trees and forests contributes to its configuration and structure, and the choice of tree species affects its appearance, for example by tree form, leave colour and the colour change with seasons. Consequently, any type of arboriculture, i.e. the cultivation and management of trees, shrubs or other perennial woody plants, has an impact on the visual appeal of a landscape. In this chapter, visual characteristics of European forest landscapes are described using two different concepts and linked to the influence of arboricultural activities. The aim is not to evaluate the landscapes, but to illustrate typical distribution patterns of forests and other wooded landscape elements. In conclusion, considerations and perspectives in landscape planning and management are presented with respect to the future development of forest landscapes.

14.1 Landscape Perception and Analysis 14.1.1 Landscape Perception and Preferences Landscapes perception and preferences have been deconstructed by several ­theories. The two major concepts are based on cultural preferences and on the evolutionary roots of human beings. Evolutionary theories suppose similar evolutionary prerequisites

E. Ritter (*) Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57, 9000 Aalborg, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_14, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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for all human beings in their appreciation of landscapes. Certain ­landscape features are assumed to be perceived as positive or negative with respect to survival and biological needs. For example, the savannah hypothesis ­suggests that savannah-type landscapes are highly preferred and evoke strong positive emotional responses because of their importance in the development of modern humans (Orians 1980). Other evolutionary theories evaluate landscapes according to the possibilities for prospect and refuge (“seen without being seen”) (Appleton 1975) and work with the readability of landscapes and the processing of information (Kaplan and Kaplan 1989). Cultural preference theories explain landscape preferences by socio-cultural ­processes, human behaviour, and personal attributes such as age, gender, occupation, knowledge and familiarity (Tuan 1974). As a third concept, the ecological aesthetic theory discusses the role of knowledge about ecological processes reflected in the landscape and the evaluation of landscape quality based on ecological quality (Gobster 1999, 2007). Common to all these theories is that they include landscape aesthetics and visual perception in the evaluation of landscape preference and quality. The aesthetic experience plays a central role in peoples’ mental and emotional states (Kaplan and Kaplan 1989). Hence, visual characteristics may influence people’s attitude towards a landscape and their identification with it – whether it be owing to evolutionary, ecological or cultural factors.

14.1.2 Concepts of Landscape Analysis Formally, landscapes can be described as a mosaic of structural elements located in a background matrix (Forman and Godron 1986). The spatial distribution of land cover types makes up the configuration of a landscape, while the presence of land cover without regard of the spatial location defines its composition (McGarigal and Marks 1995). In most European landscapes, wooded landscape elements (Table 14.1) are located in a matrix which is dominated by land use other than forestry, e.g., agricultural fields, pastures or meadows. In a few regions, forest may dominate the land area and can actually be considered as the matrix in which patches of non-forested areas are located. Different methods and software tools have been suggested to analyse landscape patterns (e.g., Gustafson 1998; Steiniger and Hay 2009). They are typically based on the spatial analysis of landscape metrics, i.e. the geometric form of different landscape elements, their number, area and distance to each other (Riitters et  al. 1995; Møller Jensen et al. 1998; McGarigal et al. 2002). The numerous properties of structural elements can be grouped into metrics related to the grain, configuration, edge, shape and the diversity of a landscape (Bailey et al. 2007). A landscape’s grain size is the average diameter of area of all patches present (Forman and Godron 1986; Forman 1995). Edge and shape refer to the geometric attributes of patches of different land cover types. Diversity is also used as a synonym for ­complexity, variety or richness and accounts for the number of different visual ­elements in a scene (Kaplan and Kaplan 1989; Tveit et al. 2006).

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Table 14.1  Examples of the classification of wooded landscape elements according to their structural features. The listed characteristics can be used to describe the ­different landscape elements of the same geometric form Geometric form Landscape element Characteristics Punctual Solitary trees Number Solitary shrubs Distance to neighbour Linear Hedgerows Edge type Shelter belts Width Alleys Length Connected forest patches Distance to neighbour Groups of shrubs Number Spatial Groups of trees Area Forests with dense trees Edge type Areas with scattered trees Distance to neighbour

Landscape metrics have been used to quantify the structure of forest landscapes (Haines-Young and Chopping 1996) or to assess the connectivity or fragmentation of forested areas and changes in forest cover (Vogt et  al. 2007; Wickham et  al. 2007). A study by Li and Reynolds (1995) suggests five spatial attributes that should be sufficient to describe the structure of a landscape: number of cover types, proportion of each type, spatial arrangement of patches, patch shape and contrast between patches. However, depending on the scale of the thematic solution, different landscape metrics may be suitable to describe the spatial pattern of a landscape, as for example shown by Bailey et al. (2007) for the temperate agricultural landscapes of Europe. Although many of the above mentioned landscape metrics have an influence on the visual character of a landscape, the description and analysis of landscape aesthetics is a bit more complicated. Namely, visual landscape analysis can be based on objective aspects or on the viewer’s experience of the landscape (Lothian 1999). Lothian (1999) discusses in depth the paradox of objectivist (physical) and subjectivist (psychological) paradigms of landscape aesthetics. The evaluation of landscape quality based on physical characteristics assumes that certain landscape elements contain a certain quality. Hence, this apparently objective approach is actually based on a subjective classification of the applied parameters. The psychological paradigm evaluates landscape quality as a human construct. Thereby, landscape quality becomes the product of community preferences and people’s socio-cultural or psychological background. Nevertheless, since the researcher’s attitudes are kept out of the analysis, this approach is actually more objective than the physical paradigm (Lothian 1999). The analysis of the visual landscape is not only interesting with respect to ­people’s preferences but also in relation to landscape changes that occur over time. Since landscapes may be considered the product of natural and cultural forces (Antorp 2005), forest landscapes and their configuration are closely linked to environmental conditions (Walter 1986) and the culture and land use applied by human beings. Culture comprises all aspects of political systems, economic use of land,

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aesthetic preferences and social conventions (Nassauer 1995). The development of landscapes is therefore related to changes in these cultural aspects. A better understanding of landscape forming processes can make us aware of trends and changes in landscape patterns. After describing the major landscape configuration in Europe, the possible effect of landscape management and tree use on landscape development is discussed in the remaining part of the chapter.

14.2 Visual Landscape Characteristics In Europe, a widely applied method of visual analysis is the Landscape Character Assessment (LCA) developed by Swanwick (2002) for England and Scotland and modified by others in order to be utilised for several countries (e.g., Caspersen and Nellemann (2005) for Denmark). A disadvantage in the application is the high dependence on field data as opposed to land-cover data and the subjective evaluation of landscape attributes. Tveit et al. (2006) suggest nine key concepts that only relate to landscape structures, i.e. physical landscape characteristics. The interpretation of landscape functions that are dependent on the observer’s attitude or background are thereby avoided. Furthermore, landscape features are not classified by quality, hence avoiding the subjective influence as discussed by Lothian (1999). Two of the concepts described by Tveit et al. (2006) are particularly eligible for the visual characterisation of forest landscapes with respect to land covered by forest and trees, i.e. the concept of Visual Scale and the concept of Complexity. The concept of Visual scale deals with the size, shape and diversity of perceptual units. This concept focuses on the viewable area and works with landscape attributes such as vegetation and topography, but also man-made obstacles. It is related to the grain size of the landscape mosaic and the degree of openness of the landscape. Openness is an indicator defined by the ease with which an observer can obtain extensive view over the landscape (Weinstoerffer and Girardin 2000). Hence, the openness of a landscape increases with the decrease of tree cover. If not caused by natural environmental conditions, high openness is often an indicator for human land use activities which do not involve trees. Agricultural landscapes with large fields and almost no trees or shelterbelts are very open (Figs. 14.1 and 14.2). In these landscapes, forests have typically been removed to a great extent or are restricted to poor soils and difficult topographic areas. However, the mere presence of hedgerows or trees, although in low density, can restrict the view and reduces the openness of a landscape. In contrast, low openness can both indicate little human impact on the natural forest vegetation or an intense use of forests. When arboriculture is the major land use, landscapes can be expected to be less open. The lowest openness is found in highly forested landscapes. This is typically the case for areas of timber production with dense forests as the dominating landscape element (Fig.  14.3). However, also other arboricultural activities can result in a certain number of trees in a landscape. Hence, landscapes characterised

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Fig. 14.1  A typical agricultural landscape with a high degree of openness. The pictures is taken on the island Egholm near Aalborg, Denmark. The Danish landscape is historically influenced by agriculture and thus deforestation (photo: E. Ritter)

by solitary or scattered trees make up a third possibility, or gradient, of tree cover in addition to the open scenery and the forest dominated scenery (Fig. 14.4). The concept of Visual Scale has among others been applied to the characterization of agricultural landscapes (Weinstoerffer and Girardin 2000), and as illustrated above, it can also be used to describe arboricultural landscapes. The concept of Complexity describes the diversity and richness of landscape elements. It uses landscape attributes such as linear features, point features, land cover and land forms. For forest landscapes, this means the variety in forest patches, hedgerows or solitary trees which all are visible in the view on a landscape. In complex scenery, different types of land cover occur on a small spatial scale (small grain size), and a variety of different wooded landscape elements may be present (Figs.  14.4 and 14.5). In landscapes with low complexity, grain size is typically coarse and few different landscape elements are clustered in larger groups, for example open fields in one location and forests in another (Fig.  14.6). The key concept of complexity is already used in forest management guidelines for forest landscapes and in the practice of landscape assessment (e.g., Forestry Commission 1991; Bell 2001). In the following, European forest landscapes are described according to their degree of openness and complexity.

