Category: writing

In comes I, in search of a surprise angry panther

This week has included  St George’s day, a day for which I have no particular affiliation, but I do have fond memories. Anyone who has read past blogs will know that I grew up in the folk world with all its wonderful, and yes, quite frankly odd, traditions and practices. One of which is the performing of mummurs plays: folk plays by amateur ‘actors’ (see, more often beer happy folkies) that usually contain within them, a sword dual, a dragon slaying and a quack doctor who would bring the slain hero back to life. (Although there are many, many regional variations.) As ever, they were often an allegory for the fight between good and evil as well as for the seasons and crops returning to life after winter.

When a character enters the scene in a mummers play, he (and traditionally it was always men) would announce themselves beginning with, “In comes I,…” and the discourse would often be held, in a strutting and goading manner and usually in rhyming couplets:

“In comes I, Saint George! An heroic man,

With steely sword, my shield in hand.

I fought the fiery dragon

And sent him to the slaughter,

And for this deed I won the hand

Of the King’s beautiful daughter.”

The reason I have fond memories, is not just of watching many of these plays at street fayres between bouts of morris and clog dancing, but of being in one during a solar eclipse – many years ago. We were in Devon, or Cornwall, or thereabouts (I think) so many folk camps blur into one homogenous folk life. On this day most of the campers made their way to the top of a hill to witness the mystical event and as the time drew nearer, a group of us set about a mummers play.

As strong as my memory of the beauty and awe of the eclipse and how everything fell silent as the shadow descended, and as much as I remember the strangeness of the feeling of such a magical moment; I just as much remember that the huge men’s trousers I had borrowed for the play, that were held up only with string, kept threatening to fall down as I proudly introduced myself: “In comes I…”   and then very nearly, out went dignity.

In the current situation, I have structured my time so that I work at my desk every morning, garden usually in the afternoon and if I have any energy left after cooking tea, set about my personal work later. As such, the garden is getting more attention than usual. This week, I have been on the hunt for a surprise angry panther. Let me explain. Last year, a flower emerged from amongst an area of, well, chaos, in one of my borders, that I couldn’t quite place. Popping it on twitter and asking for identification help, a gardener friend of mine replied that it was an agapanthus, but an unusual looking one. The best thing though, was that they told me that they called them angry panthers, and to this day, that is what I call them too. I know roughly where it is located but the ground covering mat of ajuga, pulmonaria and creeping cinquefoil, has hindered any precise pinpointing – hence the search.  So far, the angry panther remains elusive, but I live in hope.

Talking of elusive nature, the orange tip butterflies are a cheeky bunch fluttering about but never landing long enough to take a picture. And, I am pretty convinced I found badger poo in the garden. When I told MOTH to come and see something interesting, he was not at all convinced when I said it was poo, until he saw it and reluctantly had to agree that it was, actually, interesting. I have seen a badger in the garden before, so it is quite possible.

Other garden activities have been checking each morning whether any new veg have begun to poke above ground – potatoes, onions, climbing beans, courgettes and garlic are romping ahead leaving the peas and spinach wheezing and panting at the back of the pack. The weather is proving glorious for us humans, but as a gardener I am feeling the pain of nature trying to compete with increasingly parched earth. We have four water sources available in a variety of locations for wildlife, but it is the plants I feel for, trying to push through baked clay – and we are only in April! Perhaps I should write and perform a one-woman mummers play to the rain gods to see if we can entice them to show our land some mercy. Six weeks into isolation – this doesn’t sound quite so mad an idea.

