Celebrating the arrival of the spring equinox, this week's Wildlife Matters podcast presents two captivating tales rooted in folklore that illuminate the intricate relationships between nature and humanity.

The first story, "The Alder Sprite," intricately weaves themes of respect for the natural world and the consequences of human folly, drawing upon the rich traditions of Celtic mythology. This tale serves as a poignant reminder of the importance of heeding nature's warnings. Following this, I share my own narrative, "The Black Fox," inspired by my lifelong fascination with wildlife, particularly the elusive fox, and the complex emotions surrounding its pursuit. Together, these stories encapsulate the essence of spring, a time for renewal and reflection on our connection to the wild.

Spring Equinox Special

In this week's instalment of the Wildlife Matters podcast, listeners are transported into the realm of nature and folklore, celebrating the spring equinox through two captivating tales.

The episode begins with a profound reflection on the equinox, a moment in time when day and night hold equal sway. This celestial event signifies the renewal of life and the awakening of nature, prompting us to shake off the remnants of winter and embrace the vibrancy of spring. The first narrative shared is 'The Alder Sprite,' a tale deeply rooted in Somerset folklore and Celtic beliefs, which underscores the mystical qualities attributed to the alder tree.

Through the character of Tam, we witness the consequences of ignorance and disrespect towards nature, culminating in a cautionary tale that reverberates with historical significance.

Subsequently, the podcast unveils 'The Black Fox,' an original story that intertwines personal experiences with a broader commentary on humanity's relationship with the natural world. The narrative unfolds the story of a lord driven by greed and desire, whose quest for control ultimately leads to his ruin.

The black fox, with its enchanting presence, serves as a symbol of resilience and the wild spirit, reminding us of the importance of coexistence rather than domination. This tale encourages listeners to reflect on their own interactions with nature, urging a deeper understanding of the interconnectedness that binds us all.

As the episode draws to a close, we are left with a poignant reminder of the role that storytelling plays in shaping our perceptions of the world. The tales shared in this episode not only entertain but also serve as powerful vehicles for imparting wisdom about our responsibilities towards the environment and the creatures that inhabit it. The transition into spring invites us to rekindle our connection with nature, listen to its whispers, and honour the cycles of life that enrich our existence.

Takeaways:

1. The Spring Equinox, a celestial event where day and night are equal, symbolises renewal and the awakening of nature.
2. The Alder Sprite story highlights the deep-rooted folklore connecting trees to spirits and the importance of respecting nature.
3. The narrative of Tam and the Alder tree serves as a cautionary tale about the consequences of ignoring nature's warnings.
4. The Black Fox represents the intertwining of folklore, personal experience, and nature, illustrating the deep bond between humans and wildlife.

Hello and welcome to this week's A Wildlife Matters Podcast.

And today we're celebrating the spring equinox with two two enchanting A Nature and Wildlife Tales from Folklore.

Last Saturday evening, we shared these stories beneath the stars, surrounded by the mysterious shadows of the dark woods and the quiet anticipation of our live audience.

We love marking the equinoxes and solstices, those magical turning points in nature's cycle that quietly shape our lives even when we're not paying attention.

The spring equinox is one of two times each year when day and night are the same length.

The word equinox comes from the Latin words aquis for equal and nox for night.

At the equinox, the sun sits directly above the Earth's equator, poised between the northern and southern hemispheres.

The celestial balance signals the arrival of astronomical spring.

From this point forward, daylight begins to outshine the night and the sun feels reborn.

It's the perfect moment to shake off winter and embrace the fresh energy of spring.

Our first tale tonight is the Alder Sprite.

Whilst this story hails from Somerset, its roots reach deep in Celtic mythology, where the alder tree is entwined with the Welsh giant Brun and the legendary Cauldron of Rebirth.

The order tree's connection to dark, wet bogs and the way its freshly cut wood releases a deep red SAP has led people to believe in malevolent spirits.

The order has been called the Tree of War and seen as a sign of fire.

Superstitions warn against cutting its branches lest you invite the wrath of vengeful or mischievous spirits.

In Somerset, travelers and locals would avoid groups of alder trees at night because they believed these places were linked to evil spirits and feared that they might disappear.