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Fig.  14.2  Scenery near Reykholt in the region of Borgarfjordur in western Iceland. Although forest cover never exceeded more than c. 25% of the land area, human impact increased the openness of the Icelandic landscape even more after settlement (photo: E. Ritter)

14.2.1 Degree of Openness Landscapes with open scenery are characterized by few natural or man-made structures that restrict the view. A classical example is the Icelandic landscape where the view in good weather can be more than 100 km owing to the clear atmosphere and the lack of high vegetation or other disturbing objects. Naturally, open scenery occurs in sparsely forested boreal swamps in a belt from the southern part of Lapland to the middle of Finland and the Russian Federation (Meeus 1995). However, the northern part of the boreal tundra zone has lost much of the natural openness owing to drainage of wet sites and the planting of birch (Betula sp.) trees (FAO 2000). Climate induced treeless regions in Europe are found in the arctic and subarctic tundra from northern Norway to the Russian Federation and in the steppic and arid landscapes in Central and Southeast Europe (Otto 1994). The elevational limit of tree growth in Europe varies between 400 m in Iceland to 2,000–3,500 m in the Alps (FAO 2000; Traustason and Snorrason 2008). Difficult chemical or biophysical soil conditions like contamination, salt soils, sulphur sources, too wet or too dry soils, and frequent soil movements at slopes limit locally the development of trees within climate regions that otherwise allow tree growth (Otto 1994). At most other sites, trees are strong

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Fig. 14.3  The dense forest cover of this landscape seems only to be interrupted by lakes. The picture is taken near Joensuu in eastern Finland. Almost 74% of Finland is covered by forest, and forestry plays an important economic role (photo: B. Möller)

competitors, and most of today’s treeless or sparsely wooded landscapes are therefore simply the result of human activity and the overuse of the forests. In landscapes dominated by agriculture, openness is primarily caused by deforestation and the expansion of arable fields. Furthermore, it is increased by the removal of hedgerows or shelterbelts, a development that is still going on in many European countries. It is estimated that 160,900  km of rural hedgerows were lost in England between 1984 and 1993 (The Countryside Agency 1999). In France, 72.8% of the potential forest area has been lost (UNEP 2000). Remainders of woodland are only found in river valleys or on poor soils. The Netherlands have lost 89.6% of their potential forest area (UNEP 2000). Forests are scarce on the reclaimed land that lies below sea-level, except in the most recent IJsselmeer polders, and few vertical elements disturb the impression of openness (Meeus and Vroom 1986). The Danish landscape is historically formed by agriculture, and openness has become characteristic for the country side (Fig. 14.1). Today, about 58% of the land area in Denmark is cultivated land, including fallow grounds (Vestergaard 2007). In southern Sweden, landscapes vary from modern open agricultural fields to semi-open forested regions where traditional cultural landscapes still remain (Sugita et al. 1999). On the very fertile islands of Great Britain and Ireland, an unusually large proportion of cultivable land can be found.

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Fig.  14.4  Scattered trees from olive cultivation contribute to the landscape appearance in an agricultural and arboricultural area near Locorotondo, Apulia, in Italy. The configuration of this landscape may also be described as complex (photo: E. Ritter)

Exceptions are semi-natural grassland, heath or moorland. The open sceneries of west Ireland, Scotland, Iceland, Faroe Islands and West Scandinavia are the result of human induced deforestation and overgrazing with the result of almost treeless landscapes (Fig. 14.2). In many parts of the Mediterranean region, the high degree of openness is a result of the climate, regionally varying morphology, stony soils and a long history of human use (Thirgood 1981). The vegetation cover has changed from natural coniferous and oak forests (silvo) to treeless grain fields (ager). Olive trees cover the slopes and hillsides, and pastures dominate the areas higher up on the mountains. The Mediterranean lowlands are almost completely treeless, e.g., the deltas of the Po and Ebro. The landscapes are characterized by the absence of trees and a high intensity of cultivated land with rectangular fields, straight lines and drainage systems (Meeus 1995). The most forested country in Europe (excluding European Russia) is Finland with 73.9% forest cover on the land area, followed by Sweden, Slovenia, Estonia; all with more than 50% forest cover on their land area (without inland waters) (Anon 2006). However, even these counties have lost between 40% and 55% of their potential forest cover (UNEP 2000). Forests in the northern Taiga of the Nordic regions and the northern part of the Russian Federation are rather homogenous (Meeus 1995). At high altitude and on wet places, birch takes over and

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Fig. 14.5  View across the landscape near Yatton, Herefordshire, England. Hedgerows are characteristic for the English countryside and increase the complexity of the landscape. Note that forest cover is mostly restricted to the hill tops (photo: E. Ritter)

d­ isplaces spruce (Picea sp.) and pine (Pinus sp.) species. Due to the location on high latitudes, these forests are generally not very dense in their appearance. In contrast, dense forests characterize the southern region of the Taiga, from the Gulf of Finland to the Ural Mountains (UNEP 2007). In the central middle Taiga, a densely forested area reaches from St. Petersburg into the east of the Russian Federation across the Northern European Plain (Meeus 1995). This area has little agricultural land use and high timber productivity and is therefore still an extremely closed landscape. The forests which can for example be seen in the fertile Chernozem area of Europe are mostly planted or managed forests consisting of even-aged trees (Kreuz 2008). Natural forests would follow a regeneration cycle with phases of young, maturing and degrading trees, and a certain percent of the forest canopy is always opened after gap formation or during the regeneration phase. The closed boreal landscape of the deciduous subtaiga forests has changed towards a much more open landscape of which more than 50% is cultivated; this is the result of a long history of human exploitation of the mixed-broadleaved forests and the development of agriculture (Meeus 1995). Landscapes with scattered trees form a transition between open scenery and landscapes with a dense forest cover. Scattered trees are a natural phenomenon in Europe, for example in the transition zone between subalpine forests and alpine heathland. Trees grow in low density in the northern part of Europe, around the

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Fig.  14.6  This landscape close to Bolzano (Bozen) in northern Italy is a good example for a landscape with high contrast. Agriculture and open scenery dominate the valley bottom, while closed forests are found on the lower mountains (photo: E. Ritter)

Arctic Circle; in Lapland, the Kola Peninsula and the river valley of Pechora, natural forests are thin and open except on protected sites with a more favourable microclimate (Meeus 1995). One factor causing a low tree density in high latitudes is the lower energy per square meter reaching the Earth’s surface. Fewer trees can grow on the same area as compared to temperate or Mediterranean regions (Kimmins 2004). In the Mediterranean Region, scattered trees are typical for the olive tree cultivation area, on plains and in low elevation valleys along the sea coast (Fig. 14.4). Grove and Rackham (2001) call these landscapes Mediterranean savannah. The Iberian Peninsula has 3.1 million ha of rangelands (dehesas) occupied by scattered holm oak (Quercus ilex), cork oak (Quercus suber) or olive trees (Olea eurpaea ssp.) that are part of the pastoral land use (Díaz et  al. 1997). The origin of the dehesa system dates back to medieval times when the dense Mediterranean forests were cleared and converted to open parkland. Another important landscape type with low tree density are wood-pasture systems that exist in all parts of Europe, e.g., the foliage meadows (lövanger) in Sweden, the larch meadows (Lärchenwiesen) in the eastern Alps, the wood-pastures of high complexity in England or the phrygana set with ancient pollard Quercus cocifera in the mountains of east Crete. The term wood-pasture (Latin: silva pastilis) comes from the Anglo-Saxon, originally describing wooded commons with definite rights to the

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land, pasturage and trees (Rackham 1988). Central European analogues to this use of trees are the meadows with scattered fruit trees (Streuobstwiesen). Often, in plantations with low tree density agricultural crops are at the same time planted in between trees (agro-forestry).

14.2.2 Complexity and Contrast Typical complex landscapes in Europe are enclosures in which arable land use is carried out on small strips of land. These small fields can be enclosed by hedgerows, shelterbelts or low stone walls. They can traditionally be found, for example, in Brittany, Normandy, north-west Denmark, southern Sweden and on the British Isles in Wales, South West Scotland and Eastern Ireland. The English lowland landscape is particularly known for the presence of hedgerows which are part of the historic landscape character (Rackham 1986) (Fig. 14.5). Complexity of landscapes is often associated with land ownership through time and the way agriculture has evolved. Hedgerows and shelterbelts may have been established because of climatic conditions, for example in areas with strong winds, or they may delineate field boundaries of neighbours and foreigners; the network of hedges and roads which subdivides most of England can be traced back to ­prehistoric field boundaries (Robinson 1978, cited in Oreszczyn and Lane 2000). In the region of Flanders in Belgium, the south of the Netherlands and in North Rhine-Westphalia in Germany, the patchwork of larger fields separated by rows of sheltering trees originates from medieval times. Forest patches survived on land too poor for arable use. In many Eastern European countries, the formation of largescale collective farms during the middle of the twentieth century resulted in more homogeneous landscapes with large arable fields almost depleted of trees. This historical difference in land management and ownership can still be recognized on aerial photographs of the former border between East Germany and West Germany. However, in the more forested parts of East Europe, the proportion of hedgerows, forest strips and forest cover increases again owing to changes in land ownership and demography (Nikodemus et al. 2005) (see also Sect. 14.3). Complexity is also increased by a variety in tree use. In the Mediterranean Region, for example in Middle Italy, coltura promiscua (mixed farming) increases diversity due to different vertical layers of trees, bushes and ground cover across the landscape. These landscapes have their origin in the Roman times when the land had been laid out in grid patterns (Meeus et al. 1990). In Western Norway, ­pollarded trees used to be a typical landscape element. They occurred as farmyard trees and in hedgerows, on pastures and in deciduous woodlands. During the last decades, more and more of them have disappeared since they are no longer used. A similar fate is seen for hedgerows and shelterbelts in many European countries. In Germany, many pollarded willows growing along field borders and water courses have disappeared during the act of land consolidation (Flurbereinigung), the rearrangement of fields in agriculture, since the beginning of the nineteenth century.

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The loss of this variation in wooded landscape elements resulted in more open and homogeneous landscapes. Forests are not evenly distributed within a country or even a region. For example, only one third of the land area of Scania, the very southern part of Sweden, is covered with scattered forests, mostly in the northern part, while the rest is dominated by open agricultural landscapes. This is despite the fact that the average forest cover of Sweden is ca. 66.9% (land area without inland waters) (Anon 2006). Also in England, forests are very unevenly distributed. This has partly been explained by the pattern of urbanization and industrialization. Forested areas therefore survived in regions of specialized industries dependent on wood supply, for example iron-smelting. In Wales, Scotland and Ireland, the distinction between wooded and woodless regions is less pronounced. In some parts of Germany, landscapes contain more forests and pastures and less large scale arable land than elsewhere in the country. This gives the landscape a more diverse look. However, in contrast to complex landscapes, the distribution of forests and arable land in these areas is often clearly separated. While relics of forests are left on hilltops, the good soil in the valleys is preferentially used for agriculture. Contrasting scenery is typical for many highlands in Europe, e.g., the Pyrenees, Alps, Tatra, Caucasus and the Ural. In the high elevations, the contrast between cultivated and wild areas or enclosed and open landscapes is more pronounced than in the lowlands (Meeus 1995). The lower slopes may be wooded or used as meadows may have while agriculture takes place in the valleys. In some regions, this has demanded intensive drainage of wet valley soils, for example in the area of Bolzano, Italy (Fig. 14.6).