 

 

Rooks, kites and curious bees

Last week I had a conversation about the plague doctor before eight a.m. Oddly enough, it wasn’t brought about directly by the current situation, rather in a more circumvent way. With both the lack of being able to physically meet and the want to find things that can be done ‘together,’ especially if they are a way to boost morale a little, it was suggested in one of our family chats that on national bird day we all draw a bird to then share with each other. Which we did. I put my hand in the air though to admit that I forgot to do it on the day in question and so on the morning of sharing I hastily and with many smudges, scribbled a terrible rendition of a rook. (It may also have suffered the addition of some spilt almond milk.) This was in fact what started the plague doctor discussion as I have always been reminded of such by rooks, because of their lighter coloured beaks. They remind me of the masks worn by the doctors treating sick people during the bubonic plague. These masks included a long hollow beak stuffed with highly scented herbs with the thought that this would purify the air. The rest of their costume was often made up of a long heavy coat and gloves and a stick to keep the sick at bay. There was mention that many or all of these things could be useful when doing the weekly shop at the moment.

I am sure I am not the only one who has found that the first few weeks of lockdown was followed by an almost panicked rush of on-line chats and video calls as well as an inordinate amount of chat groups on various platforms, both work and social. Whilst this has been amazingly lovely and I am entirely grateful that we are able to do so, I have to admit I have found it a bit exhausting, as I know many others have too. It was almost as if, for two weeks I did nothing but chat in various forms.

I read an interesting article on this subject and apparently one of the reasons we find these video calls difficult, is seeing ourselves as we talk. We never normally have this phenomenon, unless we only ever talk to someone with a mirror placed behind them and we are constantly looking over their shoulder.

Another reason is that our brains and bodies are getting mixed messages: the brain says that we are in the company of another person but the body knows that it physically isn’t; this dissonance causes a friction that can make us feel at odds. It has been recommended that when on these talks there are things we can do to minimise the strangeness; we can not look directly at the camera and screen the whole time, allow yourself to look around you, gesticulate – like you would in a normal situation; you wouldn’t usually spend an entire conversation staring directly into someone’s face (weird). The other is to not show yourself on the screen. This is also an advantage when you are ignoring the fact that you haven’t brushed your hair for three days. I wonder if, when all this is over, we’ll only recognise people by their under-chins and will have to ask them to look upwards for confirmation of who they are – having got so used to the dreaded video call angle.

This week has also brought out the curious bees. MOTH and I were digging a new vegetable patch (we may never stop, one day we won’t have a garden, just an allotment – suits me) and all around us we could see bees hovering in the air at about head height. They seemed to be assessing, looking, taking the lie of the land, which in fact is probably what they were doing. Bees do send out scouts either to gather foraging directions or they go out on mass to find a new home when they leave their old hive. Being so many, I wonder if we witnessed the latter. Other curious bees this week include the ones that are impatient to get to any freshly dug earth; perhaps they are also looking for a new nesting site.

In other exciting nature news, we have robins nesting and I am fiercely protective over them. I can see their nest from my study and I have, on more than one occasion, been known to abandon my laptop mid-sentence and bolt downstairs to shoo a cat away if they were getting too close. I also had a lovely few seconds of pure joy when I saw a kite lazily flying overhead in perfect blue sky. We regularly have buzzards circling about nearby, but this was my first kite spot.

With the current imposed lockdown, there has been much talk of nature having a bit of time without our constant interference and there appears to be an upswell of interest in the natural world. I hope this continues when we are all set loose again. It seems to be giving so much to us in terms of comfort, pleasure, interest and lifting spirits; I hope in turn, we will give more back to it.

Observations on a week including athleisure and cake

I find I have been regularly wearing my running leggings – with absolutely no intention of going running whatsoever. Let’s face it, with the way things are at the moment, no one is going to see me, I could just as well be wearing a shark costume and party hat for all anyone would know. But they are comfortable and there is always the possibility that I could, if the spirit took me, spontaneously launch into exercise (pause whist taking a moment to haul self, up off the floor from laughter at this idea.)

A year or so ago we saw the spread of athleisure and I, like many, scoffed. But frankly, right  now I see the appeal. Clothing, athletic in its heritage, but worn for leisure and comfort. It reminds me of a black and white tracksuit I had when I was about eight, I loved it. I don’t know why as, although obsessed with ballet, I wasn’t exactly sporty even then.

