Bok:978 94 007 1150 1 PDF

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
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Eva Ritter • Dainis Dauksta
Editors
New Perspectives on People

and Forests
Editors
Eva Ritter Dainis Dauksta
Department of Civil Engineering Cefn Coch
Aalborg University Builth Wells
Sohngaardsholmsvej 57 Powys
9000 Aalborg Wales LD2 3PR
Denmark UK
er@civil.aau.dk dainis@red5wood.com
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
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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 land-
scapes 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 conversa-
tion 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 dif-
ferent 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 relation-
ships 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
vi Preface
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 land-
scapes. 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 hunter-
gatherer 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 soci-
ety 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 some-
times been exploited by extreme national romantic political movements to justify
nationalistic ideas and actions. However, it illustrates the strength that these rather
Preface vii
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 land-
scapes. 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 for-
est 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 planta-
tions, 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
viii Preface
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 deter-
mines many rules and rights of forest use. Examples given in the four chapters
reach from medieval times to recent developments in forest planning and manage-
ment. 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 hunt-
ing, 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 com-
mon use; indeed, the English word “forest” historically implied aristocratic owner-
ship. 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 experi-
encing 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 sym-
bolic 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 six-
teenth 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
Preface ix
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 differ-
ent 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 indi-
vidual 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 land-
scapes 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 charac-
teristics 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 land-
scapes; 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............................... 3

Dainis Dauksta
2 Forests in Landscapes – The Myth of Untouched Wilderness............. 11

Eva Ritter
3 Overcoming Physicophobia – Forests as the Sacred Source

of Our Human Origins............................................................................ 29
Roy Jackson
Part II
4 Royal Forests – Hunting and Other Forest Use

in Medieval England................................................................................ 41
Della Hooke
5 Forests as Commons – Changing Traditions

and Governance in Europe...................................................................... 61
Christopher Short
6 New Forest Owners – Small-Scale Forestry and Changes

in Forest Ownership................................................................................. 75
Áine Ní Dhubháin
7 Forests and Recreation – New Functions of Afforestation

as Seen in Denmark................................................................................. 87
Carla K. Smink
xi
xii Contents
Part III
8 From Post to Pillar – The Development and Persistence

of an Arboreal Metaphor........................................................................ 99
Dainis Dauksta
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 land-
scape 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 soft-
woods in the built environment. Project work has included the design of laminating
processes for window manufacture using radio frequency curing, design and manu-
facture 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 unem-
ployment (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 exami-
nation 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.
xiii
xiv 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 pub-
lished numerous books on early medieval landscape history and on pre-Conquest
charters as sources of landscape evidence; her most recent book is Trees in Anglo-
Saxon 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 inter-
ests 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.
About the Authors xv
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 ecol-
ogy 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 inter-
national 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 ecologi-
cal approach, especially in the areas of collaborative and multi-objective land man-
agement. 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
marten.aronsson@skogsstyrelsen.se
Dainis Dauksta
Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales LD2 3PR, UK
dainis@red5wood.com
Carl J. Griffin
School of Geography, Archaeology and Palaeoecology, Queen’s University
Belfast, Belfast BT7 1NN, Northern Ireland, UK
carl.griffin@qub.ac.uk
Kirsten Krogh Hansen
Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University,
Fibigerstraede 13, 9220 Aalborg East, Denmark
kkh@plan.aau.dk
Della Hooke
University of Birmingham, 91 Oakfield Road, Selly Park,
B29 7HL Birmingham, UK
d.hooke.1@bham.ac.uk
Roy Jackson
Department of Humanities, University of Gloucestershire, Swindon Road,
GL50 4AZ, Cheltenham, UK
rjackson@glos.ac.uk
Owain Jones
Countryside and Community Research Institute, University of Gloucestershire,
Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Langlevens, Gloucester, UK
owain.jones@uwe.ac.uk
xvii
xviii Contributors
Áine Ní Dhubháin
Agriculture and Food Science Centre, School of Agriculture, Food Science
and Veterinary Medicine, UCD Dublin, Belfield, Dublin 4, Ireland
aine.nidhubhain@ucd.ie
Hanna Byskov Ovesen
Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13,
9220 Aalborg East, Denmark
hanna.byskov.ovesen@gmail.com
Eva Ritter
Department of Civil Engineering, Aalborg University, Sohngaardsholmsvej 57,
9000 Aalborg, Denmark
er@civil.aau.dk
Christopher Short
Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Longlevens, Gloucester, UK
cshort@glos.ac.uk
Carla K. Smink
Department of Development and Planning, Aalborg University, Fibigerstraede 13,
9220 Aalborg East, Denmark
carla@plan.aau.dk
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 prin-
cipal agent of disturbance in three great phases; as hunter-gatherer, as agricultural-
ist 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 (*)
e-mail: dainis@red5wood.com
E. Ritter and D. Dauksta (eds.), New Perspectives on People and Forests, World Forests 9, 3
DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1_1, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011
4 D. Dauksta
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 geographi-
cally 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 thunder-
weapon was itself an object of worship and veneration. Stone axes were some-
times 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 suc-
ceeded in producing coke suitable for iron smelting by emulating the process of
charcoal making. He heated coal on a fireproof hearth whilst limiting oxygen avail-
ability (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
1 Introduction – The Crooked Timber of Humanity 5
scientific culture gave society the tools for increased mechanisation and accelerated
change; unleashing the Industrial Revolution and bringing factory-based mass pro-
duction 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 popula-
tion (7.48 to 13.9 million from 1770 to 1831) with concomitant population move-
ment 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 real-
ity wrought massive changes on the intellectual landscape of Europe, precipitating
a vociferous backlash (Mali 2003). British and German thinkers reacted passion-
ately 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 forg-
ing 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.
6 D. Dauksta
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 encounter-
ing 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 existential-
ists (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 oppo-
site 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 universal-
ism, 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
(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 recur-
rent 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 cre-
ative, you must belong somewhere. You need to be at home in a free society gener-
ated by natural forces, moulded by its environment, climate and history with exile
bringing the noble pain of nostalgia. (Berlin 1976). Nostalgia is an essential ingredi-
ent 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 peri-
odically 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, over-
exploited 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,
8 D. Dauksta
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 modernis-
ing Mother Russia by bringing European art and architecture to St. Petersburg
and in doing so opening Russian culture to Classical and Enlightenment themes
(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 domestica-
tion 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 counter-
balance 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
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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
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Brüggemeier F, Cioc M, Zeller T (2005) How green were the Nazis?: nature, environment, and
nation in the third Reich. Ohio University Press, Athens
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London
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northern bronze age. J. M. Dent & Son Ltd, London
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New York
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Jackson DL (2006) The wanderers and critical realism in nineteenth-century Russian painting.
Manchester University Press, Manchester
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MacGregor N (2010b) Olduvai handaxe. BBC, London
Mali J (2003) Isiah Berlin’s enlightenment and counter-enlightenment. American Philosophical
Society, Philadelphia
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Percy J (1864) Metallurgy. John Murray, London
Prickett S (1981) The romantics. Methuen & Co, London
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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 (*)
e-mail: er@civil.aau.dk
12 E. Ritter
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 cli-
matic 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
2 Forests in Landscapes – The Myth of Untouched Wilderness 13
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 veg-
etation by preventing trees from colonising certain sites, by gathering plants, set-
ting 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 pre-
agricultural 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 graz-
ing 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 evi-
dence 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
14 E. Ritter
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 presum-
ably 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 com-
munities. Practices such as foliage or bark-stripping from elm trees and the cre-
ation 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 disease-
susceptible ecotypes of elm on the island and the limit of the range of the distribu-
tion of the pathogen. They emphasize that presumably a combination of human
impact and the disease was necessary for a permanent decline in local elm popula-
tions. 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 settle-
ments already prior to the elm decline (Edwards 1988). The alteration of vegeta-
tion, 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
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 popu-
lation 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 signifi-
cance for food procurement, land use and settlement (Edwards 1988). The develop-
ment 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 agri-
cultural 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 indi-
cate 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 pol-
len phase. Low intensity forest exploitation and farming characterized the earliest
agricultural activity in northwest Europe rather than the higher intensity of wood-
land 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.
16 E. Ritter
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 agri-
cultural 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 ecologi-
cal 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 techno-
logical 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 land-
scape. The different levels are characterised by an increasing number of persons
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 restora-
tion was only possible during periods of non-exploitation. Farming in permanent
fields during early agricultural use with manure application allowed about 50 per-
sons 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 introduc-
tion 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 conse-
quences 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 regu-
lations 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
18 E. Ritter
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 plough-
share 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 non-
wood 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 devel-
oped, 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 resis-
tant 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
as precursors to “national parks”; vestiges of pristine wilderness. However, already

by the fifth century BC wood shortages had become so acute that religious sanc-
tions 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 post-
classical era, exploitation continued and even increased. Shipbuilding remained
the greatest consumer of timber and later became a political factor from the mid-
seventeenth 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 des-
tiny 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, character-
ised 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.
20 E. Ritter
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 man-
agement (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 espe-
cially 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 man-
agement that started with industrialization in the eighteenth century. However, the
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 wind-
blown 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 excel-
sior), 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 wood-
pasture 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 collec-
tion 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
22 E. Ritter
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 popula-
tion 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 sur-
vived because they were protected for hunting. This protection continued with the
settlement of German immigrants, in contrast to the south of France where defor-
estation 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 microcli-
mate 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 moun-
tainous 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
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 illus-
trates 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 popu-
lation 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 dur-
ing 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%
24 E. Ritter
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 fre-
quency 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 exploi-
tation 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 deforesta-
tion became a dominant action in most European countries throughout their history.
Furthermore, human beings contributed to the extension of species ranges by intro-
ducing 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 ecosys-
tems 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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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 philoso-
phers who, although themselves products of the Enlightenment, questioned its ide-
als 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 scien-
tific 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
1
that Japanese traditional culture stills shows a tendency for “physicophily”.