14.3 Tree Use and Landscape Development Landscape change is closely related to the dominating types of land use and its impact on the distribution of trees and forest as outstanding landscape elements. Distinctions can be made between agriculture (fields, pastures and meadows) and arboriculture. Furthermore, all types of technical constructions such as roads, buildings, transmission lines and the like may be considered as a third type of land use which is not related to arboriculture. Arboriculture does not necessarily mean timber production. For example, Rackham (1996) distinguishes between six traditional ways in which trees interact with human activities: Orchards, trees in streets and gardens, woodland (where trees have arisen naturally), wood-pasture, plantations (when trees have been planted), and non-woodland trees in hedgerow and field. These arboricultural activities can, furthermore, be divided into activities resulting in a high tree density (i.e. forest cover) and those which are characterised by rather low tree densities. Consequently, different types of land use affect the appearance of landscapes differently. They may result in more open or in densely forested areas, respectively, and modify the degree

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of complexity. Knowledge about the effect of land use on the landscape character may help change the scenery into another, more appreciated one. Most developed countries find themselves in the forest transition phase, the change from a shrinking to an expanding forest area (Mather 1992). Motivations of European countries to increase forest cover are manifold and not restricted to economics of timber production. Recreational values, human health, biodiversity, soil and water protection, carbon sequestration and rural development are only some of the aspects which are aimed at with new forests (e.g., Halldorsson et al. 2008). In average, the extent in forests in Europe has increased annually by 0.38% from 2000 to 2005 as compared to the remaining forest area (excluding the Russian Federation) (Anon 2006). However, this increase is unequally distributed among the different countries. While there were no changes in, e.g., Andorra, Belgium and Germany, annual increases between 0.6% and 1% were achieved in Albania, Denmark, Hungary, Lithuania and Greece. The highest annual gain in percent of the remaining forest area was reported from Bulgaria (1.4%), Spain (1.7%), Ireland (1.9%) and Iceland (3.8%) (Anon 2006, based on FAO 2006). The reasons for the increase in forest cover are manifold. It could be argued that proactive afforestation programmes and planting schemes may have driven the upward trend in forest cover across many western European countries, for instance in Iceland and Ireland. In contrast, forest expansion in eastern European countries has tended to be the result of a declining agricultural sector due to rural depopulation and the encroachment of forest through natural regeneration. Thus, different societal drivers have produced similar outcomes. The only country with a negative development between 2000 and 2005 was the Russian Federation that lost 96,000  ha per year of forest or other wooded land (Anon 2006, based on FAO 2006). This trend may have been enhanced even more by the high losses during the wild fires in the summer of 2010. The main part of our perception of landscapes occurs through the sense of sight, and aesthetic experience has an impact on our mental and emotional state (Kaplan and Kaplan 1989). A change in the spatial arrangement of structural elements such as trees and forest will therefore affect the perception of landscapes by people. In treeless regions dominated by large arable fields, afforestation can contribute to the amenity of the area. To achieve this, many countries have started planting trees and creating different types of forests. However, too much afforestation can also have a negative effect on the aesthetic quality of landscapes (Powe et al. 1997). For the general public, visual amenity is a major value of forests. For most farm woodlands in the United Kingdom it is likely to be the most important use-value (van der Horst 2006), but a problem can be that the majority of farm woodlands is not made accessible to the public (Crabtree 1997). The most significant change in landscape scenery is experienced in the change of forestry towards open agricultural fields or vice versa. However, other land-use related to trees can have an effect on the visual quality of landscapes. More orchards or cork and olive plantations reduce the openness of a landscape but to a lower degree than dense forests managed for timber production. The introduction of ­networks of agro-forestry can contribute to an amelioration of open landscapes.

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For instance, this is planned for the lagoon of the Venice drainage basin in Italy (Franco et al. 2003). An increase in patch size together with a reduction in number of patches of grassland and arable fields reduces the grain size and complexity of a landscape. This was observed in a western Norwegian cultural landscape between 1865 and 2002, in addition to a change from arable fields to horticultural, orchard, and abandoned areas (Hamre et al. 2007). A Swedish example of landscape development throughout history connected to variations in tree use and population density is given in Chap. 13. A change in the visual character of landscapes can also be due to the choice in tree species. A conversion of tree species from deciduous to coniferous trees has an impact not only on the character of forest stands but also the seasonal colours of the landscape. Tveit et al. (2006) suggest the concept of Ephemera to describe seasonal or weather related changes in land-cover types. Lohr and Pearson-Mims (2006) found that certain tree forms, namely scenes with spreading trees, were rated significantly more attractive than those with conical or rounded trees. They attributed this to the hypothesis of the preference of savannah-like environments by human beings (Orians 1980). Changes in forest landscapes are often closely related to forest ownership. The increasing number of small-scale forest owners in Europe has resulted in a fragmentation of forest parcels which may increase landscape diversity, but also reduce the connected forest areas (see Chap 6). An increase of forest cover in the uplands of central Latvia over the course of the twentieth century was among others related the abandonment of farm land after the Soviet occupation and the aggregation of land into collective farms (Nikodemus et al. 2005). Between 1911 and 1953, forest expansion was mainly connected to soil fertility resulting in the natural expansion of existing forest patches. Forest regenerated on abandoned land when population density decreased due to war, exile and deportations to the Soviet Union, and the former homogeneous arable landscape developed into a more heterogeneous mosaic with increasing forest cover. Under Soviet occupation, the formation of large collective farms and poor infrastructures accelerated the marginalization of land furthest away from the centre of the collective farms. Landscape structures became more homogeneous again and the openness of the landscape decreased. Today, after the return of land to small landowners, this trend still remains. The aesthetic quality of the landscapes is expected to decrease due to the loss of open views and a lower visual diversity (Nikodemus et al. 2005).

14.4 Aesthetics in Landscape Management Landscape planning requires knowledge about people’s reactions to forest management and land use changes. Amenity functions of landscapes elements are important for visual quality, and aesthetic considerations have already become part of the decision making process in forest management and landscape planning. This includes the

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effect of different management systems such as thinning and burning, clear cuts or single tree felling (Bradley and Kearney 2007). Some people seem to prefer fragmented to less fragmented forest areas, especially when informed about the ecological benefits of the larger forest blocks (Meitner et al. 2005). Close to urban areas, small clear cuttings were found to be perceived positive by the public in terms of scenic beauty, while the natural state of forest sites was positively associated with recreational values (Tahvanainen et al. 2001). A review of a number of studies revealed that aesthetic perception was more positive with respect to managed forests than non-managed settings (Ulrich 1986). This indicates that management practices that aim to enhance the productive function of forests may also contribute to the improvement of the visual quality of a landscape (Brush 1978, cited in Ulrich 1986). When forest cover is increased, this will inevitably result in the reduction of openness. Complex landscapes may develop in less open landscapes when forest patches are expanded or in more open landscapes when land use removes forests, hedgerows or shelterbelts. It can also be important to design forest edges according to their various functions for nature conservation and amenity in agricultural landscapes. Being a borderline to the open landscape, the width, physical structure, species composition and spatial dynamics of forest edges were found to have an influence on their ecological, economical and aesthetic functions, including the presence of solitary trees in edge zones, dead wood or other cultural and historical features (Fry and SarlövHerlin 1997). The input of nutrients is increased at forest edges and can result in excess nitrogen input (Veen et  al. 1996). The right structure of forest edges may thus help reducing the negative impact of nutrient deposition (Wuyts et al. 2009). Landscapes also need maintenance as illustrated in the Latvian example described above. Also in other regions of Europe, people fear the spreading of ­forests when the rural population moves away and abandons the farmland. This can be seen in regions of Norway but also in more densely populated areas such as the Black Forest in South Germany. Another example is the missing regeneration in the Mediterranean dehesas with their overaged holm oak stands that often lack a natural regeneration. The longterm persistence of the populations on the traditional dehesas has become a great problem, threatening the sustainability of these systems (Plieninger et al. 2003).

14.5 Conclusion History has shown that the persistence of trees, hedgerows and forests in landscapes is closely linked to their integration in the cultural use of the landscapes, especially agriculture. An exception may be the few places that are not the focus of human interest such as marginal soils, inaccessible areas or other waste land. However, even the vegetation on these spots will only survive as long as human beings are not interested in the area for other purposes. Hence, wooded landscape elements have to compete with other land uses, and a change in the intensity of agricultural use will therefore always have an effect on tree cover and distribution. The security of forests in landscapes depends more on the dynamics of landscape mosaics that

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contain forest than on forest dynamics within those landscape mosaics (Riitters et  al. 2009). Hence, like the landscapes in which they grow, trees have shaped human culture and are at the same time formed by continuously changing cultural forces. To secure forest cover and the presence of other wooded landscape elements in European landscapes, it is therefore important to integrate the use of forests and trees in the process of landscape planning and management.

References Anon (2006) Background information. Workshop on pan-European recommendations for afforestation and reforestation in the context of UNFCCC http://www.mcpfe.org/documents/meetings/ 2006/unf (Accessed 17 Jul 2009) Antorp M (2005) Why landscapes of the past are important for the future. Landscape Urban Plan 70:21–34 Appleton J (1975) The experience of landscape. Wiley, London, p 293 Bailey D, Herzog F, Augenstein I, Aviron S, Billeter R, Szerencsits E, Baudry J (2007) Thematic resolution matters: indicators of landscape pattern for European agro-ecosystems. Ecol Indic 7:692–709 Bell S (2001) Landscape pattern, perception and visualisation in the visual management of forests. Landscape Urban Plan 54:201–211 Bradley GA, Kearney AR (2007) Public and professional responses to the visual effects of timber harvesting: different ways of seeing. West J Appl Forestry 1:42–54 Brush RO (1978) Forests can be managed for aesthetics: A study of forest land owners in Massachusetts. In: Proceedings of the National Urban Forestry Conference, SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry and USDA Forest Service, Syracuse, pp 349–360 Caspersen OH, Nellemann V (2005) Landskabskaraktermetoden - et kompendium (Landscape character method - a compendium). Arbejdsrapport Skov & Landskab nr. 20-2005, Skov & Landskab, Hørsholm, 136 pp (in Danish) Crabtree R (1997) Political instruments for environmental forestry: carbon retention in farm woodlands. In: Adger N, Petenella F, Whitby M (eds) Climate change mitigation and European land-use politics. CABI, Wallingford, pp 187–197 Díaz M, Campos P, Pulido F (1997) The Spanish dehesas: a diversity in land-use and wildlife. In: Pain DJ, Pienkowski MW (eds) Farming and birds in Spain. The common agricultural policy and its implication for bird conservation. Academic, London, pp 178–209 FAO (2000) Global forest resources assessment 2000. Food and Agricultural Organisation, Forestry Department FAO (2006) Global forest resources assessment 2005. Food and Agricultural Organisation – Forestry Department: 18. Annex 3 Global Tables. available online ftp://ftp.fao.org/docrep/ fao/008/A0400E/A0400E14.pdf Accessed 17 Jul 2009 Forestry Commission (1991) Community woodland design guidelines. HMSO, London Forman RTT (1995) Some general-principles of landscape and regional ecology. Landscape Ecol 10:133–142 Forman RTT, Godron M (1986) Landscape ecology. Wiley, New York Franco D, Franco D, Mannino I, Zanetto G (2003) The impact of agroforestry networks on scenic beauty estimation. The role of a landscape ecological network on a socio-cultural process. Landscape Urban Plan 62:119–138 Fry G, Sarlöv-Herlin I (1997) The ecological and amenity functions of woodland edges in the agricultural landscape, a basis for design and management. Landscape Urban Plan 37:45–55 Gobster PH (1999) An ecological aesthetic for forest landscape management. Landscape J 18(1):54–64

