Buying your own wood

Don't get me started on my woodland. Since the beginning of the year, when I realised a dream and purchased five acres of ancient woodland in Essex, I have begun coercing people into conversation on conservation. I expected a universal reaction of “How fantastic!” followed by a lively discussion on biodiversity and badgers.

But reactions are mixed. Many people ask me why I bought it. This has me stumped. To me the reasons are obvious, but hard to put into words. “What will you do with it?” “Well, just...be in it. Enjoy it.” “Can you build on it?” “No.” “But you could build a hut or log cabin to stay in?” “No.” “Can you cycle in it?” “I suppose, but I don't have a bike.” “You should get a bike.”

I don't want to cycle in it. I want to study it, to watch it and see how it works, to learn the names of the flora and fauna and understand how they coexist.

The idea to buy some woodland has been with me for years, after I read about protected areas that farmers, unable to use them for crops or livestock, sold off relatively cheaply. I have had a passionate interest in the natural world since childhood when my father inspired me on long walks and cycle rides around the Kent countryside. But at this stage in my life I couldn't and wouldn't want to live anywhere but London. So “the woods” are an ideal weekend bolthole where I can get my nature “fix”.

I now have expanded my empire to eight acres, which is as much as I can cope with at present. It is a very powerful place, with maps showing that there has been woodland on the site for at least the past four centuries. The plants and animals have found their own way and, as such, are a perfectly harmonious mix.

It is made up of mainly hornbeam(an anonymous tree once invaluable for making cartwheel spokes), with oak standards, sweet chestnut, hawthorn and birch. The floor is carpeted in spring by bluebells, lesser celandine and primroses; later by yellow archangel. There are several wood ant colonies and a badger sett with half a dozen entrances. I have spotted three species of woodpecker, tree creepers, sparrow hawks and a flock of 30 chaffinches. But enough lists. Lists are for nerds.

For the first year I intend to do as little as possible, just observe, but then there will be things I can do to encourage more wildlife.In the past the hornbeam would have been coppiced for timber, but in my wood it has grown up to form a dense canopy. Selective felling will open up areas and let in light. In turn this will bring many more species of plants, attract more insects and, subsequently, the birds, mammals, amphibians and reptiles that feed on them. Many new species of wildflower might appear instantly; their seeds lie dormant for decades waiting for ideal growing conditions. The small stream that meanders through the land could be diverted into a pond.

But that is for the future. For now I'm happy to have a place to escape to on my own or to take my children camping. Jude, my five-year-old son, spends hours playing “Return of the Jedi” in his very own Endor and, early on, pronounced himself “King of the Woods”. Scout, my daughter, is not yet a year old and generally stares in astonishment when she is there. As far as I'm concerned my woodland is perfect. Apart from the grey squirrels. Don't get me started on the squirrels...

GERAINT JONES - four acres of beechwood in the Chiltern Hills

The wood finally became mine in December. I was a landowner, a member of a growing band of people who own a small piece of woodland for recreation. But what exactly does that entail? I have heard stories of middle-class families applying the same zeal to “woodwork” as they do to home improvements, but I don't fancy any of that. I also don't plan to shoot in it, or to sell its timber, and it seems unlikely, owing to a chronic lack of ability, that I will turn my hand to what are termed woodland crafts. Paintballing is also out, now I come to think of it.

Ten months on, the best answer I can give is that I plan to do not very much in my wood. The websites that have appeared in recent years selling manageable parcels of woodland contain articles on how you can cut pathways, dig out ponds, even build treehouses. This sounds exciting but, so far, I haven't got round to any of it. I have rigged up a makeshift shelter from a couple of tarpaulins, stored a few essentials in a wheelie bin bought from B&Q, and that's about it.