The odd thing is, even though I have in the past been out running in my sports leggings, I still wouldn’t conceive of just popping out casually in them. Why? Surely jiggling about, wobbling uncontrollably in them would be worse than just wandering down the high street (ok, a notion not on the cards right now anyway) and yet it feels as if it is okay to show every bulge and bump, as long as it looks like you are making an effort to do something about it.

I am also at this juncture, once again marvelling at the truly frightening way advertising manages to hack right into life because, of late I have had many adverts turn up anywhere I log on line all luring me to buy leg sculpting, bum lifting, waist restraining sports leggings How? I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’ve haven’t written or looked at any before now, but merely mentioned them in passing to MOTH who wondered if I might be about to do something dangerous, like jog. And, as much as I would like a pair (for the aforementioned possibility of spontaneous sport or for ignoring such) this is not a time for frivolous shopping. If any companies spot this blog and want to send me some for free, fair do’s otherwise, it’s the old faithful pair and stop showing me things I am not going to buy. Stop it!

But I am also hankering after a house coat for completely the opposite end of the wearing clothes spectrum. Before we went into lock down, I was making a concerted effort to wear some of my nicer clothes more often, particularly dresses. But I am a clumsy person, to say the least. Despite craving clear surfaces, calm rooms with no clutter and an easy way around the place to just ‘top-up’ clean – I am, by nature a creative mess maker. And clumsy. Very clumsy. Hence, the fancy for a housecoat. But a nice one – with pockets. Something I could feel almost as glamourous in as a nice dress underneath. Actually, I’ve always been quite taken with 1920’s fashion and so a pair of flouncy silk day pyjamas under a fabulous housecoat (with pockets) would be ideal especially now it is a rare occasion to leave the house.

Speaking of housework. With us all in lockdown and the weather flip-flopping between spring and winter, it feels as if it is the perfect time to have a good old sort out of the house. Overflowing cupboards, wardrobes and drawers could be purged and the house given a jolly good spruce up. But, there is one huge flaw in this plan. What to do with all of the things you decide to get rid of? We can’t take things to the recycling centre or to charity shops and unless you are lucky enough to have a spare storage shed sitting empty to stash it all in, the only option is to have it hanging around in boxes and bags getting in the way – or just putting it all back where it came from.

I thought I’d found a perfect thing to crack on with sorting out that wouldn’t cause too much excess to get rid of. That was to finally gather up all my hand-scribbled recipes, together with those I have torn out of magazines or printed off and get them sorted and all in the same place in some discernible order. And that is what I did. Or rather, that is what I started. Two recipes written up neatly and then a glance at the huge pile to go and I gave up. And wrote this instead.

But, one of the two recipes I did manage to write up was for what I am calling, ‘Molly’s Muffin Loaf.’ For the recipe and to find out why it is called that, just click on the link here.

Thoughts on a pause

I am a writer. Words are my tools of trade. But despite having had the want to write about the current situation we are all trying to come to terms with, I have struggled to find the words; or rather, pin down the right ones.

What I usually hope to do with my writing is to entertain, soothe and inform gently but with the current pandemic, words suddenly seem so small, genuine expressions of care appear inconsequential and as for giving information – no one can give directions with an uncharted map.

The speed with which the whole world has been touched by this virus took us all by surprise and by doing so, we have been caught off guard. Human nature when faced with danger is to react with fight, flight or freeze and I feel we have seen evidence of these in inherently natural initial reactions such as panic buying, blame pointing, denial and other individualistic self-preserving behaviours.

But this is unsustainable and a large part of what makes us human is our ability to take control of our own minds, to stand outside ourselves and reflect. Now we are starting to see the more beautiful and positive side of our species and it feels as if we are on a cusp, we are at the dividing line between two very different states and we are poised to write our own preface. We have been disorientated, but in this moment of pause we are beginning to look beyond ourselves alone. People are campaigning for the rights of others. Communities are creating networks to look after those in most need. Friends and families are calling and checking in on each other in a way we always had the chance to before, but didn’t until we were shown the importance of the act by the threat of not being able to do so.