R. Jackson (*)
Department of Humanities, University of Gloucestershire, Swindon Road, GL50 4AZ
Cheltenham, UK
e-mail: rjackson@glos.ac.uk
30 R. Jackson
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 cow-
ardly, 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
3 Overcoming Physicophobia – Forests as the Sacred Source of Our Human Origins 31
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 comprehen-
sive 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
2
The case for Rousseau as an enemy of the Enlightenment is made in Garrard (2003).
3
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 obvi-
ous 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.
32 R. Jackson
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, mean-
spirited, 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 soci-
ety. 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
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 occupa-
tion 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,
34 R. Jackson
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-conscious-
ness, 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 post-
modern 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
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 citi-
zens 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 reli-
giosity 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 over-
whelming 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
36 R. Jackson
to one’s toes … Everything is in the highest degree involuntary but takes place as in a

tempest of a feeling of freedom, of absoluteness, of power, of divinity.
(Nietzsche 1979, p 102–103)
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 mean-
ing 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).

5
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 unre-
strained 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
38 R. Jackson
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 destroy-
ing 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, typi-
cally 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, regard-
less 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 lim-
iting 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 con-
quest 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 imply-
ing “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 imme-
diately 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: d.hooke.1@bham.ac.uk
42 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 “guard-
ing 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 approx-
imately 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
4 Royal Forests – Hunting and Other Forest Use in Medieval England 43
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 wide-
spread 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
44 D. Hooke
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 thir-
teenth 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 purpres-
ture – the felling of large trees, the removal of trees for cultivation and encroach-
ment 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.
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 con-
tempt 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 pun-
ished: 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 see-
ing 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 suf-
fering 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 wood-
land, was managed, primarily providing timber for repairing castles and houses,
fitting ships and making weapons for the army. It might be coppiced for charcoal
46 D. Hooke
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), pro-
viding 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; nei-
ther 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
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 enclo-
sure”, 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 substan-
tial 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 iden-
tified 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 concentra-
tions 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 deer-
fences” (Liebermann 1903).
48 D. Hooke
Fig. 4.2 Pre-Conquest haga features in the area of Malvern Forest, Worcestershire (from
Hooke 1989)
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 hunt-
ing 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).
50 D. Hooke
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 eleventh-
century 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 oth-
erworldy realm of Annwn, the Celtic Hades. Here he came across a pack of snow-
white 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 Baillie-
Grohman 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 foun-
tain 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
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 phan-
tom hounds:
Ða huntes wæron swarte and micele and ladlice, and here hundes ealle swarte and brad-
egede 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
52 D. Hooke
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 beech-
mast 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 wood-
land. In place-names, such woodland is likely to have been indicated by the com-
mon 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 (Anglo-
Saxon 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 com-
mon 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).
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 con-
sisted of dead wood, although the tenants of one vill, Hordley, who were respon-
sible 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.
54 D. Hooke
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 indus-
try. 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 for-
ests 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 noth-
ing 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
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)
56 D. Hooke
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 promi-
nence, 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 trans-
ported 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.
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 recre-
ation. 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)
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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 dif-
ferent 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 gover-
nance 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 owner-
ship. 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. Unhelp-
fully, within the literature both might be abbreviated and referred to as a “CPR”,
C. Short (*)
Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Langlevens Gloucester, UK
e-mail: cshort@glos.ac.uk
62 C. Short
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 associ-
ated. 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 commu-
nities, 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 recog-
nized 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 associ-
ated with different user groups and are managed under a mixture of property rights
regimes. These developments result in presence of complex or multiple use com-
mons 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.
5 Forests as Commons – Changing Traditions and Governance in Europe 63
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 conti-
nent 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 tim-
ber 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.
64 C. Short
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 recog-
nize that in a different part of the Alps the twentieth century witnessed the estab-
lishment 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
Navarre on the western border with France, where 44% of the land remains com-
munal property, largely as a result of the arrangements with the Spanish govern-
ment 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 funda-
mental 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 injus-
tices but to maintain a balance” within a fragile society (Lana Berasain 2008). In
his detailed analysis of the changes during the eighteenth and nineteenth centu-
ries he concludes that commons persisted because of the social link to the com-
munity. 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 concen-
tration 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
66 C. Short
production in eighteenth-century England than has been recognized by many histo-

rians 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 pro-
tected 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 func-
tions 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 designa-
tions 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.
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 identi-
fies 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 recre-
ational space) and new concerns (about the environment) which indicates that forests
are increasingly complex with a range of objectives associated with decision-
making. 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
68 C. Short
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 land-
scapes can impact on rural communities economically, socially and environmen-
tally 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 recre-
ation, 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
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 com-
mons 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 multi-
functional areas that have to cover issues concerning production (of timber), protec-
tion (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 com-
mons, 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-ecologi-
cal system (Olsson et al. 2004) or human ecosystems (Likens 1992). These recog-
nise 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
70 C. Short
establish the scope of the required changes. As Libecap (1995) indicates, adjust-
ment 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 disempow-
ered 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 discus-
sions, 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 expo-
sure 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 fer-
tilizers), 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 sum-
mer grazing of cattle or others in mountain communities once the link between
these customs and practices has been made to ecological need. This would neces-
sitate the move of such previously ordinary everyday practices to become more
symbolic.
As suggested here the adaptive management approach moves away from central-
ized rules and regulations that are exclusively developed by technical experts and
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, nota-
bly 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 appro-
priate 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 manage-
ment for biodiversity conservation”. The project aimed to develop these guidelines
using an ecosystem approach, an approach that emphasize the need for participa-
tion 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 govern-
mental 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
72 C. Short
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 tradi-
tion, 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.
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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 socio-
demographic 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 impor-
tant 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 invest-
ment 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 fami-
lies. 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 objec-
tives other than timber production” (Helms 1998). However, no definition of small-
scale 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: aine.nidhubhain@ucd.ie
76 Á. Ní Dhubháin
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) pre-
sented a definition of small-scale farm forestry for Austria as “a private forest hold-
ing 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 com-
parable 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. Twenty-
three 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 three-
quarters 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 fami-
lies 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,
1
United Kingdom.
6 New Forest Owners – Small-Scale Forestry and Changes in Forest Ownership 77
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 affor-
estation 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
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) simi-
larly found that among the forest owners they surveyed in eight European coun-
tries,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.

2
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 incen-
tives, 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 for-
estry 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 owner-
ship 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.
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 recre-
ationalists. 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 coun-
tries 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 large-
scale 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 deci-
sions made.
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 con-
tribute to rural development. However, the other view, which is increasingly being
recognized, is that the motivations and objectives of ownership differ among small-
scale 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 opportu-
nities 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 fragmenta-
tion has also been noted in Finland, the Netherlands and France. Whether fragmen-
tation 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.
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 empiri-
cal 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 pri-
vate 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
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 signifi-
cantly 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 har-
vest 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 exten-
sion 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.
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 objec-
tives 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 manage-
ment 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.
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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 activi-
ties 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 (*)
e-mail: carla@plan.aau.dk
88 C.K. Smink
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 sus-
tainable 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 chap-
ter, 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 contrib-
ute 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.
7 Forests and Recreation – New Functions of Afforestation as Seen in Denmark 89
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 popu-
lar 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 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50
Fig. 7.1 Reasons to visit the forest (in relative numbers) (based on Jensen 1998, cited in Nilsson
2002, p 37)
90 C.K. Smink
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 resi-
dence 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 con-
clusion: “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.
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 attrac-
tive 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 recre-
ation (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 car-
ried 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
92 C.K. Smink
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 • M
aintenance and restoration of old school and church paths that
forest 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 • A comprehensive network of trails should be established in the
in the forest 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
Types of trees • 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)
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
• 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 follow-
up 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 require-
ments 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 socio-
economically 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
94 C.K. Smink
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 regu-
larly today.
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tation and reforestation in the context of UNFCCC. http://www.mcpfe.org/documents/meetings/
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Danish Forest and Nature Agency (2000) Evaluering af den gennemførte skovrejsning 1989–1998.
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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,
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Heil GW, Muys M, Hansen K (2007) Environmental effects of afforestation in North-Western
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Jensen FS (2001) Friluftsliv i de danske skove – udviklingen fra 70’erne til 90’erne. http://www.
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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, cli-
mate, 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 illu-
minate 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 (*)
100 D. Dauksta
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 identifi-
able 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 sec-
ond 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 dura-
bility 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
8 From Post to Pillar – The Development and Persistence of an Arboreal Metaphor 101
or grout bond would be considered sufficient. Therefore, the carpentry-style techni-

cal 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 orien-
tations 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 midsum-
mer 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 (Parker-
Pearson 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
102 D. Dauksta
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 depos-
ited 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 scat-
tered 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 con-
jecture as to whether the rituals associated with timber circles continued through
the intervening period, or whether Navan represented a revival of ancient tradi-
tion 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.
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 diffu-
sion 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 man-
made 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 pro-
cess 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 espe-
cially venerated and linked to calendrical celebrations such as Midsummer. Many
timber circle sites appear to have been burnt down in huge celebratory conflagra-
tions. Rituals centred upon wooden posts appear to have been carried out by dif-
ferent 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 depic-
tion 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 associ-
ated with Baal worship (Fig. 8.1).
104 D. Dauksta
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 analy-
sis 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
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 contempo-
rary 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” (Ellis-
Davidson 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 millen-
nia 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, pos-
sibly 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
106 D. Dauksta
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, sug-
gesting 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 indestructi-
bility, 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 inter-
pretation 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).
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
108 D. Dauksta
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 sugges-
tion that this particular wooden idol was an anthropomorphic post, but it is a rea-
sonable 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 unpopu-
lar, to utilize isolationism in the context of thunder gods seems to be an act of con-
trariness 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).
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 theo-
phany 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 repre-
sented 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).
110 D. Dauksta
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, drink-
ing, singing and dancing) all hold true today. Frazer also recounts the tradi-
tional 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
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 tradi-
tions 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 gran-
deur 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 prag-
matic 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 flut-
ing (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.
112 D. Dauksta
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 shap-
ing 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 wor-
shipped 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 jeal-
ousy. 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.
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)

