Something went wrong.

We've been notified of this error.

Need help? Check out our Help Centre.


Over 97% of wildflower meadows have been lost since the 1930s, a startling 7.5 million acres. Species-rich grassland now only covers a mere 1% of the UK.

A meadow would contain up to 40 species in a square metre. The meadow remains an important and crucial habitat with over 150 different species of flower and grass that support a myriad of insects from bees and beetles to grasshoppers and butterflies, which in turn support many small animals and birds.

About 35 percent of the world’s food crops need insects to pollinate them. The loss of pollinating insects could threaten our own food supply. Meadows also help mitigate flooding by holding on to rain water and capture vast amounts of carbon.

15 years ago I decided to make the fields on my land, where I live in south Norfolk, into wildflower meadows. They had been pasture for horses by the previous owner and were quite fertile. The best wildflower meadows have low fertility so the more aggressive species that like rich soil like thistles, nettles, docks and coarse grasses don't overtake the flowers. I sowed wildflowers and grasses but its  management that creates the meadow. The meadows are mowed in the spring until May then left until September when they are taken down. All the cuttings (and there are piles and piles of them!) have to be removed from the meadow to keep the fertility low. 

But most importantly it's the experience of being in a meadow.

I wrote the poem below to describe this.

The meadow softly undulates,

like a rippling mantle

stroked by the breeze.

Slender grasses gently lean,

and bend, and sway,

splatters of buttercups joggle and bob,

speckles of daisies, toss their heads,

flashes of white, like flickers of surf.

A thousand shimmering shawls, lay thrown across the swathe, fastened with silken threads.

Below the canopy, the backpackers, hurry, hesitate, scurry,

grasshoppers leap, now here, now there, shaking stalks,

disturbed springtails catapult into clouds above,

up among the drifting butterflies, lifted on slipstreams,

sunlit shafts peppered with tiny mites and humming bees,

pulsating with the murmuring meadow below.

Using Format