People thought the Order was linked to evil spirits because it's white wood to turns a bright orange red when cut, which looked like the tree was bleeding or showing its spirit.

The order is also associated with fairies and other supernatural beings who are said to use the tree to travel between worlds.

So, if you're ready, let us begin by sharing with you our first story of tonight, which is called the Alder Sprite.

The Alder Sprite is a traditional English folk story from Somerset, believed to have originated in the tale Woodcutter Spare that Tree.

This story shows how people in Old England often believed that trees had spirits or sprites living inside them.

In return, the trees would protect these spirits.

I like sharing this story because it unfolds in layers and draws in both listeners and readers.

Tam's foolishness stands out, especially since he already has everything he could ever have wanted.

But even so, Tam ignores every warning and eventually suffers for it, losing everything he cares about.

The story reminds us, as it did in the past, that people rarely harmed trees, and that lesson still matters today.

So here is the story.

The Alder Sprite Once upon a time, a farm worker named Tam lived in a cottage near a special place called the Saint's well.

He was lucky to have the clearest, purest water in the valley.

People said it was the best water in the whole of Somerset, and even on the hottest of summer days, the water stayed cool and clean.

And Tam used the water not just for drinking, but he also kept his butter and cheese in a deep bucket in the well.

Because of the saints well, Tam was one of the few people who could have fresh vegetables on Christmas Day, and this was a rare treat before modern refrigeration.

Next to the well stood an alder tree that had always been there, as far as Tam could remember.

Anyway.

One summer, when its leaves were bright green, Tam saw that a lower branch had grown over the top of the well.

It became harder and harder for Tam to get water and food from the well because of the overhanging branch of the alder tree.

Now, Tam complained about this every day, but he knew he could not cut the alder tree.

People in the valley saw the Order as a sacred tree, and they believed that it would bleed and bring bad luck to anyone who tried to cut it.

When summer slipped into autumn, the leaves shifted from lively green to a deep russet and gold, a few drifting down to settle in the waters of the well.

Tam looked at the falling leaves and soon decided they were making the well water taste bad.

Tam told anyone who would listen that the well's once sweet water had turned bitter, and it was all because of the alder leaves.

His constant complaining tested everyone's patience.

So finally he decided to cut the troublesome branch himself.

That evening, Tam got his axe from the shed, and he spent several hours sharpening it, wanting to make a quick, clean cut.

At dawn, he went to the Order and looked for the best spot to cut it.

He raised the axe and brought it down onto the branch hard.

Suddenly, a loud, painful moan echoed from the high in the tree.

Startled, Tam looked up, not sure what he would see.

To his astonishment, slender tendrils of wood smoke curled and danced among the alder's leaves.

What?

Panic took over, and Tam ran back to his house as fast as he could.

Inside, he checked every room and even the roof, but he found no Sign of smoke.

He laughed off his fears, blaming his imagination, and returned to the order.

By the saints well.

Once more he lifted his axe and struck the branch blocking the well.

And again a loud and terrible moan came from the canopy.

This time Tam not only saw the wood smoke circling above him, but he could smell it too.

Once again he ran back to the house, his heart racing, as he knew he hadn't lit a fire in days.

Not a chimney in the village showed any sign of smoke.

He checked every room and even climbed ont the roof to look at the thatch, but found nothing.

Tam thought to himself, either I'm going mad or a tree sprite in the order is tricking me.

Frustrated and angry, he went back to the order tree by the well.

Now determined to cut off the branch blocking the entrance to the well, he gripped his axe, lifted it high and struck the branch hard.

A terrible moan came from the top of the alder tree and Tam saw the thick wood smoke curling through its branches.

But he ignored it and swung his axe again.

The loud, frightening moan sounded again and the smell of smoke grew stronger.

Tam stayed determined, raised his axe and struck once more.

And with a sharp wail the branch fell to the ground.

Tam knelt to look at it, a straight, strong piece of wood.

When he looked up, the smoke was so thick that he couldn't see the top of the tree and the air smell strongly of burning.

Not wanting to be tricked by the sprite, he looked at the cut branch and thought about what he could use it for.

He felt the heat of the fire behind him, but he stayed where he was, telling himself that he would not be fooled again.

At last, Tam chose to use the strong branch to make a brace over the well so he could hang his rope and buckets there.

