The hedge can be a Queen of Puddings, a veritable pie, which could have its uses in all sorts of places

When applying for planning permission for more solar panels here last year, the eco-adviser commented that my suggestion of a native hedgerow screen around them would not especially up the ‘biodiversity net gain’ because we would be keeping it at about my height (5ft 7in).

I was not sure I followed the logic: stock-proof hedges, after all, are kept at about this height and are famously biodiverse and mine would be wild and willowy. My interest was piqued enough, however, to sleuth some labour-saving alternatives that would form a magnetic ribbon of pollinator lures and a nesting heaven, yet never cast a shadow on one precious iota of sun-given power.

A solar array is expensive and expansive, but, luckily, we have a small square field we can use. Formerly littered with modern agricultural buildings, it has been cleared and compacted into a hard wasteland, rubble-ridden acres that have developed their own eco-system of poor grass, grasshoppers and voles. We have been ‘rounding’ them at the edges with hedgerow and copse planting, but more would be needed.

My thoughts turned to quick-growing annuals — good for birds. Perhaps I should go for game crop, that mixture of sunflowers, millet, quinoa, niger seed — exotically named Guizotia abyssinica — oats and teasel (a very west London menu), which you see in pheasant country. Mr B stipulated ‘no maize’, to avoid an onslaught of rats, badgers and deer, but I have always been rather fascinated by game crops. The planting of woods and copses with a shrubby understorey created the pentimento of woods and fields we know and love. Game and hunting have had a huge hand in what we think of as ‘wild’ countryside, with cover varied in height and density, as opposed to monumental monotonous agri-farming. Yet annuals would require too much work and the look would be too outlandish and incongruous here in the wet Cheddar lands.

Quick-growing perennials were my next thought. Miscanthus sinensis, for instance, which is tolerant of many hard conditions and great for wildlife to nest and hide in, offering perennial cover. Willows and cornus for coppicing would suck up any standing water, but this look was too managed and hard work.

We turned back to the hedgerow idea and searched for different ingredients for low-level, wildlife-friendly, fruitful strips of semi-permaculture. Hedgy things woven together with fruit-bearing Rosaceae; brambles, berries, dog-like roses and perhaps some damsons and quinces, bramleys even; an edible hedgible. The body of this would need to be shrubby multi-stems — perhaps a slow-growing holly, such as Ilex aquifolium ‘J.C. van Tol’. Common lilac in hedgerows gets too tall, but the Persian lilac is much smaller. Syringa meyeri ‘Palibin’, S. pubescens subsp. microphylla ‘Superba’ and S. x josiflexa ‘Bellicent’, for example.

Then species roses in abundance, adding thorniness and hips for the birds, from the apple-scented eglantine Rosa rubiginosa to Ayrshire roses, even the odd cultivar such as repeat-flowering Friendship of Strangers and the aptly named low-level Grouse. The adorable, scented, yellow currant ‘Gwen’s Buffalo’ would stay the right size. I could add currants (‘Rovada’ and ‘White Versailles’, royal and ancient) plus the recommended robust blackcurrants ‘Ben Connan’, ‘Ben Hope’ and ’Ben Sarek’, all bred for disease resistance, compact habit and heavy cropping with minimal intervention. Gooseberries, which I love to make into the simplest of fools, make brilliant nesting cover — Ribes uvacrispa ‘Invicta’ is all it purports to be.

For weaving and binding this basket, I would add honeysuckle — straight Lonicera periclymenum — on the shady side (with the currants, which sulk in the sun) and Rubus, the bramble family, too, from the enchanting white-flowered R. ‘Benenden’ to blackberry ‘Black Butte’ and the Japanese wineberry, R. phoenicolasius. The Japanese thought led me back to quinces — white-flowered ‘Jet Trail’, the perfect addition to the apple and blackberry pie. The very idea of wild raspberries means the likes of ‘Autumn Bliss’ and ‘Glen Ample’ must go into the mix, again on the shady side. Many of these are better cooked and excellent for sauces and souffles.

The hedge was becoming a Queen of Puddings, a veritable pie, which could have its uses in all sorts of places — not only the solar screen. Yet the adage about too many cooks is true, too, of ingredients and I will need to edit mine: nobody wants their screening to look like an abandoned municipal car park. As ever, the rule is simplicity — to choose species ideally and reduce the number of varieties; boldness in everything.