114 D. Dauksta
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 rea-
lised 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)

8.5 Conclusion
Renewal emerges as a principal motif in the multiple layers of metaphor encoun-

tered 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 follow-
ing 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 demon-
strates 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
116 D. Dauksta
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.
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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 num-
ber 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 (*)
120 D. Dauksta
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 nor-
mal; we view forests, fields, mountains, rivers, sky, sea as essential sensual ingredi-
ents 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 medi-
eval 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 narra-
tive. 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 sym-
bols. 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.
9 Landscape Painting and the Forest 121
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 master-
piece 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 rep-
resentation 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 spe-
cial 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 par-
ticularly 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
122 D. Dauksta
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 enig-
matic 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 mathemati-
cal 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 land-
scape, 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
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 for-
est 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 vanishing-
point 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 land-
scape 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 high-
lighted 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 inter-
ested 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 human-
headed 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 rela-
tionship to forests and their products, both of the aristocratic class and the peasants.
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 for-
aging 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 fire-
wood whilst a mule carries away a load of faggot-wood. A farmyard in the fore-
ground 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 previ-
ously. 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 pae-
setto 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
126 D. Dauksta
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 light-
ning 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 portrait-
ist….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
walking; it is quite busy. But most noticeable of all is that this is an entirely man-
made 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 idiosyn-
cratic 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 surround-
ing 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
128 D. Dauksta
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 iden-
tity (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 peo-
ple. 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 suf-
ficient to protect them from the conflagration; mature Pinus sylvestris can survive
in clumps and fire actually may aid seed release (Goldammer and Furyae 1996).
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 mas-
sive 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.
130 D. Dauksta
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 progres-
sive 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 transcen-
dental 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 intro-
duced, 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
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 theoso-
phist Mathieu Schoenmaekers whose thoughts had coalesced into a “positive mysti-
cism”, 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 dia-
logue 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 apoca-
lypse 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 paint-
ing 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
132 D. Dauksta
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 sug-
gesting 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 jux-
taposed 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 medieval-
ist, 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 mod-
ern 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 scat-
tered with references to trees, for instance “spring in the grove”, “arbour”,
“lopped boughs”, the latter referring to the cross. In the hymn Vexilla Regis,
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

134 D. Dauksta
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 conif-
erous 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 land-
scape 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 land-
scape 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 experi-
ence 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
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 sug-
gests a tree. Rothko, like so many Romantic artists before him, was consciously
pursuing “dissolution of all matter into a silent, mystical luminosity…….reli-
gious 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 relation-
ship we share with trees and forests making it possible to chart cultural, historical,
philosophical and symbolic themes which reflect societal attitudes at precise
136 D. Dauksta
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 ecol-
ogy 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.
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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: carl.griffin@qub.ac.uk
140 C.J. Griffin
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,
10 Space and Place – Popular Perceptions of Forests 141
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 gen-
erations 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)
142 C.J. Griffin
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 transcenden-
tal 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
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 belong-
ing 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 pas-
sionately 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 under-
stood 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 arable-
pastoral villages made similar threats (Latham 1800). As Keith Snell has shown in
relation to individual’s assertions of local attachment on their gravestones, resi-
dents 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”
144 C.J. Griffin
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 physical-
ity 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 eco-
logical 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 fantas-
tical accounts of forest animals. People also began to frequent wild areas less regu-
larly 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
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 under-
standings of what forests are vary between countries, but there is also a substantial
gap between legal and popular perceptions of forests. Moreover, popular defini-
tions 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 understand-
ing 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 proceed-
ing 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”),
146 C.J. Griffin
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 stand-
ing 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 liter-
ally 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 commer-
cial 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 more-
famed 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
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 under-
stood 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 com-
mercially 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
148 C.J. Griffin
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, sparsely-
treed 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 main-
tain 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 centu-
ries, 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 enclo-
sures 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
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 bio-
physical 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 pau-
perism”, 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 disor-
derly 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 war-
dens, 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 offi-
cers 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
150 C.J. Griffin
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 usu-
ally 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 devas-
tated. 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 neigh-
bouring 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 fundamen-
tally embedded in capitalistic property rights, eluded commodification. Through
such uses trees offered a way in which the poor could suffer capitalism. As the
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 impor-
tantly – 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 coun-
tryside” (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 over-
hunting 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 contem-
poraries 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
152 C.J. Griffin
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 encour-
aged 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 con-
flict. 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
enclosure, the elimination of common rights and land clearance on the Dorset-
Wiltshire 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 legisla-
tion 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 sylvicul-
tural 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 witness-
ing 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 dwell-
ers 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 moder-
nity… [which] made possible the creation of new rules of management and plan-
ning 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).
154 C.J. Griffin
10.4 Conclusions: Persistences and Reimaginings
Whilst this chapter has been primarily concerned with changing historical-geo-
graphical 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 dan-
gerous 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 per-
ceptions 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 post-
1975 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 regener-
ate. 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 mean-
ings 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
Europe. The implication being that even conservationist discourses are underwrit-
ten 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 some-
thing 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 danger-
ous places have partially mitigated the success of “community” forests (Kitchen
et al. 2006, p 840).
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Oxford
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Forests and chases of England and Wales c.1500-c.1850: towards a survey and analysis.
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Geogr 37:1–15
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 num-
ber 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 (*)
Oxstalls Campus, Oxstalls Lane, Longlevens, Gloucester, UK
e-mail: owain.jones@uwe.ac.uk
160 O. Jones
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 articu-
late practices and memories of home and other forms of identity and belonging.
Forests create powerful landscapes which can enclose the person, enclose whole com-
munities, 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 entan-
gled in the most bitter disputes about identity, nationhood and homeland.
Forests are of course made up of individual trees, yet they are not mere popula-
tions 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 script-
able in relational, cultural, economic, material and non-material relational arrange-
ments. Beyond individual identity there are differing forms of collective identity
11 Materiality and Identity – Forests, Trees and Senses of Belonging 161
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 perfor-
mance 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 inter-
linking 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 suc-
cessful, 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 for-
ests. 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 travel-
ler 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)
162 O. Jones
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 monu-
ments, 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 orientat-
ing 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, connect-
ing 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 signifi-
cance in orientating us in the world” and why “we connect more fully and sensi-
tively 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).
These various associations between human and tree embodiment are covered in
depth elsewhere (e.g., Perlman 1994). Compositions of trees in landscapes are accom-
panied 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 sym-
bols 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 repre-
sent the processes of (relational) life, and it is in such processes that the driving agen-
cies 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, engag-
ing, responding, exchanging, making, using, remembering and knowing. This pro-
cess-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 land-
scape 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 com-
positions create differing examples of “local distinctiveness”. Different types of
leaf flicker in different ways in different wind speeds. In sunshine, ash trees seem
164 O. Jones
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 percep-
tion”. “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 exempli-
fied 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 pro-
duce 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 some-
how 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.
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 intercon-
nected 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 for-
ests 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 fig-
ures 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 interpene-
trate. 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 conscious-
ness of connected self.
166 O. Jones
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; milita-
ristic 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 utilitar-
ian 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 genera-
tions 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 – some-
thing 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 charac-
ter of the nation; “hearts of oak” (see also Tsouvalis 2000).
There is a great tradition of British landscape writing which places treed land-
scapes 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)
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 contribut-
ing 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 neces-
sary economic foundation for independent state. Furthermore, the forests had an important
spiritual significance. Finnish artists who had studied abroad in the late 19th century dis-
covered 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 centu-
ries, 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 com-
mercial 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 “wilder-
ness” 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 land-
scapes. In the UK, twentieth-century modernist, industrial forestry bought large
areas of conifer forest plantations to many upland areas. There were seen as chal-
lenges to existing authentic identities of nationality and landscapes and were deeply
168 O. Jones
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 indi-
viduality 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 rec-
ognized 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
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 agricul-
ture. 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, mili-
tary 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 pro-
vide 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, promi-
nent 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 decon-
structed 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 cap-
tured by Anita Leslie (1981) in her memoir of growing up in Ireland.
170 O. Jones
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
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 institu-
tions of the West – religion, law, family, city – originally established themselves in opposi-
tion 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 ideal-
ized 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 periph-
ery and exclusion where all manner of grotesque peoples (Sibley 1995) were pres-
ent 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.
172 O. Jones
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)
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 moun-
tains 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 uni-
versal 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 proto-
environmentalists 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 iden-
tity 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 high-
lighted 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
174 O. Jones
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 mas-
culinist 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 mascu-
linist 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 dif-
fering 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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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 percep-
tion. 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 land-
scape 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 compli-
cated 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 misunder-
standings 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

e-mail: kkh@plan.aau.dk
180 K.K. Hansen and H.B. Ovesen
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 mean-
ingless or inconsequential to the reader, it is important to include as much as pos-
sible 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 con-
nected 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 produc-
tion (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 inter-
dependent 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.
Table 12.2 Forest definitions as classified by different agencies

