Rowan: The Sentinel of the Hills
Trees of Ireland n.o 2
One autumn afternoon, high in the hills of Killarney I was walking the Old Kenmare Road heading north. Despite my tiredness I diverted off the main track and scrambled up a hill who’s name escapes me now. I paused to catch my breath on the rocky summit that had views of the Killarney lakes and the hills descending into Kenmare to the south. I could see pockets of forest still clinging to steep revines, terrain that doesn’t suit sheep and deer for grazing in. And out there in the exposed heather and bracken I spotted a lone tree—a Rowan.
It was standing defiantly against the elements. Its delicate, feathered leaves trembled in the wind, and despite the season’s encroaching chill, its blazing red berries shone like embers against the grey sky. It struck me then, as it has many times since, that the Rowan is a tree of resilience.
Around me stretched miles of exposed uplands, the kind of landscape many think of as Ireland’s natural state—open, windswept, and bare. But that’s not quite true. Much of Ireland’s landscape today is missing something: trees. The deforested hills and moors we now see were once draped in woodland, alive with biodiversity. Over centuries, human activity, particularly grazing, has shaped these landscapes, preventing the natural regeneration of forests. Sheep, cattle, and deer browse on young saplings, keeping vast areas in a perpetual state of openness. Without grazing pressure, pioneers like birch and rowan would begin reclaiming the land, eventually leading to the return of mixed woodlands.
I’m well aware that the National Parks and Wildlife Service (NPWS) in Killarney is deeply conscious of the impact of grazing on forest regeneration. In an effort to protect and restore native woodlands, several controversial fences were erected to keep out deer and other grazing animals, allowing young trees to establish without being browsed down. I’ve walked through these forests many times and even worked as a volunteer in their restoration efforts. I’ve traversed these fences, noting where many have been trampled, collapsed, or simply worn down by time. Despite the best efforts to control the impact of grazing, the problem remains. More often than not, when I step into these woods now, I hear the high-pitched warning cry of a deer, an ever-present reminder that these creatures still move freely through the land.
Yet, grazing is not simply a destructive force—it can also have ecological value. In places like the Burren in County Clare, where limestone pavements create a unique habitat, sheep and cattle grazing help maintain the rich diversity of wildflowers by preventing forest and scrub from taking over. This delicate balance between grazing, biodiversity, and reforestation is part of a complex and ongoing interplay between man-made changes and natural processes. It is a back-and-forth relationship, where what appears "natural" today is often the result of long-term human influence, and what we consider "wild" is still in flux. I’ve a personal relationship with the Burren because that’s where I harvest wild hazel sticks for making yurts, but more about that another day.
And so, if the Birch is the pioneer of the exposed and wet lowlands, slowly reclaiming land for the return of the forest, then the Rowan is its upland counterpart—clinging to rocky ridges, thriving in places few other trees can. Its presence is a reminder that even within Ireland’s most desolate landscapes the forest is always trying to return.
The Pioneer of the Heights
The Rowan (Sorbus aucuparia) is not a tree of deep forests. Instead, it thrives in places that seem inhospitable—clinging to rocky crags, lining mountain passes, and finding a foothold in the poorest of soils. The Rowan doesn’t wait for perfect conditions; it takes root where it can, and it flourishes.
It colonizes poor, acidic soils. Its deep roots anchor it against wind, while its small leaves reduce water loss. and it can regrow from damage, making it incredibly resilient.
Like Birch, it is a pioneer species, one of the first trees to recolonize cleared or damaged land. But while Birch spreads across abandoned fields and bogs, the Rowan’s kingdom is the high ground.
This is what makes Rowan so fascinating—it is a tree that refuses to be erased. Even in the most unlikely places, it holds its ground, a living memory of the woodlands that once were.
The Blazing Berries and the Birds
Perhaps Rowan’s most striking feature is its berries—small, round, and red as fire, hanging in clusters that persist long after the last leaves have fallen.
But these berries are not just decoration; they are vital to the Rowan’s survival. In autumn and winter, they become a lifeline for birds that gorge on them, scattering the seeds far and wide. This is Rowan’s strategy: instead of relying on the wind, like Birch or Willow, it enlists the birds as allies in its spread, ensuring its legacy reaches even the most isolated places.
Rowan
The rowan grows tall
passed over by all
storms
it forms
here in the open wilds
the perfection of a child's
painting of a tree
untested by tragedy.
Mandy HaggithA Tree of Myth and Magic
Few trees are as steeped in folklore as the Rowan. In Ireland it has long been seen as a tree of protection—planted near homes and farmsteads to ward off witchcraft and ill fortune. Red was considered a colour of power and protection, and so the Rowan, with its fiery berries, was believed to repel evil.
Branches were hung over doorways and stitched into the lining of clothing for protection. Sailors carried Rowan charms to guard against shipwrecks, and in some traditions, walking sticks made of Rowan were believed to guide travellers safely through dangerous places.
Being the time of year that it is - on the cusp of Imbolc - I was pleased to realise that the rowan tree was closely associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid. She was often depicted carrying a rowan staff. The rowan was believed to be a sacred tree in Brigid’s groves.
The Rowan tree actually belongs to the rose family, and is sometimes known as ‘The Lady of the Mountain’.
I was also intrigued to discover that even its wood grain has a hidden magic—the heartwood often contains a five-pointed star, a natural pentagram formed by the way its fibers grow. In ancient beliefs, this symbol represented protection, reinforcing Rowan’s reputation as a guardian tree.
Robin’s Rowan
Guardian, gate-keeper, path-protector,
you ward against the threat of evil
at the entrance to this house.
Stream-sentinel, rock-bound,
above a clefted torrent,
your tough roots purify the water.
In the glens, your red fruits
beckon blackbirds, thrushes,
to their astringent feast.
The barren seek your boughs
to bed beneath, assured conception
and a safe carriage.
Beltane sheep jump through rowan hoops,
and cattle rest, murrain-free,
with tail-tied twigs, in protected byres.
Your power, enchantress, is in your leafy shield;
a berried blessing, sanguine, steadfast.
Stand so for us, for all your green hands shade.
Colin Will
A Reminder in the Landscape
There's something special about spotting this tree in the wild. But now, after delving deeper into its ecology and role in the landscape, I’ve come to appreciate the Rowan even more. This is why I love writing these monthly posts about our trees—to encourage both our enjoyment of them and a greater awareness of their significance, both for you and for me.
The Rowan is more than just a splash of colour in the wild; it is a testament to the resilience of nature, thriving in some of the harshest conditions.
I encourage you to seek out the Rowan when you are out and about. It makes our time in nature so much more enjoyable. We can take an inventory, a mental map if you will, of the species that surround us, that accompany us. Nothing in nature is arbitrary.
Everything tells a story.
Until next time everyone
Thanks for dropping by.
Happy Imbolc and St Brigid’s Day
I am looking at the beautiful tall Roman tree outside the front of our house.Having read your latest Substack I am very happy to know that it’s considered a Guardian tree and that it’s connected to St Brigid.