Even with the noise of the flames and the heavy heat and smoke, he stood firm and refused to give in to what he he thought was the sprite's tricks.

It was then some neighbours came running up with buckets, shouting, fire.

Fire.

They pointed at Tam's cottage and called out, tam, your cottage.

It's on fire.

Tam turned and ran towards his cottage with his neighbours beside him, throwing water in a desperate attempt to put out the fire.

But the flames moved faster, burning through his home, tearing through the thatch and sending sparks high into the sea sky.

The fire became too strong, so Tam and his neighbours had to retreat across the road.

They stood by, helpless as the flames took over his home and destroyed everything.

Tam dropped onto his knees on the grass, crying as he held the broken branch from the alder tree.

When he could finally speak, he told his neighbors what had happened.

He explained that he had seen thin smoke and smelled wood smoke twice.

But each time he checked his cottage, he'd found nothing.

He realised the tree sprite had tricked him.

Angry, Tam kept going, unaware that the sprite was using his own determination against him.

He kept cutting at that branch, even as the smoke, the heat and the crackling flames became impossible for him to ignore.

And even though Tam's instincts warned him he was being tricked, the tree sprite was much more experienced and capable than Tam had realized.

His neighbours felt sorry about the loss of his cottage.

But they agreed that the sprite had given Tam enough warnings about the dangers.

Everyone saw that it was Tam's own recklessness that had led to the disaster.

Sometimes the greatest dangers aren't the ones we can see, but the ones we choose to ignore.

Tam had every warning.

The smoke, the smell, the clear signs that something was wrong.

But pride and stubbornness kept him from seeing the truth until it was too late.

The old stories teach us that nature and the spirits within it deserve our respect.

When we ignore warnings and push forward despite our doubts, we don't just risk our own well being, we invite disaster.

Tam lost everything that night.

Not because the tree sprite was cruel, but because he refused to listen.

His instincts told him the truth, but his determination drowned them out.

So remember, when something feels wrong and the signs are there, don't let pride or stubbornness lead you astray.

Being cautious has saved many lives, while ignoring warnings has ruined just as many.

And that is the perfect place for us to end our story.

I hope you enjoyed the tale of the alder spring sprite.

It's easy to see why the alder, or the Aunus glutinosa, has a name that mirrors its spirit.

Forever drawn to the water's edge, alders thrive in wet, swampy places, their roots greedily soaking up water.

And often you'll find them leaning over riverbanks, their branches trailing playfully in the flowing stream.

They stand as steadfast guardians wherever water gathers.

Calling the order.

A warden feels just right because when you discover its secret partnership with the remarkable soil bacterium called Frankia alni.

Wherever they grow, these water loving trees quietly enrich the soil.

Their roots host tiny nodules created by the Franchia auni, which trades nitrogen for carbon in a hidden underground alliance.

The roots draw nitrogen from the air and share it with the order, while the bacteria receive carbon in return.

This simple exchange helps nearby plants to flourish.

Little wonder, then that the ancient Celts saw the Order as a tree of mystery, magic and quiet strength.

Orders grow where air, earth and water converge, rooted in a magical space where all three elements meet.

They truly belong at the threshold between worlds.

To our ancestors, every tree was sacred, a source of strength, wisdom and harmony.

The Order, with its many gifts, was especially revered.

They admired how the Order enriched the land, marvelled at its resilience in watery places where other trees would rot, and relied on its healing powers, especially its cool, soothing bark.

When they had sore throats or other ailments.

It's easy to see why our Celtic elders believe the Order was touched by magic.

Our second story tonight doesn't come from ancient folklore.

It's one I wrote and I'm excited to share it with you.

I'll admit sharing one of my own stories makes me a little nervous, but that's the beauty of storytelling.

Watching a tale take root in others and hoping it will be shared and reshaped in new ways.

Writing my own stories feels like the next step on my storytelling journey.

The Black Fox is woven from my lifelong love of wildlife and nature.

Foxes were my first wild friends, their den a hidden world.

In our childhood garden, I remember the thrill of watching the dog, fox and vixen, my heart leaping as their cubs tumbled out to play, growing and eventually strike out on their own.

That cycle of renewal enchanted me every spring.