We have a long way to go. We have barely begun in fact and the repercussions of this world-encompassing event will last for generations; but we have a choice, in large, as to what those repercussions will be.

We can choose our behaviour to be that which is best for everyone not just for us; but we can also choose to forgive those who have not yet found their way to doing so – they are scared, perhaps unwilling to face the reality of their world turned upside-down and hating them won’t change them. Show them with your actions the kinder way to live. They still might not change, but your efforts will be of greater good than hating.

We can choose what we share and how we share it. When you are poised to forward a link, press post or send; think before you do of what reaction it will provoke. If all it will do is make people feel worse without providing any course for positive change, then perhaps it is not helpful. I’m not saying ignore the injustices, we must get angry about some things and hold certain people/governments/businesses to account for their behaviour; but sharing negative things with shouts of bad and boo hiss will not change anything. Ask, what can I/we do? If there is absolutely nothing you can do to influence positive change in a situation, perhaps put it to one side and look for something you can help with.

We can choose, as a species, to reflect on not only where we are, but where we want to go when we are through this. We have all become hyper aware of what are our fundamental basic needs: healthy sustenance, a roof over our heads, nature to see and breathe, family and friends, good health, education, work. These are what we NEED. All the rest: consumerism, air travel, stuff, stuff, stuff – how important do these things feel now?

I am not saying what has happened is a good thing, not in the least. I have family working front line including in hospital, and others in the highly at risk group – and I am terrified for them. But I dare to hope in these difficult times that the majority of us will choose to be kind, will choose to fight only with positive action for positive change, will choose to look at need over want, will choose to share what will help instead of what will cause distress and will choose always to be ‘we’ not ‘I.’

I wish everyone the hug they need right now or a cheesy thumbs up, a shoulder to cry on or a laugh to be shared. Stay home. Stay safe. Be kind. We will get through this.

A Dog with Three Tales

 

 

No, this isn’t some kind of story about an inverted universe Cerberus, but actually a tree or shrub.

At this time of year we can be lacking in colour; from the interminable grey of these  early months to the not yet burgeoning flora. But, there are a few exceptional bits of winter colour to find, including that of the dogwood. We have a dogwood shrub; Cornus alba, and the bright red stems are always a welcome sight throughout winter. But despite always admiring its striking scarlet limbs I’ve never really thought about its name before. And so, I did a little rummaging around.

The dogwood comes as either tree or shrub and there are quite a few myths around them – and wide-ranging at that. But three stood out as the most often recited and each has its own message to us.

One tale about the dogwood tree is that it provided the wood for the crucifix on which Jesus died. The story goes that, at that time, the dogwood was the tallest and strongest tree by far and having the sturdiest timber it was chosen to be made into the cross. The dogwood felt such sorrow and anguish at the task to which it had been made to perform that Jesus, dying upon it, felt the pain it experienced and as a kindness changed its kin so that all dogwoods would forever grow small and twisted and never be made to carry such a burden again. When Jesus was resurrected, the dogwood bloomed and blossomed in celebration. At the centre of the flower, there is a cluster of green which is seen as representation of the crown of thorns that Jesus wore upon the crucifix. Many people acknowledge the dogwood as a reminder of Jesus’ love and sacrifice.