Forest definitions Key characteristics References
Forest An area covering more than 0.5 ha with Food and agriculture
trees higher than 5 m and a canopy Organizations of the United
cover of more than 10%, Nations (FAO 2005)
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 FAO 2005
regenerated native species.
Frontier forest Ecologically intact, native forest World Resources Institute
(Islam et al. 2009)
Type of Forest Many different types of forests. Darst et al. 2003 (USGS)
The type is defined according
to canopy species, hydrological
and soil conditions
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 per-
centage 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
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 aware-
ness 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
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 experi-
ence. 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 describ-
ing a subject of symbolic importance, for instance tales linked to certain trees, natu-
ral phenomena or cultural marks (Oustrup 2007a). The forest experience is for the
emotional founded created through a cognitive understanding of the sensuous expe-
riences 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 possi-
ble, 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
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 histori-
cal 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 appear-
ance 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 regard-
ing 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 philoso-
phy all were relevant in the study of the surrounding environment. With this new
philosophy, the Romanticism was introduced throughout Europe; greatly influenc-
ing 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 quanti-
tative 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.
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 defini-
tions 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 classifica-
tions, 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)
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 habi-
tat. 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 influ-
ence 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 per-
ceived, 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 comprehen-
sion 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 interpreta-
tion of the landscape, but a more profound understanding is influenced by the
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 influ-
enced 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 land-
scape 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 litera-
ture, so that the research is not based on incorrect assumptions and links compre-
hensions that cannot be linked.
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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 har-
bours 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: marten.aronsson@skogsstyrelsen.se
E. Ritter (*)
194 M. Aronsson and E. Ritter
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 South-
Swedish 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 cattle-
breeding 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 con-
tained 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 man-
aged 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.
13 Tree Use and Landscape Changes – Development of a Woodland Area in Sweden 195
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 medi-
eval 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.

1
The description of forests in Stora Bråbo in 1766.

2
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 trans-
lated 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 qual-
ity 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)
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-and-
burn. 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 farm-
ers, 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 succes-
sively 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
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, some-
times debarking, but anyway seriously hampering re-growth of young trees. Over
time, only a few scattered birches, pines, junipers, spruces and alders survived in
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 deliber-
ately 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
r öjningsgödslingseffekt (Romell 1957). Rye and turnips were the most common
crops. Harvests were mostly bigger than on permanent arable fields; rye from burn-
beaten 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 decidu-
ous trees. Use of leaf-fodder influenced distribution and even local survival of tree
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 bio-
diversity 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, pos-
sibly 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 decidu-
ous 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,
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 pol-
len 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 twenti-
eth century. Furthermore, three new tree species entered the area; spruce, beech
(Fagus sylvatica) and hornbeam (Carpinus betulus). Their appearance was only tem-
porary 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 condi-
tions 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
birch-bark). Moreover, there was forest enough for burn-beating of 3–4 so-called skäp-
peland 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 spe-
cies 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 impor-
tant 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 setting-
aside 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 scat-
tered 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.
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 burn-
beating land” (Rietz 1867). It provides a substrate capable of being grazed, con-
verted 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 beskrivn-
ing) 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 differen-
tiates 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 spruce-
forest 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
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. Slash-
and-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)
4
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.
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 repre-
sent 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
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 land-
scape 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 agricul-
ture and cattle-breeding.
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 inter-
viewees 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 plan-
tations 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
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 plant-
ings 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 over-
growing. Living birches and junipers are still rather common and indicate that natu-
ral 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 biodi-
versity 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.
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 manage-
ment 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 configu-
ration 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 pat-
terns 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
212 E. Ritter
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, occupa-
tion, 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 ecologi-
cal 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 with-
out 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, pas-
tures 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, configura-
tion, 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).
14 Forest Landscapes in Europe – Visual Characteristics and the Role of Arboriculture 213
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
Spatial Groups of shrubs Number
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, differ-
ent 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 land-
scapes 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 aes-
thetics 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 psy-
chological 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 envi-
ronmental conditions (Walter 1986) and the culture and land use applied by human
beings. Culture comprises all aspects of political systems, economic use of land,
214 E. Ritter
aesthetic preferences and social conventions (Nassauer 1995). The development of

landscapes is therefore related to changes in these cultural aspects. A better under-
standing 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 dis-
cussed 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 evalua-
tion of landscape attributes. Tveit et al. (2006) suggest nine key concepts that only
relate to landscape structures, i.e. physical landscape characteristics. The interpre-
tation of landscape functions that are dependent on the observer’s attitude or back-
ground 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 attri-
butes 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 land-
scape. 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 typi-
cally 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
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.
216 E. Ritter
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 open-
ness 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 struc-
tures 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 drain-
age 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
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 land-
scapes 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.
218 E. Ritter
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 moun-
tains. 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 drain-
age 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 homog-
enous (Meeus 1995). At high altitude and on wet places, birch takes over and
Fig. 14.5 View across the landscape near Yatton, Herefordshire, England. Hedgerows are char-
acteristic 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 land-
scapes 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
220 E. Ritter
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 microcli-
mate (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 culti-
vation 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 for-
ests 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 moun-
tains of east Crete. The term wood-pasture (Latin: silva pastilis) comes from the
Anglo-Saxon, originally describing wooded commons with definite rights to the
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 hedge-
rows, 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 large-
scale 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 rear-
rangement of fields in agriculture, since the beginning of the nineteenth century.
222 E. Ritter
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 mead-
ows 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, build-
ings, 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
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 proac-
tive 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 depopula-
tion 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 acces-
sible 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.
224 E. Ritter
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 devel-
opment throughout history connected to variations in tree use and population den-
sity 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 sig-
nificantly 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 occupa-
tion, 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 manage-

ment and land use changes. Amenity functions of landscapes elements are important
for visual quality, and aesthetic considerations have already become part of the deci-
sion making process in forest management and landscape planning. This includes the
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 frag-
mented 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 aes-
thetic 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 func-
tions for nature conservation and amenity in agricultural landscapes. Being a bor-
derline to the open landscape, the width, physical structure, species composition
and spatial dynamics of forest edges were found to have an influence on their eco-
logical, economical and aesthetic functions, including the presence of solitary trees
in edge zones, dead wood or other cultural and historical features (Fry and Sarlöv-
Herlin 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 long-
term 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
226 E. Ritter
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.
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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 (*)
D. Dauksta
Cefn Coch, Builth Wells, Powys, Wales, LD2 3PR, UK
234 E. Ritter and D. Dauksta
are delineated from the surrounding landscape, especially the agricultural land-
scape. Forests are considered as uncivilized, untamed nature, the waste land; repre-
senting 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 civili-
zation; 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 con-
sumption. 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 amelio-
rate 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 civi-
lization 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
15 Conclusion – Towards a Symbiotic Relationship 235
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 neverthe-
less need the presence and products of forests: Kings and aristocrats who appropri-
ated 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 pro-
vide 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 rela-
tionship 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 hemi-
spheres of our brains work in different modes. Generally speaking, the left can be
associated with rational, lineal, abstract and Classical thought; the right with intui-
tive, non-lineal, concrete and Romantic thought processes. In order to survive in the
forest, humans needed cognitive systems that could cooperate in order to instanta-
neously separate elements of danger from the camouflage of the forest backdrop;
making the difference between finding food or being found as food by other preda-
tors. 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 descrip-
tion 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 sensi-
tivity 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
s ociety (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 pro-
tection. For example, first forest laws were introduced when spiritual or ritual sanc-
tions 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 land-
scape 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 ele-
ments, 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.
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 affor-
estation 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 seques-
tration. 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
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 rec-
ognized and used in forest management. The question is: can we generate prag-
matic 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 indus-
trial 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 asherah, 106, 115