Foxes are dear to me for so many reasons, so I've never understood why.

Some see them as pests or even hunt them.

Those feelings are what inspired me to write the story of the Black Fox.

So if you're comfortable and ready, let me invite you into the world of the Black Fox.

In the depths of these ancient woodlands, where the sun's light weaves intricate patterns through dense canopies, a serene quietness prevails.

The air is rich with the earthy scent of damp moss.

And the gentle rustle of leaves whispers secrets of the woodland to those who listen.

The ancient, dark woods are vibrant with life and untouched by time, ideal for telling tales of mystique, luring nature's devotees into its embrace.

So settle down and make yourself comfortable as we share the tale from this very woodland called the Black Fox.

Some people keep track of time with clocks and calendars, whilst others, like myself, measure it by the sun's path.

The changing seasons, the brief appearance of snowdrops and bluebells, the quick visits of swallows and warblers and the bright colours of the autumn leaves.

And she was one with us, believing that time could not be shackled by the hands of a clock or confined to a calendar, she lived alone in a small cottage deep in the wildwoods.

Her quiet life was a mystery, and people often made up stories about her to fill that silence.

She owned both the house and the land.

These facts, along with her flaming red hair and natural beauty, caught the attention of the lord of the manor.

The lord owned everything he could see.

The hills, the valleys, the land around the woods.

And each night, as he looked out from his castle tower and enjoyed thinking that everything he could see belonged to him, which pleased his greedy nature.

When he said he owned everything, he meant everything.

Except that small cottage hidden in the woods.

He was used to getting whatever he wanted.

Wealth, fine clothes, the fastest horse, and any woman he desired.

Knowing that the cottage in the woods was out of his reach bothered him, and it made him even more irritated.

He felt a deep, wild anger, hard to control.

A feeling he could not understand or indeed, control.

The truth was, he wanted it all.

The woods, the cottage, and that woman.

He still couldn't believe that his grandfather had given the woodland and cottage to the woman the townspeople called a witch so many years ago.

She had helped his grandfather after he fell from his horse in the woods, set his broken bones, healed him, and brought him back to the castle.

To thank her.

His grandfather had granted her wish to own the cottage and the woodland, letting her and her family live there forever.

For years, he thought his grandfather to be a fool, too generous with both servants and commoners.

The old man loved the land and its wild animals, and he had even refused to hunt them.

This lord, on the other hand, seemed to be the complete opposite of his grandfather, almost as if he wanted to be nothing like him.

He owned the fastest horse in the county, a dark steed named Midnight, and led a pack of hounds known for their speed and ferocity.

It irked him whenever he surveyed his land and he spotted the wood and the small cottage.

He was annoyed that this land was not his.

His passion for the hunt made him covet the wood all the more.

And each time his hounds chased a fox into the sanctuary of its trees, his frustration grew stronger.

But what bothered him most, though, was how much he wanted her.

Not out of love, but because she was the one thing he could not have.

He wondered about his grandfather's kindness to her mother and was amazed that she had outlived both his grandfather and, indeed, his father.

What else could explain it?

He thought.

Surely she must be a witch.

The lord came up with a plan to get everything that he wanted.

And that night as he lay alone in his tall tower, a sudden thought came to him.

He decided that he would make her his bride.

At that time, when a woman married, everything she owned became her husband's.

This would give him her cottage, her woodland, and even herself.

Satisfied with his plan, he went to sleep.

The following day, he began to put his plan into action.

At first, he showered her with gifts of jewelry and exquisite dresses.

But she just rejected them.

She wanted neither him nor his gifts.

To her, his eyes were empty, his face harsh, and his mind and heart were dark.

Even when he spoke softly.

When he bought her diamonds, garnets and rubies, she asked him to leave and closed the cottage door firmly.

She had no interest in a cruel man who measured his worth by his possessions.

And we he was a man incapable of valuing life.

He hunted foxes, deer and hare for sport, recklessly pushing his hounds and horses so hard in pursuit of a kill.

Whatever he offered, she spurned his gifts and his touch.

As time passed, he grew to despise what he could not possess.

Yet he fluttered around her like a moth drawn to a flame.

He even tried to buy her house, offering her far more than it was worth.

But she politely declined.