Another tale regards Hectate, the goddess of protection and hidden knowledge. She was said to bring daily blessings and prosperity to family life and was herself a lover of solitude, never wanting to be centre of attention. Her symbols were dogs, torches and the new moon. But, that old rogue, Shakespeare was to be her undoing for he mentioned her name in connection with ‘dagger,’ most well-associated with MacBeth. At the time, daggers were often made of dagwood tree; the name, later changing to dogwood. The association of dogs, daggers and the dogwood tree and therefore with the goddess Hectate, meant that the damage was done and her mythology forever influenced. She became thereon to be perceived as the goddess of witchcraft and her name even became the root for the word, ‘hag’ meaning witch. This story of misrepresentation is used to warn us of how easily our characters can be destroyed through distortion. The dogwood here, is used to serve as a reminder to be alert so we are not taken advantage of by those who seek to betray or deceive us. But also to encourage us to view and experience our surroundings in quiet observation and that we can learn much about ourselves and others, by watching.

A third tale is one which came from among the Cherokee who told the story of a race of little people who lived in the forest and protected the tribe; they were the Dogwood people. These beings kept the children and elders safe, always with benevolence, not asking for anything in return and they were there to teach about being in harmony with the earth. Here, the dogwood spirit is associated with random acts of kindness.

The origin of the name, however most likely came about from the smooth, straight and incredibly strong limbs which were used to make skewers, daggers, arrows and the such. Skewers used to be called ‘dags’ or ‘dogs.’ The word ‘dog tree’ can be traced back to 1548 and later, in 1614 it was changed to dogwood, when it also acquired a secondary name of Hound’s Tree, the fruits of which were known as dogberries or houndberries.

Whatever your beliefs, I can’t see anything wrong in all of us taking heed of the stories and messages above: that there can be such empathy between humans and nature that it can be felt and acted upon and that great love will make sacrifices; that we should be alert to those who wish to harm us, but also to observe quietly to better learn about the world around us; and there is importance to being in harmony with nature, that we can act with benevolence and that random acts of kindness go a long way.

Note to Self:

I’ve seen a lot of people joining in with the social media prompt to post a picture of themselves from the beginning of the decade and now, as we approach the end of it. But it occurs to me, that a whole world can happen in that time.

If I were to join the posting, the pictures would not be much different, save for a few more grey hairs and a further creasing around the eyes. But all that in between… My life over this decade has been a ridiculous rollercoaster of ups: marrying my darling MOTH, and downs (sadly many) which also include – cancer. There would be a more stark contrast in pictures if I were to post one from two years ago, when I had no hair at all due to chemotherapy.

I am someone who doesn’t subscribe to looking at the past. This has been borne out to me even more after recently trying counselling again. I went because of things that have happened to me over the last five years or so, including going through cancer, which at the time of doing so, you knuckle down so hard to just physically surviving, you don’t get a chance to address the mental and emotional aspects until a year or two after. I have been diagnosed with PTSD and hypervigilance along with anxiety and depression, none of which surprises me in the least. But, it was the constant push to go back and scrutinise the past that made me stop going. Yes, I believe the past would be the genesis of much of my, shall we say, idiosyncrasies, but my personal gut feeling is that ok, that was that, but I’d rather look at now and what can be, rather than what was.

However, I am also coming to the conclusion that there is not an awful lot of point in looking to the future too much, either. I don’t mean this in a depressive – there’s no point to anything – way, but that there is truth in the school of thought which says: the past and the future do not exist, the only moment that does, is the one right now.

A case in point; I have recently made myself very ill by focusing too much on a future. By that I mean, I wanted to grab as many possibilities that came my way, be involved in exciting new projects for bettering my future self, that I took on too much. Between work, study and training courses – I forgot to actually live. I can’t remember the last time I wrote a poem or short story, sat down and painted or even went for a walk. All the things that mentally are integral to my good health, there was no longer time for. I have ended up in utter and complete exhaustion to the point of not being able to stand up for two days because the world was swimming about me.

The past is done – and so doesn’t exist. The future has not yet happened – and so doesn’t exist. That means: now, is important.

I have a body that is not yet strong enough to be as on the full-time-go that there is societal pressure to be and so I need to make changes to make my ‘now’ my focus. I am completely guilty of not taking my own advice, I struggle to accept my limitations, but I really don’t want future me to look back at past me (me right now) and feel sad that I put so much emphasis on the times that no longer or do not yet exist, that I forgot to live at all.