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Otto HJ (1994) Natürliche Wald- und Baumgrenzen. In: Otto HJ (ed) Waldökologie. Ulmer, Stuttgart, pp 139–153 Peterken G (1996) Natural woodland. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Plieninger T, Pulido FJ, Konold W (2003) Effects of land-use history on size structure of holm oak stands in Spanish dehesas: implications for conservation and restoration. Environ Conserv 30:61–70. doi:10.1017/S0376892903000055 Powe NA, Garrod GD, Brunsdon CF, Wills KG (1997) Using a geographical information system to estimate an hedonic price model of the benefits of woodland access. Forestry 70(2):139–149 Rackham O (1996) Trees and woodlands in the British landscape, 3rd edn. Phoenix Giant Paperback, London Rackham O (1988) Trees and woodland in a crowded landscape – the cultural landscape of the British Isles. In: Birks HH, Birks HJB, Kaland PE, Moe D (eds) The cultural landscape - past, present and future. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 53–77 Rackham O (1986) The history of the countryside. J.M. Dent Ltd, London Riitters KH, O’Neill R, Hunsaker C, Wickham J, Yankee D, Timmins S, Jones K, Jackson B (1995) A factor analysis of landscape pattern and structure metrics. Landscape Ecol 101:23–39 Riitters KH, Wickham JD, Wade TG (2009) An indicator of forest dynamics using a shifting landscape mosaic. Ecol indic: 107–117 Robinson M (1978) The problem of hedges enclosing Roman earlier fields. Br Archaeological Rep 48:155–158 Sugita S, Gaillard MJ, Brostrom A (1999) Landscape openness and pollen records: a simulation approach. Holocene 9:409–421 Steiniger S, Hay GJ (2009) Free and open source geographic information tools for landscape ecology. Ecol Inform 4:183–195 Swanwick C (2002) Landscape character assessment. Guidance for England and Scotland. Countryside Agency and Scottish Natural Heritage, Edinburgh Tahvanainen L, Tyrväinen L, Ihalainen M, Vuorela N, Kolehmainen O (2001) Forest management and public perceptions – visual versus verbal information. Landscape Urban Plan 53:53–70 The Countryside Agency (1999) The state of the countryside 1999. The Countryside Agency Postal Sales, Northampton Thirgood JV (1981) Man and the Mediterranean forest: a history of resource depletion. Academic, London Traustason B, Snorrason A (2008) Spatial distribution of forests and woodlands in Iceland in accordance with the CORINE landcover classification. Icel Agric Sci 21:39–48 Tuan YF (1974) Topophilia: a study of environmental perception, attitudes, and values. Prentice Hall, Englewood Cliffs, NJ Tveit M, Ode Å, Fry G (2006) Key concepts in a framework for analysing visual landscape character. Landscape Res 31:229–255 Ulrich RS (1986) Human responses to vegetation and landscapes. Landscape Urban Plan 13:29–44 UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre (2000) In: Smith G, Gillet H, Smith G, Gillet H (eds) European forests and protected areas: gap analysis. Technical report. UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre, Cambridge, p 71 UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre (2007) Temperate and boreal forests and protected areas. http://www.unep-wcmc.org/forest/boreal/homepage.htm. (Accessed 17 March 2009) van der Horst D (2006) A prototype method to map the potential visual-amenity benefits of new farm woodlands. Environ Plan B-Plan Des 33:221–238. doi:10.1068/b31172 Veen AW, Klaassen W, Kruijt B, Hutjes WAR (1996) Forest edges and the soil-vegetation-atmosphere interaction at the landscape scale: the state of affairs. Prog Phys Geogr 20:292–310 Vestergaard P (2007) Naturen i det åbne land. In: Naturen i Danmark - Det abne land. Gyldendal, København, pp 19–26 Vogt P, Riitters KH, Iwanowski M, Estreguil C, Kozak J, Soille P (2007) Mapping landscape ­corridors. Ecol Indic 7:481–488

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Walter H (1986) Beziehungen zwischen Klima und Arealgrenzen. In: Allgemeine Geobotanik. Ulmer, Stuttgart, pp 18–21 Weinstoerffer J, Girardin P (2000) Assessment of the contribution of land use pattern and intensity to landscape quality: use of a landscape indicator. Ecol Model 130:95–109 Wickham JD, Riitters KH, Wade TG, Coulston JW (2007) Temporal change in forest fragmentation at multiple scales. Landscape Ecol 22:481–489 Wuyts K, De Schrijver A, Vermeiren F, Verheyen K (2009) Gradual forest edges can mitigate edge effects on throughfall deposition if their size and shape are well considered. For Ecol Manage 257:679–687

Part V

Chapter 15

Conclusion – Towards a Symbiotic Relationship Eva Ritter and Dainis Dauksta

Throughout the different chapters of the book, the diversity of the relationship of people to forests has been illustrated in various ways. This diversity can be seen on the level of experience and perception of forest landscapes, in the sense of place and belonging, with respect to the use and legal regulation of forests resources and in the role of forests in the understanding of ourselves. Forests affect us and our life through their mere presence, their materiality and their physical properties, but we are also connected through emotional, spiritual and visceral bonds to forests and trees. Two things should have become clear when reading the different contributions to this book: the changes in attitudes and conditions for people’s relationship to forests that occurred through time; and the contradictions that can be found in the different values that are represented by forests. These two aspects seem to follow the development of human-forest (and human-landscape) relationships. Hence, in our concern about future development of forest landscapes, this should be taken into consideration: The life of people and the presence of forests in landscapes are characterised by a mutual dependency, and the development of one partner will be followed by the change and adaptation of the other.

15.1 Contradicting Forest Values Our understanding of forests may be regarded as being full of contradictions and contrasts; forest can carry both negative and positive values, and the values that are posed upon forests may be quite opposite to the reality in which they exist. Many of the examples in the different chapters illustrate how forests (and their inhabitants) E. Ritter (*) Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57, 9000 Aalborg, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] D. Dauksta Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales, LD2 3PR, UK e-mail: [email protected] E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_15, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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are delineated from the surrounding landscape, especially the agricultural landscape. Forests are considered as uncivilized, untamed nature, the waste land; representing chaos, anarchy, evil and a place for paganism. They are perceived as being the opposite of the productive agricultural land and the security of cities and civilization; representing good, order, rational planning and the place of Christianity. Forests are the “antithesis of what it means to be human” (Jackson, Chap. 3). They are the place where mankind used to be before civilization. Very clearly, this is expressed by the attitudes of earlier “civilized” cultures, for instance the Romans, as those with little forest cover in contrast with forested countries, for instance Germany, which were considered as being inhabited by savages (Sect. 10.1.1). This interpretation may also be connected to the influence of Christianity and the idea to subdue nature. As mentioned by Griffin (Sect.  10.3.2), in the understanding of people of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, forests remained places of uncivilized or criminal people until a church was built and Christianity introduced. Uncivilized or not, there was indeed a difference between the two societies living outside and inside the forests, respectively. However, as so often the “otherness” of one group can best be explained by the ignorance of the other. The Industrial and Agrarian Revolutions, aided by reason, scepticism and ­scientific method and fuelled by deforestation, brought about the conditions for urban population growth and the separation of rural production from urban consumption. Generations grew up knowing only the townscape of their factory and home-life. This allowed the onset of urban isolation from nature and the notion that forests grew “elsewhere”. If the illusion that man was removed from nature initially grew out of industrial society and urbane Classical Enlightenment attitudes to nature, then it was reinforced by the Romantic backlash which turned “alienated” man to focus back on and stand in awe of nature. Classical modernity arguably brought about the conscious gaze upon nature leading to a dualistic illusion of man isolated from nature; but this is a principal strand of Romantic philosophy rather than a pragmatic observation of the whole picture. As we study mutual links between people, society and forests, it clearly emerges that we are in fact much more linked to forests and nature than we have been led to believe, and the greatest isolation from nature may actually have taken place in our minds, or perhaps more especially in the minds of commentators. Human beings are as embedded within the carbon cycle as we ever were, we still exchange carbon for oxygen via proxy photosynthesis; the obvious difference now is that we have altered the cycle by burning fossilised carbon. Therefore, our aim presumably should be to manage the biological framework more effectively in order to ameliorate the negative impacts of modern society. As it happens, growing intensively managed high-yield forest is one of very few immediately available methods for sequestration of carbon, but this runs counter to voices demanding a return to “native” forest. A set of forest values discussed in the chapters that arise from aspirations of civilization and order shed a positive light on forests. Forests are described as places with more freedom and independence of economic and social rules and the constraints of society. They are places where one can escape, both physically and mentally. Forests

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are regarded as “familiar places full of resources” instead of “places of mystery and concealed threats” (Sect.  12.2.1). Juxtaposing these two views demonstrates that forests may simultaneously contain or symbolize negative and positive values. This leads to another contradiction that can be observed throughout the ­examples given in the chapters: the fact that many of the (symbolic, societal, productive, etc.) forest values are contrasted by a different reality. Throughout history, there are examples of people who have their livelihood outside the forests, but who nevertheless need the presence and products of forests: Kings and aristocrats who appropriated sole rights to hunting in forests and for whom the timber of “uncivilized” forests became a symbol of “civilizing” power; farmers who need forest products for buildings, fencing and energy; urban dwellers of modern society who visit ­forests for their health and mental well-being and also consume large quantities of timber in their built environment. It is arguable that increasing demands for bureaucratic process, for instance certification, by urban societies may increase their own feelings of well-being but actually achieve very little at forest level (see for example Sect.  13.6). Proxy “paper” management processes cannot substitute for “physical” interventions. Conflicting demands from badly-informed urban consumers of forest benefits, whether concrete or metaphorical, could be viewed as “complaining with full mouths”. After all, timber consumption increases with societal development. So should industrial timber be produced in another country because our own may not be sullied? It may be apposite to examine whether European societies need more amenity, National Romantic “native” forests for their spiritual and emotional needs. Surely, we actually need to manage our existing native broadleaved forests better. Maybe the new emphasis on recreational forest functions can be seen as the wish to activate our contact with nature as a contrast to life in urban environments, but then it is incumbent on urban society to adequately fund rural society to provide these services. It is already questionable as to whether urban consumption ­recompenses rural production in a sustainable manner. Certainly, the exodus of rural workers all over Europe to find better rewards might suggest that this relationship is in a state of imbalance. Another gap between theory and reality can be seen in the popular assumption that forests represent untamed nature, because this is practically non-existent ­anymore (Sect. 2.3). Today, almost all forests in Europe are managed and ­organized. There is not much wilderness left about them apart from the wilderness left in our minds, and this may mainly be linked to the tradition of considering forests as “places apart” and “spaces of otherness” (Sects.  10.2.2 and 11.5.1). Whatever is unknown to us, may to a certain degree cause fear and scepticism. Arguably, the “otherness” of forests is reinforced by the gaze of scholars who by definition do not work within the forested landscape. Although removed in their own minds, they are nevertheless culturally biased and unable to observe nature without preconceptions; we cannot escape our own ecology. The human brain operates simultaneously using two different cognitive systems, and although simplistic, it is nevertheless fair to say that the left and right hemispheres of our brains work in different modes. Generally speaking, the left can be

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associated with rational, lineal, abstract and Classical thought; the right with intuitive, non-lineal, concrete and Romantic thought processes. In order to survive in the forest, humans needed cognitive systems that could cooperate in order to instantaneously separate elements of danger from the camouflage of the forest backdrop; making the difference between finding food or being found as food by other predators. Arguably, the forest originally forged our perceptive processes, but perhaps now as we gaze back on the forest that bi-hemispherical vision is clouded by the context of self-conscious urban culture. Analysis of the forest more often attracts polarised rather than holistic thinking although it seems obvious that the subject needs the latter. Painter Piet Mondrian’s life reflected two modes of cognition (Sect.  9.4). He started life immersed in a Romantic analysis of nature, but his ­obsession with the image of a tree led him to a Cartesian world-view totally embracing the abstraction of pure line and primary colour. Our conclusion from this is that the general idea of dividing the world into ­forests and non-forests subjects must be regarded as inappropriate for the description and understanding of human-forest relationships. Instead of talking about contradicting values, it seems much more reasonable to talk about complementary values, closely intertwined with the many facets of people’s lives. Any approach regarding human society and culture as being separated from forests should ­therefore be reassessed. A new epistemology is required; a “forest philosophy”.