Then he made her a generous offer for her woodland.

But she just smiled and said, no, thank you.

Without her love, her cottage or her woodland, he wandered around confused.

He couldn't understand why she kept saying no.

But he still told himself he loved her.

What would he do next?

Weeks later, under a shadowy sky, a sudden and mysterious blaze devoured that little cottage, leaving nothing but smouldering ashes behind it.

The fire burned so fiercely that no one dared go near.

Everyone felt a heavy dread.

She must have been lost in the flames that had destroyed her home.

The town hummed with rumour and judgment.

Some insisted she met her fate, for there are always those unsettled by a woman who lives in her own way.

A few mourned, but many muttered that she was a witch.

Some, though, whispered that it was the lord who was to blame.

They said he had forced his way into her house, taken what she refused to give, and set fire.

Fire to her and her home.

To hide what he had done.

Yet he was the lord of the manor, and no one dared confront him directly.

Soon after, a striking black fox started appearing in the shadows of the woods.

But this fox was not completely black.

Its legs and ears were dark, yes, and a bold burnt orange stripe ran down its back.

It was unusually large.

Some even said as big as a wolf, with eyes that shone like distant stars.

Its tail was Longer and bushier than a dog fox's, but still sleek and narrow, like a vixen.

Every night, chickens from the lord's estate disappeared without a trace.

The lord told his keepers to guard the animals day and night.

If chickens went missing, he deducted the cost of the chickens from their already meager wages.

The men grumbled, but they knew they had no choice but to stay alert.

But still the chickens kept vanishing.

One evening, the lord decided to keep watch on his own.

Quietly, he watched the shadows until he saw the large Black Fox slip through the castle walls and boldly take one of his chickens.

The lord jumped up and gave chase, but the nimble fox easily outran him.

The next night, he returned with his two finest hounds, crouching in the darkness as they waited in breathless silence.

Once again, the Black Fox showed up and took a chicken.

The lord let his hounds loose and they chased the fox far into the night and well beyond the castle Wal.

By morning, the hounds had not returned and they were never seen again.

Not giving up, the next night, the lord saddled his favourite horse, Midnight, and waited, watching the darkness.

Once again, the Black Fox came into the castle grounds and took a chicken.

In an instant, the lord dug his heels into Midnight's ribs and the chase had begun, lasting long into the night as they sped through the valleys and the woodlands, far, far away from the castle walls.

As dawn approached, the lord felt Midnight stumble, just making it over that last hedge.

But still he pushed the tired horse to keep going, chasing after nothing but the morning mist.

Eventually, poor Midnight stumbled and collapsed, and in the ensuing fall, both the lord and his horse tumbled onto the moor, tragically resulting in Midnight's death from exhaustion.

It took the lord three days to walk back to his castle, and with each step filling him with ever increasing anger.

Upon his return, his men informed him that the Black Fox had been visiting every night, taking chickens and sitting in the castle garden, calling out like a woman, screaming deep into the night.

During these restless nights, the lord began to sense troubles closing in around him.

His ships started to sink, his wealth was disappearing, and his servants went away whispering that their master was cursed.

Every night, the Black Fox eerie cry echoed through the halls like the wall of restless spirits, haunting the lord's dreams whenever he managed to sleep.

As his life slowly fell apart, the lord nearly lost his mind, troubled by his need to control everything, and haunted by the woman he could never have.

It was then he promised to himself that he would destroy the Black Fox because its eyes held a memory he couldn't understand, but also could Never forget.

With what was left of his fortune, he hired the fastest horse and gathered the last of his hounds.

And at dusk, they left the castle and rode out into the night.

The Black Fox haunted the lord with her eerie cry, luring his hounds into a relentless chase until their paws ran red with blood and their bodies eventually gave out.

At dawn, the hounds mournful howls echoed beneath the rising sun.

Lost and defeated, no matter how furiously he rode, the lord could never catch the cunning Black Fox.

After the hounds were gone, the Black Fox led the lord to the mossy ruins of an old and forgotten cottage.

As he neared the decaying cottage, his heart pounded and he reined in his horse.

He dismounted and crept towards a gaping hole in the shattered wall.

As he stepped through the opening, the Black Fox let out a piercing shriek that could haunt anyone and appeared right in front of him.