I am a huge exponent of kindness being perhaps one of the most important things in this world and we (I) must remember that as well as being so to others, we must also be kind to ourselves.

 

Taking five and not looking back

Despite the fact that I know it does me so much good, I find that I very rarely get down to any craft of my own – especially drawing and painting. The reason being, is that I don’t have time or rather, this is the narrative I have given myself and therefore have come to believe.

When I sit down to draw, I like to have hours free ahead of me so I can get lost in this hobby. Time passes without me noticing as I end up in a kind of hypnotic state, zoned out and oblivious to the world – which is lovely. But, the opportunities to allow this extended period of time are infrequent and as a consequence I can go weeks or months without doing anything.

Recently I have seen my best friend and others posting quick sketches they have done allowing themselves only five minutes and it has been incredibly motivating. No, they are not perfect but they evoke a certain feeling of vivacity, of energy; perhaps because of their speed in being brought about. The other thing I find inspiring is that they are shared – flaws and all. I am a terrible one for self-doubt and I write and create far more content than ever gets seen purely because I over-think it all to the point of not believing any of it worth sharing and therefore, I don’t.

So, would it be possible for me to follow the suit of these inspiring people and have a go at daily five-minute sketches, no going back, no time to doubt and posting them to be seen?

The first problem I encountered is one faced by many – the blank page. Just what does one choose? I found myself heading online and looking at vast selections of ‘daily prompts’ and spending too much time reading them and wondering if they would be something I’d like to have a go at, whether I’d be able to etcetera and therefore – once again – stalling.

With my interests very much lying in nature, I thought perhaps this would be the best way for me to encourage myself to start. So I nipped outside and got a small sprig of wild marjoram from the garden.

Sat at my desk, sketch book out and pencils sharpened, I set a timer for five minutes – and off I went. Never has five minutes gone so quickly!

And here it is:

How was it? Well, firstly I have to say – I produced something on a day when perhaps I would not have otherwise. Am I happy with it? Not really, I had to work very hard not to tinker with it after the alarm went off. Perhaps more importantly, what was the process like? Rushed, I felt under pressure; almost panicky; about as far removed from the normal slow, meditative zoning out I normally feel when drawing. But, I produced something.

Will I do it again? I am tempted to say yes but that I will extend the time to ten minutes but, as an experiment, I will continue to attempt some more five minute sketches; maybe one a day. Perhaps it could be a kind of therapy for me as someone who overthinks things to the point of fearful withdrawal. As mentioned above, I have so many blogs, drawings and photographs that I have created and never let seen the light of day due to self-doubt; maybe a little bit of instant public imperfection will allow me a little freedom of expression. But, if I ever get the chance to give myself those hours blissfully away from the world, I will treasure that time; whether I show you what I produce or not.

A Latent Naturalist

I am coming to the conclusion that I am, perhaps, a latent naturalist.(Without any form of expertise, albeit.) Why it had to take me until I was in my thirties to see it, I don’t know. I think the signs have always been there, but it’s as if the parts are only just summing together. If you look at my instagram account and also my previous blogs, I believe that more than half of my pictures and words seem to revolve around the natural world outside, my experience of it, what I have seen, heard, found and felt.

I am one of those people who simply cannot come back empty handed from a walk and have a growing collection of feathers, leaves, bones, stones and such that have taken my interest. In unenlightened years this would firmly have had me regarded as a witch. Fifty years ago it would have been an acceptable and healthy pastime – for boys, but certainly not young ladies. And now, not only are we losing so much of our natural land but, through fear and non-understanding of perceived dangers, people are not so encouraged to go out and explore; to touch what they see and interact with the natural world.

A day or two ago I took a work break and wandered outside because I had a strong need to feel the grass under my feet. I have spent a lot of my life barefoot and it occurred to me that so many of us see but have no real and tangible connection with nature. It’s like we go to a beauty spot, point at a tree, exclaim at a beautiful butterfly on the path, take a great picture of the sun on a river; but almost as if it were all happening one step removed, behind a pane of glass.