Abraham, 103, 122, 142 Ashtoreth, 106, 109, 115
Abrahamic, 105, 115 aspen, 127, 197, 199, 201, 208
access, 62, 63, 65, 68, 71, 81–83, 89, 92, 93, Attica, 18, 19
153, 209, 210, 236, 238 Austria, 14, 76–79
public, 80 axe, 3–5, 9, 21, 99, 102–109, 111, 112,
accessibility, 93 115–116, 128
adaptive management, 70, 71 axis mundi, 106, 113
Adonis, 180
afforestation, 11, 23, 78, 87–94, 134,
223, 238 B
agrarian capitalism, 66, 139, 149, 151 Baal, 103, 104, 106, 107, 109, 115
agrarian revolution, 5, 234 Baal of Doliché, 103, 104
agricultural land, 16, 20, 22, 77, 219, 234 Baltic countries, 13–14, 135, 197
agricultural societies, 13–15 beech, 20, 21, 47, 52, 63, 125, 143–144, 164,
agriculture, 4, 9, 11, 12, 15–19, 24, 37, 63, 196, 202
67, 78, 80, 128, 142, 145, 181, 182, belonging, 7, 35, 41, 68, 75, 77, 121, 143,
195, 202, 208, 211, 215, 217, 159–174, 184, 199, 233, 237
219–222, 225 benefit, 29, 62, 65, 67–69, 71–72, 75, 81, 84,
alder, 15, 105, 197–199, 203–206, 209 88, 92, 146, 154, 181, 187, 193, 198,
alienation from nature, 31, 32 225, 235, 237
Alnus glutinosa, 197 Betula, 13, 197, 203, 216
Alps, 63–64, 67, 70, 216, 220, 222 biodiversity, 64, 68, 71, 82, 88, 143, 154,
amenity, 69, 79, 82, 83, 154, 166, 187, 205, 165, 184, 194, 201, 205, 209–210, 223,
223–225, 235, 237 236, 237
functions, 80, 224 bioenergy, 82–83
services, 87 biophilia, 161, 174
ancestors, 7, 101, 116, 183 biosphere, 160, 165
Anglo-Saxon, 41, 44, 46–48, 52, 108, birch, 9, 13, 46, 109, 197–206, 208, 209, 216,
220–221 218–219
anthropomorphic, 104–105, 108, 112, 115 Black Act, 149, 153
apple tree, 121, 130, 202, 209 Black Forest, 163, 225
arboriculture, 211–226 Bliesbruck, 102
Arcadia, 125, 126, 170 Blue Rider, 131
architecture, 8–9, 101, 110–112, 115, Blut und Boden, 7, 8
122–123, 127, 162, 238–239 Brâncuşi, 113
Artemis, 123 British Isles, 13–15, 20, 100,
ash, 6–7, 21, 125, 163–164, 196, 197, 109, 221
201, 202 Bronze Age, 195
DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-1150-1, © Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011
242 Index
building, 17–19, 22, 23, 41, 53, 54, 100, composition

109–112, 124–127, 134, 143, 162, 167, forest, 163–164, 208
186, 194, 197, 198, 201, 203, 205, 206, landscape, 163, 237
222, 235, 237–239 concept, 8, 31, 35, 64, 69, 71, 113, 122,
bull, 103, 107, 111, 112 124–126, 142, 211–215, 224
Burnham Beeches, 21 of complexity, 214–215
forest, 46, 145, 179–188
landscape, 125–126, 179–188, 212–214
C of visual scale, 214–215
Caledonian Forest, 167 configuration
camera obscura, 122 landscape, 212–214, 218
Canaanites, 105, 106, 115 conflagration, 102, 103, 112, 115, 128
carbon cycle, 116, 129, 182, 234 conifers, 54, 56, 57, 78, 167–168, 208, 209
carbon sequestration, 68–69, 72, 223, 238 connectivity, 70–71, 80, 99, 104–106, 126,
Carpinus betulus, 202 134, 139, 142–143, 151, 162, 166,
cattle, 52, 53, 56, 66, 70, 149, 193, 194, 213, 237
197–203, 205, 207, 208 conservation, 66, 69, 71, 79, 82, 83, 104–105,
Celtic, 50, 101–103, 105–106, 108, 109, 132, 154–155, 166, 173, 174, 182, 205, 225
134, 161, 238 construction, 7, 18, 19, 44, 62, 69–70,
Central Europe, 19–22, 221 99–102, 104, 111, 124, 160, 161,
certification, 209, 235 165, 167–169, 173, 174, 188, 196,
change, 75–84, 192–210 197, 202–203, 222
charcoal, 4, 13, 16, 19, 21, 45–46, 54, 115, consumers, 19, 235
196, 200, 204, 208, 237 consumption, 4–5, 12, 23, 69, 200, 234, 235
Charlemagne, 17, 108 contradiction, 31, 88, 123–124, 131, 139, 166,
Christ, 37–38, 108, 120–122, 130, 134 170, 233–236
Christian, 5, 36, 37, 50, 103, 105, coppice, 21, 45–46, 143, 154, 181, 237
108–110, 120, 122, 127, 149–150, coppicing, 21, 23, 45–46, 54, 145–147
161, 172 Corylus avellana, 13, 194, 196–198
Christianity, 29, 36–38, 103, 134, cosmic pillar, 99, 106, 109, 113, 114, 134
150, 234 Crab apple, 198, 202, 209
Church, 6, 42, 45, 82, 92, 109, 127, 130, 151, Crown, 45, 54, 66, 121, 122, 129, 131,
152, 234 133–134, 145–149, 180, 199, 203,
civilisation, 29, 120, 170–171 205, 207
civilised, 120, 170 cultivated, 17, 19, 22–23, 42, 52, 181, 184,
civilization, 11, 12, 15, 18, 19, 111, 142, 144, 202, 217–219, 222
170–171, 234, 236 cultivation, 11, 15–18, 43–45, 63, 88, 142,
civilized, 142, 144, 149, 234 167, 171, 199–201, 205, 211,
classical, 5, 6, 8–9, 18, 19, 72, 99, 110–112, 218, 220
122–124, 126, 129, 134, 180, 216, cultural preference theory, 212
234–236
classification, 186, 213
clearance, 12, 13, 15, 17, 18, 23, 45, 63, 145, D
152–153, 165, 167 Daidala, 112, 115
climate, 7, 21, 22, 99, 102, 126, 182, 187, 211, danger, 6, 49, 115–116, 134, 139, 141, 144,
216, 218, 220 148, 154, 155, 170, 172, 236
change, 13, 14, 22, 165, 174, 238 Danish National Forest Programme, 91–93
cognition, 236 Darré, R.W., 7
cognitive systems, 235–236 Dauerwald, 7–8
column, 99, 109–115, 124, 126 decay, 7, 100, 101, 103, 112, 115, 129,
commons, 56, 61–72, 110, 220–221 144–145, 199–200
complexity, 71, 72, 100, 163, 170, 179, 212, deciduous, 20–21, 23, 166, 194, 196, 199–202,
214, 215, 219–224 204, 206, 208, 209, 219, 221, 224
Index 243
definition, 64, 75, 76, 135, 145, 179–188, energy, 6, 18, 19, 21, 130, 131, 163, 182, 183,
195, 235 187, 198, 220, 235, 238–239
forest, 75, 76, 145, 179–188 production, 18, 19, 21
landscape, 179–188 England, 5, 14, 16, 21–23, 41–57, 64–66,
legal, 64, 145 68, 110, 141, 142, 144–147, 150–153,
popular, 145 166, 171, 184–185, 214, 217,
deforestation, 11, 16–20, 22–24, 165, 174, 219–222
215, 217, 218, 234, 238, 239 Enlightenment, 4, 5, 8, 23, 29, 31–34, 36, 37,
dehesas, 220, 225 65, 173, 234
demystifying, 31–32 environment, 3, 5, 7, 12–14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 29,
Denmark, 15, 21, 23, 79, 82, 87–94, 185, 214, 31, 63, 65, 67, 68, 70, 71, 79, 81,
215, 217, 221, 223 87–90, 136, 143, 151, 154, 165, 173,
Descartes, R., 5, 29–32 174, 183, 185–187, 196, 209, 213, 214,
Diana the Huntress, 123 224, 235, 238
Dionysus, 37–38 environmental protection, 67, 88
disafforestation, 54, 144, 146 erosion, 18, 20
disturbance, 3, 13–15, 20, 129, 198, 199 etymological, 99, 115, 142
Domesday Book, 42–44, 47, 52, 145 etymology, 145–146, 179–188
Douglas fir, 20 European Landscape Convention (ELC), 72
druidry, 101 Evelyn, 4, 146
Durrington Walls, 100–102 evergreen, 78
dwellers, 9, 139, 143, 148–150, 152, 153, everyman’s right, 82
164, 235 evolutionary theory, 211–212
dwelling, 8, 12, 99, 152, 163–164, experience, 7, 24, 33–38, 62, 63, 82, 87–89,
173–174 91, 92, 127, 130, 134, 135, 142–144,
148, 154, 164, 171, 183, 184, 187, 212,
213, 223, 233
E
Earth, 6, 7, 20, 36, 56, 63, 100, 101, 105, 106,
108, 110, 113, 114, 120, 135, 161, 162, F
165, 182, 220 Fagus sylvatica, 20, 21, 202
Eastern Europe, 77–78, 169 farmers, 4, 16, 20, 21, 62, 70, 75, 78–79, 124,
ecological aesthetic theory, 212 125, 144, 151, 193, 197–201, 203, 204,
economy, 5, 12, 16, 31, 62–64, 68–69, 71, 208, 235
79–81, 83, 87, 91, 93, 139, 141, 143, farming, 15, 17, 84, 124, 194, 198, 206, 211,
147–148, 150, 152, 155, 160, 161, 164, 221, 222
166–169, 180, 183–185, 187, 188, Faroe Islands, 20, 218
213–214, 217, 223, 225, 234, 239 Faxinus excelsior, 21, 196
ecosystem, 11–13, 17, 19–21, 24, 65, 69–72, fear, 6, 12, 22, 29, 30, 32–34, 144, 148, 161,
165, 181, 182, 187, 236 162, 168, 173, 225, 235, 236
services, 72, 182, 187 Federal Swiss Civil Code, 64
El, 106 fertility, 99, 106, 109, 112, 116, 126, 151, 224
elevational limit, 216 fertilizers, 17, 70
Eliade, 105, 106, 113, 134 fig tree, 121
elm, 21, 53, 194, 196, 202, 209 Finland, 77–81, 83, 147, 167, 216–219
decline, 13–15 fire, 3–4, 9, 13, 20, 21, 23, 24, 65, 70, 110,
disease, 14 115, 123–125, 128, 150, 153, 154, 183,
emotion, 120, 143, 160, 183–184, 197–200, 223
187–188, 212, 223, 233, 235, firewood, 16, 21–23, 78, 120, 125, 182,
237, 239 196–198, 201–203, 205, 207, 208
enclosure, 5, 41, 44, 46–47, 56, 63, 64, 66, fodder, 20, 21, 53, 78, 127, 196–198,
100–102, 104, 108, 146, 148, 200–204
152–153, 221 folklore, 18, 115, 172
244 Index
food, 3, 12, 13, 15, 16, 18, 22, 33, 43, 45, 49, Germany, 8, 13–15, 21, 22, 77, 82, 102, 109,
52, 63, 87, 88, 143, 144, 152, 153, 182, 110, 134–135, 142, 153, 166, 185, 197,
183, 195–196, 198, 236 221–223, 225, 234
forest Goldberg, 102
area, 20, 43, 76–78, 88–92, 171, 217, golden age, 7, 9, 125
223–225, 236 Gothic, 8, 99, 120–122, 127–128, 162
cover, 12, 14–20, 22–24, 44, 77–79, 87, governance, 61–72
147, 165, 167, 181, 198–199, 204, 213, government, 30, 62, 65, 67, 69, 71, 72,
216–219, 221–226, 234, 237, 238 87, 88, 99, 111, 120, 146, 155, 167,
dwellers, 139, 143, 148, 149, 152, 153 209, 237
edge, 13, 225 grapevines, 121
expansion, 13, 22–24, 223, 224 grazing, 13, 16, 20, 21, 51–53, 55, 66, 70, 150,
fire, 3, 4, 70, 123, 124, 154, 198–200, 152, 153, 194, 195, 198–201, 203,
202–203 208–209
functions, 22, 71, 203–205, 208, 235, 239 Great Britain, 82, 180, 217
law, 17, 19, 41–45, 51–52, 54, 144, 148, Greece, 18–19, 105, 223
236–237 Greek-Roman times, 17–18
loss, 18, 22, 23, 165, 174, 198, 238 Green man, 149–150
philosophy, 236 green spaces, 87, 90, 93
protection, 22–24, 238 grove, 6, 7, 18, 19, 101–106, 108, 112,
resources, 13, 22, 51–53, 148–151, 173, 115, 123, 129, 132, 180, 181, 220,
193, 237, 239 237, 238
science, 31
transition phase, 223
use, 11, 16, 21, 24, 41–57, 89–91, 236–237 H
visitors, 88, 90 habitation, 13, 45, 54, 56, 57, 63, 151, 165,
visits, 90, 235 166, 181, 186, 187
forestry, 7, 8, 21, 24, 54, 57, 63, 67–71, 75–84, haga, 42, 44, 46–48
88, 124–125, 146, 147, 150, 153, 167, haia, 43–44
169, 170, 181, 187, 208, 209, 211, 212, Hallstatt, 102
215, 217, 221–223, 239 Hamann, J.G., 5–9
fragmentation, 19, 75, 81–82, 84, 213, 224, Hansel and Gretel, 140, 144
236, 237 Hardin, 61, 62
France, 6, 13–14, 16, 21, 22, 49, 64–65, 76, hardwood, 57, 109, 238
77, 81, 99, 109, 111, 125, 142, 146, hay, 43, 44, 49, 52, 202
152, 153, 166, 169, 171, 217 hazel, 13, 21, 125, 194, 196–198, 202, 208,
Frazer, Sir James G., 4, 6–7, 18, 105–106, 209
108–110, 112, 115, 122, 123, health, 21, 33–34, 37, 64, 68, 87, 93, 168–169,
134, 171 223, 235
Friedrich, C.D., 8, 9, 34, 127–128, 130, 134 heaven, 6, 99, 105–107, 110, 113, 130, 161
functions hedge, 14, 44, 47, 49, 91, 120, 121, 221
cultural, 238 hedgerows, 143, 166, 213–215, 217, 219, 221,
productive, 225, 236, 239 222, 225
recreational, 67, 80, 82, 87, 93, 235 Heidegger, 163
social, 62, 69, 71, 239 heimat, 7, 8, 238
henge, 100, 102
Hera, 112, 115
G Herder, 3–4, 7–9, 127, 128
Gaia, 165 heritage, 66, 104–105, 167–169, 201, 237
game reserves, 41–48 high places, 105, 106, 108, 110, 115
garden, 20, 120, 121, 159, 171, 186, 222 Hindwell, 101
gender, 141, 161, 173–174, 212 history, 3, 11, 29, 63, 82, 88, 105, 119, 142,
geopiety, 142, 143 159, 185, 218, 235
Germanic, 22–23, 108 Hobbes, T., 29–32
Index 245
home, 7, 33, 90, 93, 106, 125, 135, 141, 143, K