15.2 Changing Attitudes and Relationships In addition to the diversity of forest values, the discourse of the book should have illustrated the changes that have occurred in people’s relationship to forests through time. At the beginning of the development of civilization, we observe a change in attitudes from forests as fearful places, but not necessarily considered as a ­hindrance, to places that have to be subdued or removed to make room for the expansion of society (Sect. 2.1.1). From local effects and little active management, human impact on forest ecosystems becomes more and more intense, and the ­perception of forests changes. It can also be observed that the continuous change in the relationship of ­people to forests through time is highly determined by politics and laws and closely linked to the question of ownership. Ownership may determine the functions and values that are placed upon a forest; from productive to aesthetic reasons (Sect.  6.3.2). Landscape and biodiversity development may be influenced through increasing or decreasing fragmentation of forest areas, for instance because of the greater sensitivity to air pollution of small forest patches. Forest laws have ­controlled the use, access and rights of people to forests and their products. Today, we can still find differences in forest use and the legal structure between state owned and private forests in many countries of Europe. These differences are reflected in different attitudes of people towards forests. Examples from the Middle Ages have shown how the right to use forests and their products differed between the classes of the

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­society (Sects. 4.1.2 and 4.3). However, while forest laws may have contributed to the alienation of certain social echelons through time, they have also proved to be strong instruments in the regulation of forest development, management and protection. For example, first forest laws were introduced when spiritual or ritual sanctions were no longer sufficient, e.g., to protect sacred groves from felling (Sect. 2.2.1). Venice stands out as a historical exemplar. This city-state was literally built on timber as well as needing it to maintain its fleet. The massive material requirement should and would have been an on-going problem had it not been for the Venetian government’s foresight in wresting control over neighbouring forest resources and implementing a bureaucratic management regime. Interestingly, the development of industry also contributed to the protection of certain forests to ensure sustainable supplies of industrial wood, for instance in the case of many Atlantic oak coppice stands in Wales. Improved technology helped reduce the demand for timber, especially when coal replaced charcoal for iron smelting and iron replaced wood for shipbuilding. Clearly, our relationship to forests is strongly related to the amount of forest cover present and may hence change in step with it. This can be seen both in the perception of forests by people of regions with different forest cover (Sect. 14.4), but also in the increasing interest in trees and forests as motives by artists when trees became scarce in the European landscape. Finally, attitudes to forests are linked to feelings of belonging, from a local to a global scale (Sect. 11.4), and are therefore important for whole nations. A change in attitudes towards forests can often be traced in changes in the landscape in terms of the total forest cover, the distribution and location of forests (fragmentation) or simply the choice of tree species. Generally, the presence or absence of forests has been shown to be closely linked to their perceived value and utility for human beings, that is, the role that trees have in the daily life of people. The connection between landscape development, forest use and ownership has been illustrated in several chapters from different points of view (e.g., Chaps. 4, 6, and 13). The management of landscapes is also determined by the rights of different members of the society to use forests and trees as natural resources. The example from Sweden (Chap. 13) shows how a region where forests were considered as having little value became a major timber producing area of the country. However, positive attributes do not only accrue from the productivity of forests. Landscape development may also be influenced by new values like biodiversity or cultural heritage. These values can contribute to the protection of wooded landscape elements, and social, recreational and amenity benefits have an increasing influence on the composition of European landscapes. As the examples of the book have shown, both society and forests have changed through time, and new forest values and functions are continuously generated through technical innovation or social development. This interactive process will continue. Therefore, our aim cannot be to go back to a state of the past; which historical point in time would be appropriate? What we can do though, is to aim for a sustainable relationship between forests and the needs of people – may these be materialistic, spiritual, emotional or aesthetical.

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15.3 Future Perspectives There is a golden thread running through our common history – the history of ­forests, trees and human society – and this is our dependence on trees. Hence, no matter how great the changes and contrasts have been, it all comes down to the fact that we need forests and trees in our lives; in our culture and for the functioning and development of our society. There are few societies that have lived and developed in geographic areas without trees. The Inuit people of the polar region are one of them, if not the only one, but even this people did have access to wood and did use – and need – it for making tools and weapons; although it was drift wood coming from other places far away. In this sense, a central sentence in this book may be found in Sect. 11.2 by Jones: “Consider the lack of trees or forests.” Without trees we would not be who we are today, and without forests we would lose more than a natural resource for a variety of products, but the home place or Heimat of our ideas and identities. And there is an ironical counterpoint to this; Europeans would not have their rich cultural matrix without the contributions from all of the preceding societies which were built out of deforestation. Imagine if we lacked the gifts of Roman, Greek and Celtic cultures; imagine a contemporary feudal Europe without the gains of the Industrial Revolution. Forests will continue to face changes in the future. Although people have become increasingly aware of the value of forests, and forest protection and afforestation activities have been initiated in many countries since the beginning of the last century, losses in forest cover and forest quality have not necessarily been arrested yet. In order to survive and prosper, forests have to become inextricably connected to sustainable developments in society. They have to be adaptive, not only to changing environmental conditions, be they man-made or natural, but also to many other societal factors. Climate change and the increased threats from imported pathogens such as Phytophthora spp. may mean that it will be necessary to design diverse forests embracing both exotic and native species. Neither types are immune from these threats, but mixed forests may offer more potential to retain a normal forest. It is not inconceivable that in the future genetic engineering will be considered necessary in order to confer resistance to certain valuable species and retain them within European forests. There is a growing interest in afforestation in order to enhance carbon sequestration. However, land availability for afforestation will be governed by the global need for increased agricultural production in the face of potential climate change, increasing energy prices and population pressure. The built environment is now recognised as a potential carbon sink in its own right through the increased uptake of timber to replace steel and concrete in new durable structures. Developments in timber engineering are already demonstrating the potential for a “timber ­revolution”, for instance the nine storey “Stadthaus” in Murray Grove, London, is the world’s tallest modern timber residential building at present. Sneek Bridge in Holland is a massive 50  m span structure using acetylated pine wood, which is capable of replacing durable tropical hardwoods. Promoting increased utilisation of timber produced through sustainable management of high yield forests could

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enhance the architecture of our towns and cities with a new low-energy embodied material wood. However, the softwood timber capable of being converted by modern high ­volume processing lines is more efficiently grown within plantations, and these forests are seen as being out of alignment with the aim to plant more native trees. The introduction of multifunctional forestry in Europe that has taken place during the last few decades is only one step in creating forests appropriate to all societal needs. It admits that forests have multiple values and functions that should be recognized and used in forest management. The question is: can we generate pragmatic silvicultural solutions which fulfil all societal forest-based needs and expectations without promoting certain values at the expense of others? If Europeans are genuinely committed to a sustainable economy and ecology then the forest, as the only renewable primary material resource, will be at the heart of the process as it was during many preceding cultural step changes. Dependence on forests would again increase dramatically. European forests supplied the material which built the ancient Mediterranean world and changed the face of the landscape in the process. Likewise the Roman Empire and medieval Europe rose to prominence through deforestation. The industrial revolution was forged out of forest resources until they were so depleted that industrialists were compelled to innovate methods utilising coal for smelting iron. This begs the question; can modern Europe build a new sustainable culture from its forest resources? Certainly then forests would need to be both highly productive and capable of supplying all other forest functions. It is our hope that this book can help create a better understanding for the need to support non-productive functions in our relationship with forests. Through understanding the historical overexploitation of forest resources, and the loss of spiritual and emotional links to forests, people hopefully may now learn the lessons of history and work towards a symbiotic change. There is a possibility to develop a new co-existence between forests and people, but this cannot only be on the premises of human beings. Or maybe it has to be?

Index

A Abraham, 103, 122, 142 Abrahamic, 105, 115 access, 62, 63, 65, 68, 71, 81–83, 89, 92, 93, 153, 209, 210, 236, 238 public, 80 accessibility, 93 adaptive management, 70, 71 Adonis, 180 afforestation, 11, 23, 78, 87–94, 134, 223, 238 agrarian capitalism, 66, 139, 149, 151 agrarian revolution, 5, 234 agricultural land, 16, 20, 22, 77, 219, 234 agricultural societies, 13–15 agriculture, 4, 9, 11, 12, 15–19, 24, 37, 63, 67, 78, 80, 128, 142, 145, 181, 182, 195, 202, 208, 211, 215, 217, 219–222, 225 alder, 15, 105, 197–199, 203–206, 209 alienation from nature, 31, 32 Alnus glutinosa, 197 Alps, 63–64, 67, 70, 216, 220, 222 amenity, 69, 79, 82, 83, 154, 166, 187, 205, 223–225, 235, 237 functions, 80, 224 services, 87 ancestors, 7, 101, 116, 183 Anglo-Saxon, 41, 44, 46–48, 52, 108, 220–221 anthropomorphic, 104–105, 108, 112, 115 apple tree, 121, 130, 202, 209 arboriculture, 211–226 Arcadia, 125, 126, 170 architecture, 8–9, 101, 110–112, 115, 122–123, 127, 162, 238–239 Artemis, 123 ash, 6–7, 21, 125, 163–164, 196, 197, 201, 202

asherah, 106, 115 Ashtoreth, 106, 109, 115 aspen, 127, 197, 199, 201, 208 Attica, 18, 19 Austria, 14, 76–79 axe, 3–5, 9, 21, 99, 102–109, 111, 112, 115–116, 128 axis mundi, 106, 113 B Baal, 103, 104, 106, 107, 109, 115 Baal of Doliché, 103, 104 Baltic countries, 13–14, 135, 197 beech, 20, 21, 47, 52, 63, 125, 143–144, 164, 196, 202 belonging, 7, 35, 41, 68, 75, 77, 121, 143, 159–174, 184, 199, 233, 237 benefit, 29, 62, 65, 67–69, 71–72, 75, 81, 84, 88, 92, 146, 154, 181, 187, 193, 198, 225, 235, 237 Betula, 13, 197, 203, 216 biodiversity, 64, 68, 71, 82, 88, 143, 154, 165, 184, 194, 201, 205, 209–210, 223, 236, 237 bioenergy, 82–83 biophilia, 161, 174 biosphere, 160, 165 birch, 9, 13, 46, 109, 197–206, 208, 209, 216, 218–219 Black Act, 149, 153 Black Forest, 163, 225 Bliesbruck, 102 Blue Rider, 131 Blut und Boden, 7, 8 Brâncuşi, 113 British Isles, 13–15, 20, 100, 109, 221 Bronze Age, 195