I am aware that, although I have always felt  my connection to the natural world at a level I can only describe as, deeper-than-bone, I have never really put an awful lot of effort into learning academically about it. Until recently, that is, where it seems my natural instincts and feelings have decided perhaps that it was time to team up with my brain.

As part of this, I am trying to learn about the hidden landscape that lies like a second world on top of our own: that is the soundscape of birds. I have spent my life saying, ‘Oooh, I wish I knew what that was,’ whenever I heard a bird sing, and yet it wasn’t until a friend pointed me in the direction of some very useful audio and visual learning tools, that I began to do anything about it. Together with this person’s enthusiasm and encouragement to keep having a go I now find that I am hearing a busy metropolis of activity with many layers that I had previously allocated to: nice but indistinguishable background noise.

I have a long way to go. I am also becoming a bit of a nerd; I have a notebook in the kitchen in which I have started to write down the birds I have seen that day – and even recording what the weather was like. Short of wearing a pair the whole time (which, if I start doing this, someone please have a word with me) I am forever dashing from room to room to retrieve my binoculars which are never in the place I want them at the time.

There is a hoard of rowdy, bickering, sweary sparrows which shout from the hedges and are usually first on the bird feeder each morning. They seem to be scared of nothing and despite being widely thought of  as, ‘just a little brown bird (LBB),’ I actually think they are quite robust, stocky things that take no nonsense from anyone or anything, making me think of the typecast characters played by Ray Winstone: and so, despite one of the widely accepted collective nouns for them being a, ‘quarrel,’ (which is, intact, rather apt) I may use a Winstone of sparrows as my preference.

 

I encourage you all, to whip off those shoes and socks and allow your souls* to be in contact with the natural world.

*Yes, wordplay absolutely intended 🙂

Went out. Got covered in caterpillars.

After a morning of doing, not necessarily exciting but certainly grown-up things, I took myself out for a walk at a local nature reserve; a patch of woodland just a short drive from home. It was going to be a bit of a gamble weather-wise seeing as lately we have had everything from blistering heat to hail, heavy winds and much rain; but I was wearing my raincoat and so prepared for any downfall.

Or so I thought. What I hadn’t counted on was a precipitation of caterpillars. I didn’t notice them at first, I thought I had just walked through a spider web or two, instigating the usual clumsy fumbling about the face, eyelashes and hair trying to grasp wisps of spider webs that follows such an occurrence. But then I saw what was actually going on: from every tree there hung hundreds of silk threads each with at least one small caterpillar on.

I had to re-adjust focus somewhat to see the tiny specs wriggling about in the mid-ground against the backdrop of trees and foliage, but once I had done so  I could see that they were everywhere. Some were just hanging about, others wriggling up the barely visible strands, some were pirouetting with such vigour they swung back and forth.

It was fascinating, but I have to admit that the interest wore down to mild annoyance when every single step I took ended in yet more of the silk strands and their abseiling spinners landing on my hair, my face and, well, everywhere. I began to wish I had a windshield of sorts to hold in front of me and a cyclist passing in the other direction had clearly reached irritation point too.

A quick jaunt on-line and I am not wholly up-to-speed, but I think they may be some kind of moth caterpillar which actually wreak a fair bit of damage. It seems they dangle from their threads to either reach lower newly-formed buds and leaves to munch on, or to be swept by the wind to another tree, to begin their destruction there. (Caveat, I may be doing them a complete disservice and have got this wrong, in which case I profusely apologise to the wriggly beasts.)

At one of the moments I was looking up (fervent hopes that none would land directly on my face somewhere in mind) an aeroplane flew overhead. It was a striking juxtaposition: me on the woods’ floor, hanging above me a net of caterpillars billowing in the breeze, then the canopy of trees and upwards still in the blue gaps between, the large metal vehicle of flight.