Panic seized the lord and he bolted onto his horse, vaulting into the saddle and vanishing into the night.

Some say he galloped so fiercely he crossed the river that divides worlds.

And others insist that the devil himself claimed him that night.

To this day, the Black Fox prowls the manor's overgrown gardens, where young oaks sprout across tangled lawns and wild ivy weaves its way over silent statues and forgotten fountains.

The castle walls, worn and weary, finally surrendered, sending the roof crashing down and leaving only a mountain of stone and shattered dreams.

Today, hunters fear the day that they may meet the Black Fox.

They believe she brings bad luck and may even have the powers of a witch.

But the everyday people of the town know her secret.

The Black Fox is a guardian, watching over those whose hearts are kind and who cherish the wild ones and places.

To this day, people sketch her lightness in charcoal, tucking it into secret corners of their homes to keep misfortune at bay.

Today, the Black Fox moves through the dark woods, wild and free.

If she lets you see her, it means that you are truly safe.

This story is for every fox, deer, hare, and all other animals chased by hunters and their hounds.

We are closer than ever to consigning hunting with hounds to the history book.

We're sorry it's taken so long.

May your spirits run wild and free.

And that is the perfect place for us to end our story.

Thank you so much for your support.

Sharing my stories feels deeply personal, so it truly means a lot to know that you have enjoyed them.

Foxes don't usually come to mind when we think of spring animals.

At Easter, most people picture rabbits or the Easter bunny, but it was actually the hare that first took center stage.

The hare, sometimes called the mad March hare and connected to the world of the mad Hatter, isn't really mad at all.

In spring, hares focus on raising their young.

Called leverets and those well known boxing matches, they're usually a female hare pushing away an overly persistent male.

Beyond the spring equinox, the hair shimmers with an almost otherworldly mystique woven into legends of the divine feminine.

And the silvery, watchful moon.

Hairs slipping through moonlight fields only add to the air of mystery.

In Chinese folklore, their tales speak of a hare living in the moon, a magical twist on the European, a man in the moon legend.

And some say that hares are the secret companions of witches.

In one old tale, a man chases a swift hare deep into the shadowy forest.

He fires a shot, grazing her fur.

But the hare, undaunted, vanishes into the tangled undergrowth, her escape only just beginning.

Following the path between the towering trees, the man stumbles upon a small cottage at the forest's edge with smoke curling from its chimney.

The curiosity draws him through the open gate and into the cottage.

By the fire sits a woman tending a fresh wound, precisely where the hair had just been grazed by his shot.

Spring bursts with color as the plant world awakens, delicate snowdrops and bluebells, bright primroses and golden daffodils painting the landscape.

But we will look at two of spring's most abundant and delicious wild foods, wild nettles and wild garlic, both thriving in your local woodland.

Right now, the nettles can be gathered to brew a soothing tea that's perfect for warming up and lifting your mood.

It's full of nutrition and is one of the most cleansing superfoods you could give your body.

While garlic is famed for supporting healthy blood pressure, it's delicious when it's whizzed into a vibrant pesto and spread over pasta.

And of course, we should talk about the weather, which is ever changing.

Sunshine one moment, rain or gusty winds the next.

April showers can swell into sudden downpours.

All this change makes spring one of the most dramatic, lively seasons that Mother Nature offers.

So now is the perfect time to try something new.

Take a small leap or finally do that thing that you know would make your life brighter and better.

Even if you've hesitated or procrastinated before, you don't need to force anything.

Give yourself a gentle nudge.

Move at your own pace.

And remember, kindness and patience begins with yourself.

And it's just as important with you as it is with others.

And so we come to the close of our Spring Equinox Nature Storytelling special, wrapping up Series 7 of the Wildlife Matters podcast.

It's been our most popular and downloaded series yet.

Thank you.

Wildlife Matters will return on Earth day, which is the 22nd of April this year, to launch Series 8, when we will be venturing into the world of nature's early nesters.

As always, thank you for taking the time to listen to us today.

If you've enjoyed today's journey, then please, like, subscribe and leave a review wherever you get your podcasts.

It helps us to reach more curious souls just like you.

Until next time, stay curious, wild ones.

This is Wildlife Matters signing off.