148, 151, 154, 159–161, 163, 165, Kandinsky, W., 130, 131
170–172, 184, 234, 238 Kiefer, A., 134
hornbeam, 20, 196, 202 Klee, P., 130–132
horse chestnut, 163 knowledge, 6, 9, 19, 31, 66, 70, 72, 79, 81, 83,
Hortus Conclusus, 120 84, 92, 122, 179, 183, 186–188, 196,
human culture, 11–13, 24, 41, 119, 226 212, 223, 224
human impact, 11, 13, 14, 16–20, 22–24,
185, 195, 198–202, 204, 210, 214,
216, 236 L
humanity, 3–9, 31, 34, 37, 130, 172 labrys, 111
human population, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22 landform, 185, 215
hunter-gatherer, 3, 8, 11–13, 15, 17 land owners, 45, 62
hunting, 11–15, 22, 41–57, 66, 123–125, landscape
144–146, 148, 151, 167, 169, aesthetics, 212, 213
180, 235 composition, 237
hunting reserves, 56, 146 configuration, 214
development, 195, 197, 201–208,
222–224, 237
I element, 214, 221
Ibn Fadlan, 105, 108 emotional, 187, 188
Iceland, 20, 77, 216, 218, 223 factual, 120–129, 187
iconography, 49–51, 99, 102, 104, 143–144, management, 17, 71, 214, 224–225
147 metrics, 212, 213
identity, 4, 47, 62, 67–69, 88, 100, 104, 119, painting, 119–136
121, 123, 126, 128, 142–144, 155, planning, 211, 224, 226
159–174, 180, 184–185, 212, 238 visual, 187, 213–222
ideology, 49, 119, 167, 168 Landscape character assessment (LCA), 214
impressionism, 131 land use, 15–17, 19, 20, 42, 68, 78, 91, 160,
income, 45, 53, 54, 67, 78–81, 83, 84, 125, 167, 193, 194, 196, 205, 208, 212–214,
148, 150, 208 219–225
Industrial Revolution, 5, 17, 23, 62–64, 69, La Tempesta, 119, 125
238, 239 La Tène, 102
industry, 3–5, 7, 8, 11, 17, 20, 23, 40, 45, legends, 7, 50, 51
62–65, 67, 69, 75–76, 82–83, 110, legislation, 62, 65, 88, 186
134, 135, 153, 167, 169, 198, 234, light, 13, 35, 100, 119, 126–129, 132, 163,
235, 238 164, 166, 170, 172, 197, 198, 202, 204,
iron industry, 4, 18, 46, 54, 145, 200, 222, 205, 234
237, 239 lightning, 35, 103, 106–109, 112, 115, 126
inverted tree, 105, 111 lime, 20, 46, 70, 125, 149, 166, 194, 196, 197,
Ireland, 13–16, 77, 78, 80, 82, 102, 105, 109, 201, 202, 209
110, 142, 169, 217, 218, 221–223 literature, 8, 50–51, 61, 65, 67, 70, 71, 109,
Irminsul, 108, 109, 115 169, 171, 195
Iron Age, 4, 16, 102, 195 Lithuania, 4, 79, 152, 223
Ironbridge, 23 livelihood, 81, 149, 235
Italy, 4, 64, 68, 78, 120, 124, 125, 171, 218, lopped, 105–109, 111, 114, 127, 132, 134, 204
220–222, 224
M
J Malus sylvestris, 198
Juniper, 197–199, 202, 204 Mappa Mundi, 122
Juniperus communis, 198 Marc, 131
Jupiter, 4, 102–104, 107, 109, 115, 126 materiality, 159–174
columns, 109, 114 Maypole, 109–110, 112, 134
246 Index
medieval times, 21, 44, 46, 47, 49, 56–57, 121, Normalwald, 7–8
181, 195, 196, 201–203, 220, 221 Normandy, 221
Mediterranean landscapes, 18 Normans, 41, 42, 49, 52, 145, 180
Mediterranean region, 12, 17, 18, 22, 218, kings, 41–43
220, 221 Northern Romanticism, 130
memory, 161, 166 Norway, 76, 77, 147, 216, 221, 225
Mesolithic cultures, 12 Norway spruce, 20, 23–24, 196, 197
Mesolithic settlements, 195 Nostalgia, 7, 127
metaphor, 4, 7, 8, 99–116, 119, 121, 130,
131, 136
microcosm, 106, 116 O
Middle Ages, 19, 23, 63, 65, 144, 147–148, oak, 4, 12, 32, 46, 78, 99, 121–122, 143–144,
180, 202, 236–237 162, 195, 218, 237
Midsummer, 101, 103, 109, 110, 115, 172 Oak Apple Day, 110, 151
mindscape, 187, 188 Odin, 51
modernity, 29, 34–35, 37, 38, 132, 153, 163, old growth forest, 23, 129, 154, 166,
171, 234 167, 171
modern society, 165, 234, 235 olive, 121, 218, 220, 223
Mondrian, 130, 131, 136, 236 openness, 33, 214–221, 223–225
monetary, 80, 184 otherness, 170–173, 234, 235
mortice and tenon, 100 ownership, 42, 44, 47, 52, 56, 62, 64, 66,
Mount Pleasant, 102 75–84, 105, 150, 185, 203, 221, 224,
music, 37, 125, 169 236, 237
myth, 5, 8, 11–24, 34–35, 112, 115, 121, 122,
126, 134
mythology, 4, 6, 8, 50, 51, 115, 119, 122–124, P
127, 134, 180 pagan, 106, 121, 122, 152, 172
paganism, 150, 234
paintings, 9, 119–136, 142–143,
N 184–186
nationalism, 7–9, 135 palisade, 100–102
national parks, 19, 66, 187 paradise, 6, 120, 121, 170
native forests, 182, 234, 235 pasture, 5, 16, 19, 21, 22, 46, 51–53, 55–56,
natural, 6, 11, 50, 63, 77, 122, 141, 181, 195, 63, 65, 70, 146, 147, 193–202,
213, 237 204–209, 218, 220–222
forests, 16, 20, 23, 181, 182, 199, 211, Pausanias, 112, 126
214, 219, 220 perception, 3, 23, 36, 121, 122, 124, 136,
regeneration, 7–8, 20, 22–23, 129, 139–155, 179, 183–184, 187–188,
223, 225 211–214, 223, 225, 233, 236, 237
nature, 3, 11, 29, 54, 66, 79, 89, 100, 120, 142, Pērkons, 4, 107, 108
160, 183, 194, 225, 234 Perkūnas, 107, 115
conservation, 66, 79, 82, 83, 225 perspective, 29, 80, 87–89, 93, 122–124, 136,
experience, 89, 92, 183 139–142, 150, 152, 154, 174, 211,
Near East, 12, 15, 103, 107 238–239
Neolithic settlements, 195 Perun, 4, 107, 108, 112, 115
New Forest, 54–56, 66, 68, 70, 75–84, 87, 89, pest, 7, 17, 149
93, 141, 143, 147–149, 153, 166, Petrarch, 120
168–169, 209, 223, 237 phenomenology, 163
Nietzsche, F., 33–38 philosophers, 3, 5, 30, 34, 38, 131, 132,
Non-industrial private forestry (NIPF), 75, 76 134, 143
non-wood products, 82–83, 182 philosophy, 9, 32, 119, 120, 130, 132, 134,
Nordic, 77, 82, 106, 108, 180, 218 185, 234, 236
Nordic mythology, 180 physicophily, 29, 37
normal forest, 7, 238 physicophobia, 29–38
Index 247
picea, 20, 196, 197, 202 R