I found myself wondering where the people inside might be heading and would they look about them when there and find such beauty, intrigue and inspiration as I had in my short walk. I hoped so. I hoped that they weren’t just heading to an all-inclusive, man-made sterile complex where they would see nothing of the natural habitat and wildlife. We have reached a point where many are realising that the carbon footprint we have landed on this planet has done immeasurable damage. Perhaps if more of us could find the beauty of places closer to home once in a while, we could rein in some further harm.

I admit to a mild sense of hypocrisy  when, less than an hour later on my way home, I had to stop for petrol. Perhaps this year will be the year that I finally get out on my bike more. But don’t worry, I’ll give you fair warning first if so as I have not ridden in some time!

But it wasn’t just caterpillars that caught my eye today (some of which nearly literally!). Here are a few bees, bugs and butterflies from my wander.

 

My apologies Mr Worm

I have been doing a lot of apologising to worms lately – and making promises to bees (as well as gently admonishing them for being so persistent on coming into the house and having to be gently ferried back out in a glass – the bees that is, not the worms).

Having held off getting too much going in the garden, never truly believing the weather had fully turned, it is now all-go, once again. As well as the turning over and weeding of the vegetable patches from previous years, we have been cutting in new ones too. The garden allotment grows; in all senses of the word.

Unearthing worms, I am very apologetic to them; how rude to be tumbled out of the warm dark earth to the surface – what must they think! But I am happy to see them, especially in the soil that when first dug was not in great condition, but with a lot of love, compost and a fair bit of sweating and swearing, is now improving considerably. (I do have veggie patch envy though of my mum’s. She has turned what was once the heaviest of good old Suffolk clay, into beautiful, workable soil. I have a few more years of hard graft to go!)

The worms, I fear, also deserve some of my apologies because I know a fair few of them will become a tasty morsel for the birds who hang around in greedy expectation and shout at me to go away so they can swoop in for their fill.

On one occasion, when moving some of the little wrigglers to a different area so they didn’t get repeatedly disturbed, I was struck by a memory from many, many years ago. When I was about three, maybe four-years-old, I had a little red tricycle which had a small white leather satchel on the back. For some reason (and I have long ago given up trying to understand my own mind) I had decided I would gather up as many worms as I could and take them on a little bike ride round the garden. Unbeknownst to me, until my mum pointed it out, there was a hole in one of the corners of the leather pouch and as I rode round and around the grass I was leaving a trail of worms behind me as they commando crawled their way to freedom.

But why the promises to bees? I am not a gardener’s gardener. What I mean is, there is much in my garden that is not neat and I leave plenty of things that a lot of people would be in a hurry to get rid of. Even though I know I will be causing a headache for myself later down the line, I will often allow things to grow or remain if they are something I know birds, bees and all the other wonderful insects, creatures and critters will like. Like comfrey. I have swathes of yellow comfrey which I know spreads like wildfire but, the bees adore it. When it first started coming back I looked at it and said, now, now is the time, if you don’t get on top of it now you know it will be madness. But I left it, full in the knowledge that it would start to take over – which of course, it did. As the flowers are waning, I have begun removing about two-thirds of it and this is why the promises to bees. As they buzzed about me, clearly annoyed, I promised them that I wasn’t taking it all and that I would shortly be putting in much more that they would love. In a similar vein I have not removed my dandelions and I am not going to wage such war on the cow parsley this year.

I sometimes feel quite sad about what we as a species have done to our natural environment but it does seem as if there is beginning to be a bit more urgency of late, in people recognising that things need to change. If everyone who has a garden, of any size, could allow just one area of it to run wild and free, it would be hugely beneficial I am sure; not only to wildlife, but also to us. It’s worth remembering: we NEED all the amazing little insects, bugs and beasties; and all they ask from us in return is a place that they can call home.

Click  on the image below for a tiny video of a tiny box with a big message.