How annual hedge cutting could become a thing of the past

With hedge cutting season upon us once more we must watch out for heavy machinery on country roads. Why is it that, whenever I am in a hurry, I meet up with Gentleman Hedgecutter right on a blind bend, where it must take several minutes for him to move out of the way?
He has a living to make, of course. Perhaps he is paid by the yard rather than by the day, so that it is far more economical for him to finish that fiddly bit before letting me pass, rather than to let me pass.
That fiddly bit is a blackthorn, liberally endowed with thorns of the stoutest and sharpest variety. These fall beneath the tyres of my car, and when I finally get where I am going it is to find that strange wobble that has appeared in the steering is caused by a nearly flat front tyre. And who must pay to get my puncture fixed? Why, it is I.
At least I have something (and someone) at which to direct my increasing ire. All that goes wrong through this day can be traced back to the initial delay as a fiddly bit of thorny hedge is flayed to within an inch of its very life.
Had I got to work on time I would not have become breathless from rushing up three flights of stairs, nor would I have spilled my coffee. The resulting yellow-brown stain would not have appeared on my trousers (both legs, if you please). I would not have been stared at, nor pitied. Mrs B would not have been repulsed by further evidence of an apparently chronic drinking problem; we would finally have shared that long anticipated coffee together, the sun would have shone, the future would be bright, my heart would be light. I would be humming some little ditty instead of champing my jaws and building resentment at those who make a living flaying hedges.
But now that same coffee is down my trousers. I become agitated at this sequence of events. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror; red-faced and scowling, veins popping from my temples and that unsightly stain now gone brown around the edge.
‘Good weekend?’ asks the boss. I know exactly what he means.
We should be glad at legislation that restricts the cutting of hedgerows through the bird nesting season. There are loopholes in the law, of course, and these are gleefully exploited by those who must, by whatever means, maintain their autonomy.
For the most part, landowners and agricultural contractors are understanding of the need to protect what remains of our environmental integrity, and for that we should be glad.
There is also a growing recognition that we need to move aside and make room for the return of the animals, birds and insects that are essential for a happy human existence.
With this awakening comes the notion of ‘rewilding’, which entails more or less abandoning areas of land and allowing natural processes to continue their way unhindered.
During a recent visit to the UK, I was able to witness steps being taken toward this very goal. In one location a number of landowners with adjoining farms have begun working together to create their own nature reserve. Increasing the size of the area given back to wildlife attracts greater grants, which will hopefully provide a satisfactory, sustainable income for the farming families that are so far committed.
Interestingly, the area involved contains a wide variety of landscape types. Some of the land is marginal and has never been farmed in a profitable manner. Yet other areas were previously well drained and fertile dairy farms. Even south facing, once-arable fields have been included, with the full expectation that upcoming generations will still be able to enjoy an income, even without the traditional farming workload.
One essential element of this rewilding is the cessation of nutrient loading. With no artificial or natural fertilisers the ground becomes nutrient poor. Less dense grass leads to rich wildflower diversity. This provides food for insects and the insects feed the birds.
We should revisit our Gentleman Hedgecutter with his great machine mulching and spewing fragments of vegetation, which, aside from the thorns that find their vengeful way to the road, all fall back to the bottom of the hedge to decompose and nourish their parent bushes, prompting further growth over successive summers.
What we need is some clever soul to invent a machine to collect the trimmings and compress them into wooden briquettes. Annual hedge cutting could become a thing of the past. The briquettes sold could pay for the entire exercise, naturally.