Piero di Cosimo, 4, 110, 123, 124 reason, 4–7, 9, 14, 30–32, 34, 37, 78, 88, 89,
pine, 20, 21, 63, 128, 129, 135, 168, 169, 101, 129, 145, 170, 183–184, 199, 220,
196–205, 208–209, 219, 238 223, 234, 236
Pinus sylvestris, 20, 128, 196, 197 Red Man, 105
place, 11, 29, 42, 66, 90, 100, 120, 139, 180, reforestation, 22, 160, 167
202, 218, 233 refuge, 139, 150, 152, 161, 162, 166, 171,
names, 52, 139–141, 180, 181, 202 183, 212
plantation, 23, 54, 57, 88, 123, 126, 146, 154, regeneration, 3, 7, 16, 20, 22–23, 52, 70, 106,
167–169, 181, 183, 194, 202, 208, 209, 129, 155, 169, 199, 201, 219, 223, 225
221–223, 239 religion, 4, 6, 29, 31, 34, 36–37, 99, 105, 106,
Plato, 18, 35 108, 115, 126, 130, 152, 161, 171, 185
poaching, 45, 56, 152 Renaissance, 125, 185
poetry, 6, 8, 38, 142 renewal, 37, 99, 114–116, 127, 131
Poland, 21, 57, 76, 77, 82, 166 resources, 11–13, 18, 19, 22, 41, 51–53,
pole, 21, 46, 103, 105, 106, 110, 111, 128 61–66, 69–71, 75, 78, 83, 87, 101, 143,
policy, 63, 64, 67, 69, 71, 72, 87–89, 146, 154, 148–151, 166, 169, 173, 174, 180–182,
155, 167, 169 185, 193, 201, 207, 208, 233, 235,
pollarded trees, 194, 201, 220, 221 237–239
pollarding, 21 resurrection, 106
pollards, 194, 200–201, 208 return to nature, 29, 32
pollen, 13–15, 195, 202 rights, 44–46, 52–54, 62–66, 78, 143, 145,
population, 5, 13, 14, 16–20, 22, 23, 54, 66, 146, 149–150, 153, 203, 220–221,
67, 79, 90, 91, 103, 146, 148, 153, 167, 235–237
193, 194, 198, 199, 201, 203, 207–209, ritual, 4, 8, 101, 102, 104, 108, 110–112,
224, 225, 234, 238 115, 237
Populus tremula, 197 Robin Hood, 152
Portugal, 23, 65, 78 Roman Empire, 19, 103, 239
post, 19, 34–36, 56–57, 67, 70, 99–116, 153, Romantic artists, 135, 142–143
154, 169, 173 Romanticism, 6–9, 23, 31, 127, 130,
post-holes, 99–103 134–135, 185
preferences, 183, 198, 211–214, 224 Roman times, 17, 18, 41, 221
primeval forest, 8, 29, 33, 34 Rothko, M., 135, 136
production, 4–5, 16, 18–23, 41, 57, 63, 65–67, Rousseau, J.J., 29–36, 38
69–71, 75, 79–83, 87, 88, 146, 154, Royal forests, 41–57, 66, 145, 147, 155
181, 193, 196, 199, 200, 203, 214, 222, rural areas, 80, 81, 87
223, 234, 235, 238 rural development, 69, 71, 81, 223
products, 11, 12, 15, 16, 18, 19, 23, 24, 29, 36, rural worker, 9, 235
37, 53, 62, 66, 67, 70, 78, 82, 87, 93, Rus, 105, 108
119, 124, 150, 167, 181, 182, 193, Russian Federation, 23, 76, 77, 216, 218,
196–198, 200, 203, 213, 235–238 219, 223
property, 31, 56, 61, 62, 64, 65, 78–80,
148–150
protection, 11, 22–24, 47, 50, 67, 76, 88, 105, S
145–146, 148, 161, 166, 170, 183, 223, sacredness, 29, 34–38
237, 238 sacred oak, 6–7, 9, 103, 105, 106
Prunus avium, 198 sacred pillar, 99, 103, 104, 106, 115–116
Pseudotsuga spp., 20 sacred places, 106, 115
psychology, 162 sacred tree, 99, 105, 106, 109, 110, 112–115
sacrifice, 6–7, 106, 112, 121, 123
Salix caprea, 197
Q sallow, 197
Quercus spp., 18, 20, 107, 196, Savage man, 32–34
198, 220 savage places, 33
248 Index
savages, 7–9, 33, 142, 234 sustainability, 61, 81, 165, 225
savannah, 161, 220 sustainable, 7, 8, 67, 71–72, 161, 235,
hypothesis, 212, 224 237, 239
Saxons, 41, 44, 46–48, 52, 108, 145, development, 88, 238
220–221 forest management, 80, 81, 84,
Scania, 17, 222 238–239
Scotland, 14, 16, 49, 56, 167, 214, 218, Sweden, 17, 21, 57, 63, 77, 87, 110, 193–210,
221, 222 217, 218, 220–222, 237
Scots pine, 63, 196, 197, 202 Switzerland, 21–23, 35, 77, 130
Seahenge, 104–105 symbolism, 5, 49, 50, 110, 120, 126, 127,
sense of belonging, 68, 143, 159–174, 233 130–136, 151, 168
senses, 38, 120, 159–174 symbols, 4, 8, 19, 30, 70, 72, 99–111,
settlement, 11, 12, 14, 15, 18–22, 43, 47, 145, 114–116, 119–129, 132–136,
147, 185, 195 150, 160, 163, 168, 169, 184,
Seven Thousand Oaks, 134 205–207, 235
shelterbelts, 214, 217, 221, 225
shipbuilding, 18, 19, 23, 54, 167, 198, 203,
205, 237 T
sky god, 99, 102, 103, 107–109 Tacitus, C., 6
slash-and-burn, 15, 195–201, 206 technology, 16, 17, 23, 62, 63, 122,
Slovenia, 76, 77, 148, 218 193, 237
small-scale forestry, 75–84, 224 temperate zone, 15, 16
softwood, 57, 109, 239 temple, 100, 106, 108, 111, 112,
soil, 7, 8, 14–16, 18, 20–22, 24, 44, 47, 52, 54, 115, 134
67, 70, 88, 101, 103, 143, 162, 182, The Dry Tree, 121–122, 204
185, 187, 193, 196–200, 204, 211, 214, The Golden Bough, 110, 123, 134, 171
216–218, 222–225 The Great Transition, 15, 16
solstice, 101, 115 the Netherlands, 13–14, 77, 78, 81, 87, 130,
Southern Circle, 100, 101 217, 221
space, 13, 15, 51, 67, 87, 90, 93, 119, 121, theophany, 99, 106, 109, 115, 116
131, 139–155, 161–166, 170–174, 184, The Wanderers, 9, 128
185, 193, 197, 235 thunder, 107, 108, 112
Spain, 49, 64–65, 70, 78, 110–111, 223 thunder gods, 4, 7, 99, 103, 105–109,
spatial analysis, 212 115, 126
spiritual, 9, 12–13, 31, 33–34, 37, 63, 66, 120, thunderstone, 4, 108, 115
122, 127, 128, 130, 131, 134, 136, Tilia cordata, 196
142–143, 161, 166, 167, 171, 173, 183, timber, 3–9, 14, 17–23, 41, 44–46, 52–54, 56,
233, 235, 237, 239 62, 66, 76, 78, 79, 99, 101–103, 105,
spirituality, 122, 161, 173 125, 134, 135, 143, 146, 147, 160, 166,
spruce, 20, 23, 24, 110, 125, 129, 194, 194, 196, 198, 200, 202–208, 235,
196–206, 208–209, 218–219 237–239
stakeholders, 67, 70, 72, 88 circles, 100–104, 115
St Andrew Undershaft, 109 line, 222
state, 17, 22, 30, 31, 34, 36, 46, 54, 64, 65, 72, production, 20, 57, 63, 67, 69–71,
82, 88–90, 125, 130, 142, 148, 151, 75, 79–83, 88, 181, 214,
153–155, 160, 166, 171, 173, 180, 197, 222, 223
212, 223, 225, 235–237 time, 4, 11, 29, 41, 61, 78, 87, 100, 120, 139,
Stone Age, 15, 16, 108–109, 111, 112, 162, 179, 193, 213, 233
114, 115, 127, 134, 143, 162, Tiwaz, 107, 108
197, 221 tools, 4–5, 16, 100, 101, 105, 109, 112, 125,
Stonehenge, 100–102 126, 196, 212, 238
Stukeley, 101 topography, 186, 195, 204, 206, 214
Sturm und Drang, 6 topophilia, 174
sublime, 6, 9, 120, 125, 127, 131, 173 tourism, 67, 91, 187
Index 249
tradition, 8, 29–31, 34, 51, 61–72, 78, 79, 83, visual, 64, 100, 131, 132, 144, 164, 185,
87, 102, 107, 110, 111, 122–124, 211–226
131–132, 135, 143, 151–152, 166, 169, landscape analysis, 213, 214
184, 186, 217, 221, 222, 225, 235 perception, 187, 212
tree cults, 105–106, 160, 220 Vitruvius, 110, 124
Tree of Knowledge, 6, 122 votive, 101–103, 112, 115
tree species, 14, 20–24, 164, 165, 168, 193,
194, 196–198, 201–205, 208, 211,
224, 237 W
Wales, 5, 14, 100, 109, 125, 142, 152, 221,
222, 237
U walnut, 164
Uccello, 122, 123 war, 7, 8, 17–19, 22, 54, 56, 57
Ulmus glabra, 21, 196 well-being, 87, 93, 235
uncivilized, 142, 234, 235 Wild cherry, 198
underworld, 99, 106, 108 wilderness, 9, 11–24, 36, 123, 125, 166, 167,
United Kingdom, 65–67, 77, 78, 223 173, 180, 235
urban areas, 67, 79, 81, 91, 93, 225 wooden idol, 105, 108
utility, 30–32, 180, 237 Woodhenge, 100, 101
value, 31 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,
V 193–210, 217, 221–223
values, 20, 31, 34, 52, 63, 70, 72, 79–81, 91, wood-pasture, 16, 21, 52–56, 220, 222
92, 111, 112, 115, 124–126, 132, 139, wych-elm, 21
161, 183, 184, 187, 192, 195, 198, 202,
205, 233–239
cultural, 64, 150, 194, 209 X
recreational, 155, 223, 225 xenophobia, 148, 168
social, 68, 69, 87, 194, 209, 237 xylophobia, 144
symbolic, 111, 132, 150
vegetation, 12–16, 19, 21, 23, 106, 111, 115,
123, 184, 187, 211, 216, 225 Y
natural, 13, 15, 20, 22, 196–197, 214, 218 Yahweh, 106, 115
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, Z
208, 209, 214–216, 219, 224, 235–237 Zarathustra, 35, 36, 38
visit, 50, 56, 88–91, 93, 183, 184, 235 Zeus, 105, 107, 109, 111, 112, 115, 126, 180

