WALKING
Most days I took an early morning walk at La Paperie. Past the rectory, a tall house made from
granite, imposing despite its neglect; its garden a tangle of grasses and
weeds. The shutters were always closed.
Next door there was a tumbled down cottage, rusting farming equipment
propped against its front wall, a wreck of a tractor by the gate. I meandered through the village, along a
track across the fields and back down Rue
de Tieulle.
In April the banks and ditches were a violet-blue haze, fairy flowers, magical with an
intoxicating scent. Tilleul means lime tree, not related to the citrus lime. In France tilleul
are a symbol of liberty. During the
war, lime blossom was used to make tea, drunk to calm and soothe the
nerves. I never tried it, but I’m told
it’s reminiscent of chamomile: a
light, sweet flavour. The plaque above
the solid oak door of the granite church read: THANKS TO US ARMY POUR NOTRE
LIBERATION.
I imagined what the village looked like during the 2nd
World War: jeeps and soldiers and gunshots.
In the village, the garage and lone magasin were sleeping, the cottages too. Their shutters
closed. It was as if it had fallen under
a magic spell. And yet, chickens gossiped
and squabbled in gardens or pecked through rows of peas and beans and lettuce
in the allotments. Lean-tos were stacked with logs. There were watering cans and rain butts,
wheelbarrows and piles of kindling.
Hanging baskets planted with peonies.
Window boxes with geraniums growing sturdy and green. Often there’d be a song thrush with its ear
to the ground.
I walked along the track across the fields, listening for
the high-pitched squeals male moles let out when searching for females. As a child I saw moles hanging by their
fleshy snouts from barbed wire fences, black velvet fur, blind eyes, shovel feet and
long, curved claws. Sometimes their fur
was delicate as lace showing every detail of the skeleton within; a consequence
of flies laying their eggs under the skin and maggots eating the mole from the
inside out. Thankfully, I hadn’t seen
such a grisly sight in a long time.
It’s widely known that moles are shy creatures, rarely seen,
staying deep underground burrowing for food, surfacing during the wetter spring
and autumn months, when earthworms are plentiful on the top soil. I always saw evidence of their presence: mole
hills. It’s no wonder a group of moles
are called a labour, they spend so
much time tunnelling underground, throwing up earth as they go, searching for a
mate or earthworms. I’ve heard the
moles’ saliva contains a toxin that paralyzes earthworms which are stored in
underground larders. Before eating them,
they squeeze the worms to remove dirt and waste from their guts. As I walked, I thought of home loving mole in
the Wind In The Willows an introvert,
introduced to the world around him by Ratty who teaches him to swim and find
the meaning of the Wind In The Willows.
I am of the same mind as the theologian and existentialist,
Soren Kierkegaard, who claimed that every day he walked himself into a state of
well-being and away from illness. Likewise,
the philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, who, between 1879 to 1889, walked alone
for up to eight hours a day scribbling in notebooks. He attributed his walking as a ‘cure’ for his
crippling migraines. And it was during
this time that he wrote his greatest books: Beyond
Good & Evil and On The Genealogy
Of Morality.
The benefits to health both physiological and psychological,
associated with being in the natural world is well established now. There is an
increasing body of research which shows that people spending time in green
spaces are less likely to report psychological distress compared with those
living in urban spaces. It’s proven to
reduce blood pressure, heart rate and the production of stress hormones, which,
in turn, aids concentration, lifts mood enhances self-esteem and combats
depression.
Nature Cure by
Richard Mabey is a frank and honest account of his depression and the positive
impact nature had helping him cure
his illness. Without doubt being close to
nature does appear to make us happier and healthier. I can certainly vouch for that, being in the
countryside is invigorating but also restful, a winning combination. Walking in
the natural world infuses me with a sense of wellbeing and enables me to enter
the rhythm of my life and the seasons.
There is a meditative quality to walking along the lanes and through the
fields, moments of calm and reflection, silence and the spiritual.
I agree with Paul Evans who claims that: ‘...the walk changes the walker…What the
walker started off thinking at the road stile may not be what they end up
thinking at the lane stile/The path becomes a fluid state of mind between, away
from and towards other thoughts, moods, intuitions, ideas. It is a state of disorientation like that
which occurs in rituals, which alter the state of mind, before during and after
the ritual.’
Yesterday was a point in question for me. I was so lucky to go walking in the woods
with ‘alchemist of the heart’, Glennie Kindred, the unique expert on Earth
traditions, and the wonderful Wild Women Moon Circle: Jill, Lesley, Emma, Kate, Kerry-Ann, Bev, Karen.
In Glennie’s own words: ‘My books and life
are about finding and sharing simple, heartfelt ways to make connections…to each
other, to the Earth and the Earth’s cycles, to the trees and the plants, to the
5 Elements of life, to the spirits of the land and the unseen forces around us.
Jill Amison brought us together😊
What a joy! What a treat! This day was so restorative.
Glennie shared her knowledge with us as we walked through the woods. The silver birch trees,
Glennie told us, are full of light; they are flexible, a cleanser, a tree that brings
clarity. A tree that doesn’t live long
compared with other trees, yet they keel over, nourishing the earth for new
growth: rebirth.
And the King Of The
Forest, the oak tree, doorway to the other world, the world within,
which shows us how to tap into our inner knowledge and wisdom. I’m currently re-writing the Green Man
and May Queen folklore, using the narrative as a vehicle to commentate
on the destruction of wildlife habitats.
Glennie’s profound knowledge and gentle passion moved me deeply,
likewise the ceremonies and singing, and of course, the company of the Wild
Women. I’m sure this day will influence the writing of my latest work. A huge thanks to Glennie, Jill and everyone who shared the day, a day to treasure.
I think about some of
the writers who have walked as part of their creative process: Kenneth Graham,
Alan Ginsberg, Charles Dickens, Patti Smith, Henry, Rebecca Solnitt, David
Thoreau and the Romantic poets. William
Wordsworth walked most days in the Lake District, near his home, Dove Cottage either alone, or
accompanied by his sister, Dorothy. He
spoke out loud as he put one front in front of the other; much of his blank
verse was composed this way. And writer,
philosopher and composer, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, claimed he was unable to
think, create or find inspiration unless he was walking, when his imagination
was stimulated, and ideas came.
The artist Richard Long viewed the act of walking as an art
form. On his journeys, as far afield as
Japan and Alaska, he arranged stones
by roads, made circles from boulders, aligned pebbles in riverbeds and traced
furrows in sand. He then recorded this
work through photographs and poetry.
The conservationist, John Muir claimed: ‘I only went out for
a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found,
was really going in.’ I think for me,
that is part of the joy too. I go
inwards when walking, not unlike the caterpillar in its cocoon, coming out when
I return home, often feeling energised, yet calm, refreshed and creative. Thank you, Glennie and the Wild Women, after
our day in the woods, that’s how I felt yesterday evening. Looking forward to seeing you all again 😊
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