E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

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242 building, 17–19, 22, 23, 41, 53, 54, 100, 109–112, 124–127, 134, 143, 162, 167, 186, 194, 197, 198, 201, 203, 205, 206, 222, 235, 237–239 bull, 103, 107, 111, 112 Burnham Beeches, 21 C Caledonian Forest, 167 camera obscura, 122 Canaanites, 105, 106, 115 carbon cycle, 116, 129, 182, 234 carbon sequestration, 68–69, 72, 223, 238 Carpinus betulus, 202 cattle, 52, 53, 56, 66, 70, 149, 193, 194, 197–203, 205, 207, 208 Celtic, 50, 101–103, 105–106, 108, 109, 132, 134, 161, 238 Central Europe, 19–22, 221 certification, 209, 235 change, 75–84, 192–210 charcoal, 4, 13, 16, 19, 21, 45–46, 54, 115, 196, 200, 204, 208, 237 Charlemagne, 17, 108 Christ, 37–38, 108, 120–122, 130, 134 Christian, 5, 36, 37, 50, 103, 105, 108–110, 120, 122, 127, 149–150, 161, 172 Christianity, 29, 36–38, 103, 134, 150, 234 Church, 6, 42, 45, 82, 92, 109, 127, 130, 151, 152, 234 civilisation, 29, 120, 170–171 civilised, 120, 170 civilization, 11, 12, 15, 18, 19, 111, 142, 144, 170–171, 234, 236 civilized, 142, 144, 149, 234 classical, 5, 6, 8–9, 18, 19, 72, 99, 110–112, 122–124, 126, 129, 134, 180, 216, 234–236 classification, 186, 213 clearance, 12, 13, 15, 17, 18, 23, 45, 63, 145, 152–153, 165, 167 climate, 7, 21, 22, 99, 102, 126, 182, 187, 211, 216, 218, 220 change, 13, 14, 22, 165, 174, 238 cognition, 236 cognitive systems, 235–236 column, 99, 109–115, 124, 126 commons, 56, 61–72, 110, 220–221 complexity, 71, 72, 100, 163, 170, 179, 212, 214, 215, 219–224

Index composition forest, 163–164, 208 landscape, 163, 237 concept, 8, 31, 35, 64, 69, 71, 113, 122, 124–126, 142, 211–215, 224 of complexity, 214–215 forest, 46, 145, 179–188 landscape, 125–126, 179–188, 212–214 of visual scale, 214–215 configuration landscape, 212–214, 218 conflagration, 102, 103, 112, 115, 128 conifers, 54, 56, 57, 78, 167–168, 208, 209 connectivity, 70–71, 80, 99, 104–106, 126, 134, 139, 142–143, 151, 162, 166, 213, 237 conservation, 66, 69, 71, 79, 82, 83, 104–105, 154–155, 166, 173, 174, 182, 205, 225 construction, 7, 18, 19, 44, 62, 69–70, 99–102, 104, 111, 124, 160, 161, 165, 167–169, 173, 174, 188, 196, 197, 202–203, 222 consumers, 19, 235 consumption, 4–5, 12, 23, 69, 200, 234, 235 contradiction, 31, 88, 123–124, 131, 139, 166, 170, 233–236 coppice, 21, 45–46, 143, 154, 181, 237 coppicing, 21, 23, 45–46, 54, 145–147 Corylus avellana, 13, 194, 196–198 cosmic pillar, 99, 106, 109, 113, 114, 134 Crab apple, 198, 202, 209 Crown, 45, 54, 66, 121, 122, 129, 131, 133–134, 145–149, 180, 199, 203, 205, 207 cultivated, 17, 19, 22–23, 42, 52, 181, 184, 202, 217–219, 222 cultivation, 11, 15–18, 43–45, 63, 88, 142, 167, 171, 199–201, 205, 211, 218, 220 cultural preference theory, 212 D Daidala, 112, 115 danger, 6, 49, 115–116, 134, 139, 141, 144, 148, 154, 155, 170, 172, 236 Danish National Forest Programme, 91–93 Darré, R.W., 7 Dauerwald, 7–8 decay, 7, 100, 101, 103, 112, 115, 129, 144–145, 199–200 deciduous, 20–21, 23, 166, 194, 196, 199–202, 204, 206, 208, 209, 219, 221, 224

Index definition, 64, 75, 76, 135, 145, 179–188, 195, 235 forest, 75, 76, 145, 179–188 landscape, 179–188 legal, 64, 145 popular, 145 deforestation, 11, 16–20, 22–24, 165, 174, 215, 217, 218, 234, 238, 239 dehesas, 220, 225 demystifying, 31–32 Denmark, 15, 21, 23, 79, 82, 87–94, 185, 214, 215, 217, 221, 223 Descartes, R., 5, 29–32 Diana the Huntress, 123 Dionysus, 37–38 disafforestation, 54, 144, 146 disturbance, 3, 13–15, 20, 129, 198, 199 Domesday Book, 42–44, 47, 52, 145 Douglas fir, 20 druidry, 101 Durrington Walls, 100–102 dwellers, 9, 139, 143, 148–150, 152, 153, 164, 235 dwelling, 8, 12, 99, 152, 163–164, 173–174 E Earth, 6, 7, 20, 36, 56, 63, 100, 101, 105, 106, 108, 110, 113, 114, 120, 135, 161, 162, 165, 182, 220 Eastern Europe, 77–78, 169 ecological aesthetic theory, 212 economy, 5, 12, 16, 31, 62–64, 68–69, 71, 79–81, 83, 87, 91, 93, 139, 141, 143, 147–148, 150, 152, 155, 160, 161, 164, 166–169, 180, 183–185, 187, 188, 213–214, 217, 223, 225, 234, 239 ecosystem, 11–13, 17, 19–21, 24, 65, 69–72, 165, 181, 182, 187, 236 services, 72, 182, 187 El, 106 elevational limit, 216 Eliade, 105, 106, 113, 134 elm, 21, 53, 194, 196, 202, 209 decline, 13–15 disease, 14 emotion, 120, 143, 160, 183–184, 187–188, 212, 223, 233, 235, 237, 239 enclosure, 5, 41, 44, 46–47, 56, 63, 64, 66, 100–102, 104, 108, 146, 148, 152–153, 221

243 energy, 6, 18, 19, 21, 130, 131, 163, 182, 183, 187, 198, 220, 235, 238–239 production, 18, 19, 21 England, 5, 14, 16, 21–23, 41–57, 64–66, 68, 110, 141, 142, 144–147, 150–153, 166, 171, 184–185, 214, 217, 219–222 Enlightenment, 4, 5, 8, 23, 29, 31–34, 36, 37, 65, 173, 234 environment, 3, 5, 7, 12–14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 29, 31, 63, 65, 67, 68, 70, 71, 79, 81, 87–90, 136, 143, 151, 154, 165, 173, 174, 183, 185–187, 196, 209, 213, 214, 224, 235, 238 environmental protection, 67, 88 erosion, 18, 20 etymological, 99, 115, 142 etymology, 145–146, 179–188 European Landscape Convention (ELC), 72 Evelyn, 4, 146 evergreen, 78 everyman’s right, 82 evolutionary theory, 211–212 experience, 7, 24, 33–38, 62, 63, 82, 87–89, 91, 92, 127, 130, 134, 135, 142–144, 148, 154, 164, 171, 183, 184, 187, 212, 213, 223, 233 F Fagus sylvatica, 20, 21, 202 farmers, 4, 16, 20, 21, 62, 70, 75, 78–79, 124, 125, 144, 151, 193, 197–201, 203, 204, 208, 235 farming, 15, 17, 84, 124, 194, 198, 206, 211, 221, 222 Faroe Islands, 20, 218 Faxinus excelsior, 21, 196 fear, 6, 12, 22, 29, 30, 32–34, 144, 148, 161, 162, 168, 173, 225, 235, 236 Federal Swiss Civil Code, 64 fertility, 99, 106, 109, 112, 116, 126, 151, 224 fertilizers, 17, 70 fig tree, 121 Finland, 77–81, 83, 147, 167, 216–219 fire, 3–4, 9, 13, 20, 21, 23, 24, 65, 70, 110, 115, 123–125, 128, 150, 153, 154, 183, 197–200, 223 firewood, 16, 21–23, 78, 120, 125, 182, 196–198, 201–203, 205, 207, 208 fodder, 20, 21, 53, 78, 127, 196–198, 200–204 folklore, 18, 115, 172

244 food, 3, 12, 13, 15, 16, 18, 22, 33, 43, 45, 49, 52, 63, 87, 88, 143, 144, 152, 153, 182, 183, 195–196, 198, 236 forest area, 20, 43, 76–78, 88–92, 171, 217, 223–225, 236 cover, 12, 14–20, 22–24, 44, 77–79, 87, 147, 165, 167, 181, 198–199, 204, 213, 216–219, 221–226, 234, 237, 238 dwellers, 139, 143, 148, 149, 152, 153 edge, 13, 225 expansion, 13, 22–24, 223, 224 fire, 3, 4, 70, 123, 124, 154, 198–200, 202–203 functions, 22, 71, 203–205, 208, 235, 239 law, 17, 19, 41–45, 51–52, 54, 144, 148, 236–237 loss, 18, 22, 23, 165, 174, 198, 238 philosophy, 236 protection, 22–24, 238 resources, 13, 22, 51–53, 148–151, 173, 193, 237, 239 science, 31 transition phase, 223 use, 11, 16, 21, 24, 41–57, 89–91, 236–237 visitors, 88, 90 visits, 90, 235 forestry, 7, 8, 21, 24, 54, 57, 63, 67–71, 75–84, 88, 124–125, 146, 147, 150, 153, 167, 169, 170, 181, 187, 208, 209, 211, 212, 215, 217, 221–223, 239 fragmentation, 19, 75, 81–82, 84, 213, 224, 236, 237 France, 6, 13–14, 16, 21, 22, 49, 64–65, 76, 77, 81, 99, 109, 111, 125, 142, 146, 152, 153, 166, 169, 171, 217 Frazer, Sir James G., 4, 6–7, 18, 105–106, 108–110, 112, 115, 122, 123, 134, 171 Friedrich, C.D., 8, 9, 34, 127–128, 130, 134 functions cultural, 238 productive, 225, 236, 239 recreational, 67, 80, 82, 87, 93, 235 social, 62, 69, 71, 239 G Gaia, 165 game reserves, 41–48 garden, 20, 120, 121, 159, 171, 186, 222 gender, 141, 161, 173–174, 212 geopiety, 142, 143 Germanic, 22–23, 108

