When the bark is better than a byte
I wrote most of this blog in one 30 minute sitting - ‘in the zone’, as they say - and then managed to lose it in one one-minute sitting… Squarespace doesn’t have autosave when you’re using its web application nor does it warn you that you’re about to leave the page and lose absolutely bl**dy everything. So I’ve rewritten it as best I can. Grrrrr! At least it gave me the idea for a title :)
“And into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul.”
A fortnight ago I hugged a tree. Last week I stroked its moss. And yesterday I fondled some bark. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?!
There are few more relaxing and inspiring places than Gelt Woods in Brampton, Cumbria. The home of a very special Roman quarry upon which ancient graffiti was carved and from which the stone for nearby Hadrian’s Wall was extracted. Running (sometimes crashing) through it is a beautiful river with wise old trees standing guard in their suits of bark armour and most days these days there’s me wandering mindfully amongst it all whilst the dogs chase pheasants and ducks and - as ever - fail to catch anything.
I love the dappled light in forests, light that works it way through the canopy, casting its playful shadows across the paths. It’s been one of the magic elements in a treatment regime - along with an amazing family network and a superb psychologist - that’s helped me deal with depression and anxiety since my stay in intensive care last year and more recently with related trauma thoughts. There’s a forest-clothed hill just behind our house - the red hill that gives Redhill its name - where I reckon I’ve walked 1000 kilometres since the first lockdown.
When mum died last April I was barred from travelling north to attend the cremation (I take medication that compromises my immune system) and, again, the forest came to my rescue - this time the one surrounding Leith Hill where I walked with Barbara, sharing AirPods to listen to a Spotify playlist of songs that reminded me of mum, whilst recalling Philip Larkin’s poem, The Forest:
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
The Japanese practice of Shinrin yoku - forest bathing - was mentioned recently in Green Spaces, an episode of Michael Mosley’s excellent Just One Thing programme on BBC Radio 4, during which he mentioned the value of experiencing the forest with all of our senses. I look at the trees, listen to the birds and smell the scents but rarely do I use my sense of touch - hence all that hugging, stroking and fondling I’ve been getting up to! One day I’ll learn how to forage and then I can taste the forest too.
Click on the pictures, which were taken with my iPhone, to see them full size in a lightroom view.
