Hollow ways and hilly ways

I baked a loaf of sourdough, put a pot of beans in the oven and  went out walking on what looked to be the first and last fine day for a while.

The community we don't quite belong to (or do we?) is an ancient parish that stretches from the sea below to the mountain above with several small clusters of population and many isolated farms and cottages - mostly holiday homes now, visitors being a more reliable source of income than agriculture.

All these habitations are connected by a network of footpaths, green lanes, rat runs and short cuts once used by folk who took the most direct routes from place to place (work, school, chapel, pub). Few use them now, in fact I didn't see anyone else as I threaded my way through from coast to hillside.

 Within the village, the old lanes are  etched deep into the landscape with sycamore and ash trees overhanging and streams trickling across here and there.  Up above (extra) sunken tracks are edged with stone walls, turf banks, gorse and thorn trees all fused rogether to form sheltered corridors that protect against the wind and rain. If needs be sheep can hunker down and sit out the worst of the weather under a mesh of twisted roots and branches.

I didn't meet anyone on my entire off-road route so I'm wondering who in future will remember how to get from here to there unless there's a surge of interest in walking routes that aren't designated 'trails'. The function of these ancient arteries has been superceded by speedier ways to get around but in the process so much that is valuable has been lost.