Index Germany, 8, 13–15, 21, 22, 77, 82, 102, 109, 110, 134–135, 142, 153, 166, 185, 197, 221–223, 225, 234 Goldberg, 102 golden age, 7, 9, 125 Gothic, 8, 99, 120–122, 127–128, 162 governance, 61–72 government, 30, 62, 65, 67, 69, 71, 72, 87, 88, 99, 111, 120, 146, 155, 167, 209, 237 grapevines, 121 grazing, 13, 16, 20, 21, 51–53, 55, 66, 70, 150, 152, 153, 194, 195, 198–201, 203, 208–209 Great Britain, 82, 180, 217 Greece, 18–19, 105, 223 Greek-Roman times, 17–18 Green man, 149–150 green spaces, 87, 90, 93 grove, 6, 7, 18, 19, 101–106, 108, 112, 115, 123, 129, 132, 180, 181, 220, 237, 238 H habitation, 13, 45, 54, 56, 57, 63, 151, 165, 166, 181, 186, 187 haga, 42, 44, 46–48 haia, 43–44 Hallstatt, 102 Hamann, J.G., 5–9 Hansel and Gretel, 140, 144 Hardin, 61, 62 hardwood, 57, 109, 238 hay, 43, 44, 49, 52, 202 hazel, 13, 21, 125, 194, 196–198, 202, 208, 209 health, 21, 33–34, 37, 64, 68, 87, 93, 168–169, 223, 235 heaven, 6, 99, 105–107, 110, 113, 130, 161 hedge, 14, 44, 47, 49, 91, 120, 121, 221 hedgerows, 143, 166, 213–215, 217, 219, 221, 222, 225 Heidegger, 163 heimat, 7, 8, 238 henge, 100, 102 Hera, 112, 115 Herder, 3–4, 7–9, 127, 128 heritage, 66, 104–105, 167–169, 201, 237 high places, 105, 106, 108, 110, 115 Hindwell, 101 history, 3, 11, 29, 63, 82, 88, 105, 119, 142, 159, 185, 218, 235 Hobbes, T., 29–32

Index home, 7, 33, 90, 93, 106, 125, 135, 141, 143, 148, 151, 154, 159–161, 163, 165, 170–172, 184, 234, 238 hornbeam, 20, 196, 202 horse chestnut, 163 Hortus Conclusus, 120 human culture, 11–13, 24, 41, 119, 226 human impact, 11, 13, 14, 16–20, 22–24, 185, 195, 198–202, 204, 210, 214, 216, 236 humanity, 3–9, 31, 34, 37, 130, 172 human population, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22 hunter-gatherer, 3, 8, 11–13, 15, 17 hunting, 11–15, 22, 41–57, 66, 123–125, 144–146, 148, 151, 167, 169, 180, 235 hunting reserves, 56, 146 I Ibn Fadlan, 105, 108 Iceland, 20, 77, 216, 218, 223 iconography, 49–51, 99, 102, 104, 143–144, 147 identity, 4, 47, 62, 67–69, 88, 100, 104, 119, 121, 123, 126, 128, 142–144, 155, 159–174, 180, 184–185, 212, 238 ideology, 49, 119, 167, 168 impressionism, 131 income, 45, 53, 54, 67, 78–81, 83, 84, 125, 148, 150, 208 Industrial Revolution, 5, 17, 23, 62–64, 69, 238, 239 industry, 3–5, 7, 8, 11, 17, 20, 23, 40, 45, 62–65, 67, 69, 75–76, 82–83, 110, 134, 135, 153, 167, 169, 198, 234, 235, 238 iron industry, 4, 18, 46, 54, 145, 200, 222, 237, 239 inverted tree, 105, 111 Ireland, 13–16, 77, 78, 80, 82, 102, 105, 109, 110, 142, 169, 217, 218, 221–223 Irminsul, 108, 109, 115 Iron Age, 4, 16, 102, 195 Ironbridge, 23 Italy, 4, 64, 68, 78, 120, 124, 125, 171, 218, 220–222, 224 J Juniper, 197–199, 202, 204 Juniperus communis, 198 Jupiter, 4, 102–104, 107, 109, 115, 126 columns, 109, 114

245 K Kandinsky, W., 130, 131 Kiefer, A., 134 Klee, P., 130–132 knowledge, 6, 9, 19, 31, 66, 70, 72, 79, 81, 83, 84, 92, 122, 179, 183, 186–188, 196, 212, 223, 224 L labrys, 111 landform, 185, 215 land owners, 45, 62 landscape aesthetics, 212, 213 composition, 237 configuration, 214 development, 195, 197, 201–208, 222–224, 237 element, 214, 221 emotional, 187, 188 factual, 120–129, 187 management, 17, 71, 214, 224–225 metrics, 212, 213 painting, 119–136 planning, 211, 224, 226 visual, 187, 213–222 Landscape character assessment (LCA), 214 land use, 15–17, 19, 20, 42, 68, 78, 91, 160, 167, 193, 194, 196, 205, 208, 212–214, 219–225 La Tempesta, 119, 125 La Tène, 102 legends, 7, 50, 51 legislation, 62, 65, 88, 186 light, 13, 35, 100, 119, 126–129, 132, 163, 164, 166, 170, 172, 197, 198, 202, 204, 205, 234 lightning, 35, 103, 106–109, 112, 115, 126 lime, 20, 46, 70, 125, 149, 166, 194, 196, 197, 201, 202, 209 literature, 8, 50–51, 61, 65, 67, 70, 71, 109, 169, 171, 195 Lithuania, 4, 79, 152, 223 livelihood, 81, 149, 235 lopped, 105–109, 111, 114, 127, 132, 134, 204 M Malus sylvestris, 198 Mappa Mundi, 122 Marc, 131 materiality, 159–174 Maypole, 109–110, 112, 134

246 medieval times, 21, 44, 46, 47, 49, 56–57, 121, 181, 195, 196, 201–203, 220, 221 Mediterranean landscapes, 18 Mediterranean region, 12, 17, 18, 22, 218, 220, 221 memory, 161, 166 Mesolithic cultures, 12 Mesolithic settlements, 195 metaphor, 4, 7, 8, 99–116, 119, 121, 130, 131, 136 microcosm, 106, 116 Middle Ages, 19, 23, 63, 65, 144, 147–148, 180, 202, 236–237 Midsummer, 101, 103, 109, 110, 115, 172 mindscape, 187, 188 modernity, 29, 34–35, 37, 38, 132, 153, 163, 171, 234 modern society, 165, 234, 235 Mondrian, 130, 131, 136, 236 monetary, 80, 184 mortice and tenon, 100 Mount Pleasant, 102 music, 37, 125, 169 myth, 5, 8, 11–24, 34–35, 112, 115, 121, 122, 126, 134 mythology, 4, 6, 8, 50, 51, 115, 119, 122–124, 127, 134, 180 N nationalism, 7–9, 135 national parks, 19, 66, 187 native forests, 182, 234, 235 natural, 6, 11, 50, 63, 77, 122, 141, 181, 195, 213, 237 forests, 16, 20, 23, 181, 182, 199, 211, 214, 219, 220 regeneration, 7–8, 20, 22–23, 129, 223, 225 nature, 3, 11, 29, 54, 66, 79, 89, 100, 120, 142, 160, 183, 194, 225, 234 conservation, 66, 79, 82, 83, 225 experience, 89, 92, 183 Near East, 12, 15, 103, 107 Neolithic settlements, 195 New Forest, 54–56, 66, 68, 70, 75–84, 87, 89, 93, 141, 143, 147–149, 153, 166, 168–169, 209, 223, 237 Nietzsche, F., 33–38 Non-industrial private forestry (NIPF), 75, 76 non-wood products, 82–83, 182 Nordic, 77, 82, 106, 108, 180, 218 Nordic mythology, 180 normal forest, 7, 238

Index Normalwald, 7–8 Normandy, 221 Normans, 41, 42, 49, 52, 145, 180 kings, 41–43 Northern Romanticism, 130 Norway, 76, 77, 147, 216, 221, 225 Norway spruce, 20, 23–24, 196, 197 Nostalgia, 7, 127 O oak, 4, 12, 32, 46, 78, 99, 121–122, 143–144, 162, 195, 218, 237 Oak Apple Day, 110, 151 Odin, 51 old growth forest, 23, 129, 154, 166, 167, 171 olive, 121, 218, 220, 223 openness, 33, 214–221, 223–225 otherness, 170–173, 234, 235 ownership, 42, 44, 47, 52, 56, 62, 64, 66, 75–84, 105, 150, 185, 203, 221, 224, 236, 237 P pagan, 106, 121, 122, 152, 172 paganism, 150, 234 paintings, 9, 119–136, 142–143, 184–186 palisade, 100–102 paradise, 6, 120, 121, 170 pasture, 5, 16, 19, 21, 22, 46, 51–53, 55–56, 63, 65, 70, 146, 147, 193–202, 204–209, 218, 220–222 Pausanias, 112, 126 perception, 3, 23, 36, 121, 122, 124, 136, 139–155, 179, 183–184, 187–188, 211–214, 223, 225, 233, 236, 237 Pērkons, 4, 107, 108 Perkūnas, 107, 115 perspective, 29, 80, 87–89, 93, 122–124, 136, 139–142, 150, 152, 154, 174, 211, 238–239 Perun, 4, 107, 108, 112, 115 pest, 7, 17, 149 Petrarch, 120 phenomenology, 163 philosophers, 3, 5, 30, 34, 38, 131, 132, 134, 143 philosophy, 9, 32, 119, 120, 130, 132, 134, 185, 234, 236 physicophily, 29, 37 physicophobia, 29–38