My sudden presence started rumours among local people that a tramp had moved in and, given the nature of my shelter and my appearance after a few days' camping, you could hardly blame them. Now, happily, I am getting to know those who come walking in my wood and they seem to have taken to me, due in no small part to Monty, my friendly dog and an ever-present companion. My fire-making and alfresco cooking skills have improved and I like to think that I'm a bit better at identifying trees, plants and flowers. I can chop wood more efficiently than before (there is nothing more invigorating on a chilly morning than chopping wood) and I am beginning to recognise the calls of various birds.

I have camped out in sub-zero temperatures, been snowed on, rained on, blown about a fair bit and endured long winter nights shivering beside camp fires of saturated wood that refused to raise themselves above a dull glow. I have also woken to beautiful sunrises, watched hares gambolling around a frost-encrusted field in the early light, seen deer glide through the undergrowth and gazed at terrific starscapes. On a clear moonlit night, the wood becomes a negative image of its daytime form and is eerily beautiful.

I enjoy entertaining in my wood. The other week I invited a few people over for lunch; we dined on a lamb and nettle stew, cooked over an open fire. My family has been supportive, and my partner has even threatened to stay overnight, although I have my doubts that it will happen this side of the Greenland ice sheet melting.

Perhaps the most satisfying thing about owning a bit of the countryside is that I can watch it change through the seasons. Blossom comes and goes, the bluebells that are glorious for about three weeks in spring are replaced by brambles, ferns and flowers whose names I do not yet know. They suck up the sunlight in the short window of opportunity before the rapidly spreading leaf canopy shuts it off. Soon there will be the wood's harvest to collect - wild cherries, beechnuts and blackberries - before everything shuts down for winter.

ANDERIDA HATCH - one acre in North Devon

I appear to own, through no fault of my own, a rather beautiful forest in North Devon. But I don't want it. Actually, that's not entirely true - sometimes I think I'd like to keep it. In quiet moments I fantasise about sitting in my forest and looking out at what are some of the best views in the country: the Bristol Channel in front of me, and the rolling hills of Exmoor behind.

And then I dream of that lovely wooden house I'd build and that great old tennis court, now hidden among the fallen pine trees, that I'd bring back to life. And then I think, no, I still don't want it.

The trouble started when my aunt died and left me a little more than an acre of land. After the initial excitement on finding out that I was a landowner, it began to dawn on me that this wasn't such a good thing after all. The land, more than 200 miles from my home in London, is in a national park and building is forbidden and access is minimal. Also, it is covered in trees that are in danger of falling down. As it is on a slope, with houses at the bottom, it needs constant upkeep.

But getting rid of my wood has been harder than I thought. Nobody wants it: not the local estate agent, the national parks people or the council. My little piece of heaven is costing me thousands as I have to pay cherry pickers to lop off branches that threaten to flatten the houses below. In the last big winds they very nearly did.

Who would have thought that a piece of land would cause me such a headache?

ANNA SHEPARD - how to get started

How to buy a wood: There's been a recent explosion in websites selling woodland in the UK, including www.woodlands.co.uk. It specialises in buying larger woodlands and parcelling them up into smaller plots to sell to individuals. You can currently buy a 0.8-acre plot in Gloucestershire for £15,000. Or try www.woods4sale.co.uk or www.woodlandowner.org.uk. Unlike buying a house, there are no surveyors' fees or council tax. Solicitors' fees are about £500; conveyancing normally takes a month. So long as you own your woodland for two years before you die, it's exempt from inheritance tax.

What to do with it Your principal duty is to maintain public rights of way and footpaths. It's within your rights to thin out trees, but should you want to cut down more than five cubic metres every three months, you will have to get a felling licence from the Forestry Commission (www.forestry.gov.uk . You are not allowed to erect a permanent building on your woodland, though you can construct a yurt or elaborate tent. All the websites that sell woodland suggest ways that you can enjoy your space, from ponds to treehouses.

Problems While the Woodland Trust (www.woodland-trust.org.uk ), the charity that protects our native woodlands, believes that buying woodland is a wonderful way of securing its future and getting people involved with nature, it asks that it not become fragmented by different parts of it being managed in different ways. This is not conducive to wildlife conservation.

 Timesonline