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New Perspectives on People and Forests

Janaki Alavalapati, University of Florida, USA

World Forests Description

For other titles published in this series, go to

New Perspectives on People

ISSN 1566-0427 e-ISSN 1566-0427

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011926689

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011

Printed on acid-free paper

Springer is part of Springer Science+Business Media (www.springer.com)

d­ evelopment of civilization not only by being an important natural resource, but

identity of people is explored. Chapter 10 deals with changing historical and

Aalborg, December 2010 Eva Ritter

1 Introduction – The Crooked Timber of Humanity............................... 3

2 Forests in Landscapes – The Myth of Untouched Wilderness............. 11

3 Overcoming Physicophobia – Forests as the Sacred Source

4 Royal Forests – Hunting and Other Forest Use

5 Forests as Commons – Changing Traditions

6 New Forest Owners – Small-Scale Forestry and Changes

7 Forests and Recreation – New Functions of Afforestation

8 From Post to Pillar – The Development and Persistence

9 Landscape Painting and the Forest – The Influence

10 Space and Place – Popular Perceptions of Forests................................ 139

11 Materiality and Identity – Forests, Trees

12 Definitions and Concepts – The Etymology and Use

13 Tree Use and Landscape Changes – Development

14 Forest Landscapes in Europe – Visual Characteristics

15 Conclusion – Towards a Symbiotic Relationship.................................. 233

A Russian proverb tells us:

He who looks backwards to history is blind in one eye but he

It is impossible to look objectively at European society’s relationship to the

The impact of industrial, agricultural and economic development wrought

Blake cried out against the rationalists of the eighteenth century:

He declared nature to be our “old grandmother” and promoted an existence rooted

Twentieth-century völkisch writers portrayed ancient Germans emerging from

Romantic metaphors retain their currency; in James Cameron’s contemporary

Society is moulded by very few, sometimes obscure, individuals whose ideas

Landscapes can be considered as the cradle of culture, but culture

2.1 People and Forests in Prehistoric Times

2.1.2 The Mid-Holocene Elm Decline

2.1.3 The Great Transition

2.1.4 Early Agricultural Impacts on Forests

2.2 Forest Development in Historical Times

The process of deforestation accelerated during the time of Charlemagne (about AD

2.2.1 The Great Deforestation of the Ancient World

as precursors to “national parks”; vestiges of pristine wilderness. However, already

2.2.2 Impacts on Forests in Northern and Central Europe

The expansion of agriculture in Northern and Central Europe contributed to a

2.2.3 Forest Protection and Forest Expansion

Peterken G (1996) Natural woodland. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge

In Augustin Berque’s fascinating book, Le sauvage et l’artifice – Les japonais

that Japanese traditional culture stills shows a tendency for “physicophily”.

3.1 The Forest as Nothing More than Useful

3.2 Rousseau: Friend of the Forest

3.2.1 The Demystification of the Forest

This concept of “public interest”, or utilité publique, may well be lacking in

small reason why people refer to Descartes as achieving a Copernican revolution in

3.2.2 The “Savage Man”

Why are these insights so significant? Previous to Rousseau’s own Confessions,

3.3 Nietzsche and the Sacredness of Nature

3.3.1 Nietzsche’s Criticism of Modernity

3.3.2 Nietzsche’s “Religious” Experience

to one’s toes … Everything is in the highest degree involuntary but takes place as in a

d evelopment of civilization not only by being an important natural resource, but

2.1 People and Forests in Prehistoric Times

2.1.2 The Mid-Holocene Elm Decline

2.1.3 The Great Transition

2.1.4 Early Agricultural Impacts on Forests

2.2 Forest Development in Historical Times

2.2.1 The Great Deforestation of the Ancient World

2.2.2 Impacts on Forests in Northern and Central Europe

2.2.3 Forest Protection and Forest Expansion

3.1 The Forest as Nothing More than Useful

3.2 Rousseau: Friend of the Forest

3.2.1 The Demystification of the Forest

3.2.2 The “Savage Man”

3.3 Nietzsche and the Sacredness of Nature

3.3.1 Nietzsche’s Criticism of Modernity

3.3.2 Nietzsche’s “Religious” Experience

4.1 Forests as Game Reserves

4.1.1 The Location of Forests

4.1.2 Forest Rights and Administration

4.2.1 Anglo-Saxon Hunting and Game Reserves

4.2.2 Medieval Hunting Methods

4.2.3 Hunting Iconography in Medieval Literature

4.3 The Use of Other Forest Resources

4.3.2 Other Forest Products

4.4 The Decline of the Forests

4.5 Hunting in Post-medieval Times

5.1 Introduction to the Commons

5.2 History of Forests as Commons in Europe

5.2.1 Northwestern Europe and the Alps

5.3 How the Role and Use of Forests is Changing

5.4 The Relationship Between People and Forest Commons

6.1 What is Small-Scale Forestry?

6.2 Characteristics of Small-Scale Forests

6.3 Owners of Small-Scale Forests

6.3.2 Objectives of Small-Scale Forest Owners

6.4 Nature of Small-Scale Forests

6.5 Consequences of the Changing Ownership Structure

6.5.2 Recreation and Access

7.1 Forest Recreation: A Policy Perspective

7.2 Forest Use in Denmark

7.3 Afforestation: Creation of Recreation Opportunities

8.1 The Wooden Post in Prehistory and the Growth

8.1.2 Celtic and La Tène Sites

8.2 The Layering of Connected Symbols

8.2.1 The Anthropomorphic Tree