There is a certain swagger to this tree. You see it standing there at the edge of the forest, not quite native, but not apologising for it either. That bark alone could tell a story or two, all twisted muscle and weathered ropes, like a sailor retired to the woods.
This is 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑎 𝑝𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑑𝑜𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑎, known as Black Locust in English, Robinier faux-acacia in French, and Valse acacia in Dutch. The botanical name honours Jean Robin, the royal French gardener who first cultivated it in the early 1600s. The species name pseudoacacia simply means pretending to be an Acacia. No shame in that really, Acacias have always had a certain allure.
Those elegant feather-like leaves give the game away, as does the deeply furrowed trunk. If you have ever brushed past one in late spring, you will remember the scent of the flowers. Sweet, heavy, almost honeyed. Bees adore them and produce prized light honey from them. Woodworkers praise the timber too, hard and durable, good for fence posts and once for the strakes of boats. This tree has always been useful.
It is not native here, though. It drifted from gardens and estates into the woods, especially along boundaries and old ride lines. Some foresters mutter about its enthusiasm for spreading, and they have a point. Black Locust does not ask for permission, it simply takes its place and thrives.
Still, when you come across a veteran like this, twisting up through autumn light with a crown full of small green leaves refusing to drop just yet, you cannot help but admire it. A stubborn guest at the edge of The Forest, holding its ground and looking rather magnificent while doing so.