Index picea, 20, 196, 197, 202 Piero di Cosimo, 4, 110, 123, 124 pine, 20, 21, 63, 128, 129, 135, 168, 169, 196–205, 208–209, 219, 238 Pinus sylvestris, 20, 128, 196, 197 place, 11, 29, 42, 66, 90, 100, 120, 139, 180, 202, 218, 233 names, 52, 139–141, 180, 181, 202 plantation, 23, 54, 57, 88, 123, 126, 146, 154, 167–169, 181, 183, 194, 202, 208, 209, 221–223, 239 Plato, 18, 35 poaching, 45, 56, 152 poetry, 6, 8, 38, 142 Poland, 21, 57, 76, 77, 82, 166 pole, 21, 46, 103, 105, 106, 110, 111, 128 policy, 63, 64, 67, 69, 71, 72, 87–89, 146, 154, 155, 167, 169 pollarded trees, 194, 201, 220, 221 pollarding, 21 pollards, 194, 200–201, 208 pollen, 13–15, 195, 202 population, 5, 13, 14, 16–20, 22, 23, 54, 66, 67, 79, 90, 91, 103, 146, 148, 153, 167, 193, 194, 198, 199, 201, 203, 207–209, 224, 225, 234, 238 Populus tremula, 197 Portugal, 23, 65, 78 post, 19, 34–36, 56–57, 67, 70, 99–116, 153, 154, 169, 173 post-holes, 99–103 preferences, 183, 198, 211–214, 224 primeval forest, 8, 29, 33, 34 production, 4–5, 16, 18–23, 41, 57, 63, 65–67, 69–71, 75, 79–83, 87, 88, 146, 154, 181, 193, 196, 199, 200, 203, 214, 222, 223, 234, 235, 238 products, 11, 12, 15, 16, 18, 19, 23, 24, 29, 36, 37, 53, 62, 66, 67, 70, 78, 82, 87, 93, 119, 124, 150, 167, 181, 182, 193, 196–198, 200, 203, 213, 235–238 property, 31, 56, 61, 62, 64, 65, 78–80, 148–150 protection, 11, 22–24, 47, 50, 67, 76, 88, 105, 145–146, 148, 161, 166, 170, 183, 223, 237, 238 Prunus avium, 198 Pseudotsuga spp., 20 psychology, 162 Q Quercus spp., 18, 20, 107, 196, 198, 220

247 R reason, 4–7, 9, 14, 30–32, 34, 37, 78, 88, 89, 101, 129, 145, 170, 183–184, 199, 220, 223, 234, 236 Red Man, 105 reforestation, 22, 160, 167 refuge, 139, 150, 152, 161, 162, 166, 171, 183, 212 regeneration, 3, 7, 16, 20, 22–23, 52, 70, 106, 129, 155, 169, 199, 201, 219, 223, 225 religion, 4, 6, 29, 31, 34, 36–37, 99, 105, 106, 108, 115, 126, 130, 152, 161, 171, 185 Renaissance, 125, 185 renewal, 37, 99, 114–116, 127, 131 resources, 11–13, 18, 19, 22, 41, 51–53, 61–66, 69–71, 75, 78, 83, 87, 101, 143, 148–151, 166, 169, 173, 174, 180–182, 185, 193, 201, 207, 208, 233, 235, 237–239 resurrection, 106 return to nature, 29, 32 rights, 44–46, 52–54, 62–66, 78, 143, 145, 146, 149–150, 153, 203, 220–221, 235–237 ritual, 4, 8, 101, 102, 104, 108, 110–112, 115, 237 Robin Hood, 152 Roman Empire, 19, 103, 239 Romantic artists, 135, 142–143 Romanticism, 6–9, 23, 31, 127, 130, 134–135, 185 Roman times, 17, 18, 41, 221 Rothko, M., 135, 136 Rousseau, J.J., 29–36, 38 Royal forests, 41–57, 66, 145, 147, 155 rural areas, 80, 81, 87 rural development, 69, 71, 81, 223 rural worker, 9, 235 Rus, 105, 108 Russian Federation, 23, 76, 77, 216, 218, 219, 223 S sacredness, 29, 34–38 sacred oak, 6–7, 9, 103, 105, 106 sacred pillar, 99, 103, 104, 106, 115–116 sacred places, 106, 115 sacred tree, 99, 105, 106, 109, 110, 112–115 sacrifice, 6–7, 106, 112, 121, 123 Salix caprea, 197 sallow, 197 Savage man, 32–34 savage places, 33

248 savages, 7–9, 33, 142, 234 savannah, 161, 220 hypothesis, 212, 224 Saxons, 41, 44, 46–48, 52, 108, 145, 220–221 Scania, 17, 222 Scotland, 14, 16, 49, 56, 167, 214, 218, 221, 222 Scots pine, 63, 196, 197, 202 Seahenge, 104–105 sense of belonging, 68, 143, 159–174, 233 senses, 38, 120, 159–174 settlement, 11, 12, 14, 15, 18–22, 43, 47, 145, 147, 185, 195 Seven Thousand Oaks, 134 shelterbelts, 214, 217, 221, 225 shipbuilding, 18, 19, 23, 54, 167, 198, 203, 205, 237 sky god, 99, 102, 103, 107–109 slash-and-burn, 15, 195–201, 206 Slovenia, 76, 77, 148, 218 small-scale forestry, 75–84, 224 softwood, 57, 109, 239 soil, 7, 8, 14–16, 18, 20–22, 24, 44, 47, 52, 54, 67, 70, 88, 101, 103, 143, 162, 182, 185, 187, 193, 196–200, 204, 211, 214, 216–218, 222–225 solstice, 101, 115 Southern Circle, 100, 101 space, 13, 15, 51, 67, 87, 90, 93, 119, 121, 131, 139–155, 161–166, 170–174, 184, 185, 193, 197, 235 Spain, 49, 64–65, 70, 78, 110–111, 223 spatial analysis, 212 spiritual, 9, 12–13, 31, 33–34, 37, 63, 66, 120, 122, 127, 128, 130, 131, 134, 136, 142–143, 161, 166, 167, 171, 173, 183, 233, 235, 237, 239 spirituality, 122, 161, 173 spruce, 20, 23, 24, 110, 125, 129, 194, 196–206, 208–209, 218–219 stakeholders, 67, 70, 72, 88 St Andrew Undershaft, 109 state, 17, 22, 30, 31, 34, 36, 46, 54, 64, 65, 72, 82, 88–90, 125, 130, 142, 148, 151, 153–155, 160, 166, 171, 173, 180, 197, 212, 223, 225, 235–237 Stone Age, 15, 16, 108–109, 111, 112, 114, 115, 127, 134, 143, 162, 197, 221 Stonehenge, 100–102 Stukeley, 101 Sturm und Drang, 6 sublime, 6, 9, 120, 125, 127, 131, 173

Index sustainability, 61, 81, 165, 225 sustainable, 7, 8, 67, 71–72, 161, 235, 237, 239 development, 88, 238 forest management, 80, 81, 84, 238–239 Sweden, 17, 21, 57, 63, 77, 87, 110, 193–210, 217, 218, 220–222, 237 Switzerland, 21–23, 35, 77, 130 symbolism, 5, 49, 50, 110, 120, 126, 127, 130–136, 151, 168 symbols, 4, 8, 19, 30, 70, 72, 99–111, 114–116, 119–129, 132–136, 150, 160, 163, 168, 169, 184, 205–207, 235 T Tacitus, C., 6 technology, 16, 17, 23, 62, 63, 122, 193, 237 temperate zone, 15, 16 temple, 100, 106, 108, 111, 112, 115, 134 The Dry Tree, 121–122, 204 The Golden Bough, 110, 123, 134, 171 The Great Transition, 15, 16 the Netherlands, 13–14, 77, 78, 81, 87, 130, 217, 221 theophany, 99, 106, 109, 115, 116 The Wanderers, 9, 128 thunder, 107, 108, 112 thunder gods, 4, 7, 99, 103, 105–109, 115, 126 thunderstone, 4, 108, 115 Tilia cordata, 196 timber, 3–9, 14, 17–23, 41, 44–46, 52–54, 56, 62, 66, 76, 78, 79, 99, 101–103, 105, 125, 134, 135, 143, 146, 147, 160, 166, 194, 196, 198, 200, 202–208, 235, 237–239 circles, 100–104, 115 line, 222 production, 20, 57, 63, 67, 69–71, 75, 79–83, 88, 181, 214, 222, 223 time, 4, 11, 29, 41, 61, 78, 87, 100, 120, 139, 162, 179, 193, 213, 233 Tiwaz, 107, 108 tools, 4–5, 16, 100, 101, 105, 109, 112, 125, 126, 196, 212, 238 topography, 186, 195, 204, 206, 214 topophilia, 174 tourism, 67, 91, 187

Index tradition, 8, 29–31, 34, 51, 61–72, 78, 79, 83, 87, 102, 107, 110, 111, 122–124, 131–132, 135, 143, 151–152, 166, 169, 184, 186, 217, 221, 222, 225, 235 tree cults, 105–106, 160, 220 Tree of Knowledge, 6, 122 tree species, 14, 20–24, 164, 165, 168, 193, 194, 196–198, 201–205, 208, 211, 224, 237 U Uccello, 122, 123 Ulmus glabra, 21, 196 uncivilized, 142, 234, 235 underworld, 99, 106, 108 United Kingdom, 65–67, 77, 78, 223 urban areas, 67, 79, 81, 91, 93, 225 utility, 30–32, 180, 237 value, 31 V values, 20, 31, 34, 52, 63, 70, 72, 79–81, 91, 92, 111, 112, 115, 124–126, 132, 139, 161, 183, 184, 187, 192, 195, 198, 202, 205, 233–239 cultural, 64, 150, 194, 209 recreational, 155, 223, 225 social, 68, 69, 87, 194, 209, 237 symbolic, 111, 132, 150 vegetation, 12–16, 19, 21, 23, 106, 111, 115, 123, 184, 187, 211, 216, 225 natural, 13, 15, 20, 22, 196–197, 214, 218 view, 5, 9, 13, 14, 23, 31, 32, 37, 64, 66, 76, 79–82, 84, 105, 120, 128–130, 132, 144, 147, 163, 167, 170, 184–186, 206, 208, 209, 214–216, 219, 224, 235–237 visit, 50, 56, 88–91, 93, 183, 184, 235

249 visual, 64, 100, 131, 132, 144, 164, 185, 211–226 landscape analysis, 213, 214 perception, 187, 212 Vitruvius, 110, 124 votive, 101–103, 112, 115 W Wales, 5, 14, 100, 109, 125, 142, 152, 221, 222, 237 walnut, 164 war, 7, 8, 17–19, 22, 54, 56, 57 well-being, 87, 93, 235 Wild cherry, 198 wilderness, 9, 11–24, 36, 123, 125, 166, 167, 173, 180, 235 wooden idol, 105, 108 Woodhenge, 100, 101 woodland, 12, 15, 16, 20, 21, 42, 45, 47, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 63, 68, 126, 127, 142, 145–147, 152–154, 161, 164, 166, 183, 193–210, 217, 221–223 wood-pasture, 16, 21, 52–56, 220, 222 wych-elm, 21 X xenophobia, 148, 168 xylophobia, 144 Y Yahweh, 106, 115 Z Zarathustra, 35, 36, 38 Zeus, 105, 107, 109, 111, 112, 115, 126, 180