They were wildly successful. Many rare

species of plants had returned, seemingly out

of nowhere. Soil carbon was building up, to say

nothing of the carbon stored in the living trees.

Rocky studied the trees carefully. One

shouldn’t hope for an Arthonia Thoriana, of

course, but with any luck she might spot a

Pyrenula Hibernica or an Ussnea Articulata.

But after two days of searching, she still had

no luck.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks.

She’d spotted a vine that shouldn’t be here.

Amphicarpaea bracteata, by the looks of it.

American hog peanut.

On an English hillside. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

With a large side helping of No Eff ing Way.

The thing hadn’t come here by itself. Someone

must have planted it here, knowing these

plants could spread like wildf ire. Knowing that

an infestation of an invasive nitrogen-f ixer

like this could end the protected status of RFP

#13.

Who, Rocky wondered, had done this? And

why? The hog peanut was often used in food

forests. But food foresters tended to respect

wild nature - including the recently rewilded.

Who then?

She meticulously uprooted every vine she

could f ind, careful to disturb the soil as little

as possible.

‘A shame,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Those

could have made a decent meal for someone,

you know.’

She turned to see Daniel, an old farmer from

the village. They’d never talked much – he

wasn’t the talkative type. Spent his days in the

tavern bleakly staring into his drink.

But now he spoke.

‘All this used to be my land, you know? Well,

my dad’s, but I was to inherit it. Good pasture.

But then the government suddenly decided

they wanted a forest, didn’t they? And now

I’m...’

‘Daniel Mathers,’ Rocky said, ‘I arrest you for

destroying an off icial carbon sink.’

‘Ooh, destroy, eh? I merely added a plant. Good

nitrogen-f ixer, at that.’

‘A forest is a system, Daniel,’ Rocky answered.

‘You can’t just go adding invasive species.

Now, are you coming quietly?’ she fumbled for

her taser. Never in all her f ive years as a forest

warden had she even had to threaten someone

with it, and now -

now it turned out that Daniel had brought a

sawn-off shotgun. An ancient thing, but still

very, very functional.

And when the sun went down over RFP#13

its last rays touched the motionless f igure of

Rocky Bannerjee. Her eyes were f ixed on a

Pyrenula Hibernica that would unfortunately

go unreported, as the Year of Dying had racked

up another tally mark.

Thijs Goverde

Thijs Goverde is a writer of childrens books Climate change and other

sustainability issues have been central to his work since 2010 Since 2017 he has

also been planting and tending a 1 hectare food forest

wwwthijsgoverdenl

schrijversvoortoekomstnl

Thijs

Goverde