Encounters: the grove

I wake to the sound of rain on the window, but decide to go anyway. An hour and a half in the car and we are in the heart of the Lakes, having bowled along an empty motorway early on Christmas day. As we enter Borrowdale the rain intensifies, blown along the valley in curtains by the brisk wind. I leave the warm car reluctantly, urged on by the dog.

Borrowdale yew by F. Hageneder, http://www.the meaning of trees.com

We walk down the small road, alongside the clear greenish water of the river racing over its stony bed. The surrounding fells are grey shadowy presences, and the roaring water and wind fill all the space between. I spot the small shape of another solitary walker way ahead of me vanishing into the rain, my only encounter with another live human in this place.

The path leading up to the grove has become a stream, but once inside the damp shelter of the outstretched branches I forget the falling rain. Wordsworth addressed the yews here as ‘the Fraternal Four’, but now there are three still standing together on this small patch of sloping fell, and we know they are all female, from the same base. Later, I try to think of a replacement phrase for Wordsworth that reflects this sisterhood. Of course, there is not a latinate equivalent adjective for us sisters to use, given those patriarchal times, let alone a choice that retains his poetic assonance. Perhaps you can think of one?

I walk around the largest tree, absorbing its grandeur as I step over its roots. Then I see that it has hollowed out inside as it has aged, like many other ancient yews

http://www.ancienttrees.org.uk

The reddish brown trunks of these trees are deeply layered, their sinews glistening with rain water, bringing to my mind William Blake’s drawings of mythical figures, such as Nebuchadnezzar. Despite their hollowness and approximate fifteen hundred years of existence here, I feel their vitality and strength as I lean against their limbs, listening to the hushed watery roaring around us. Wordsworth could be just a step away, right now. As I run my hands over their muscled rough bark I experience my own smallness. How short our human lifespans are compared to these quiet giants. How much they must have witnessed, and given shelter to here over the centuries.

The dog barks, bringing me back to my wet self. Having finished his own detailed inspection of the grove, he is ready to go. I thank the sisters for the privilege of sharing this fleeting moment with them, and wonder how many more years they will be able to dwell here.

What encounters with time have you had?

Encounters: the crag

I was first taken there by a friend, a fast walker who knew the place well. I returned sometime later on my own and tried to remember the route we had taken. I was soon lost. Because of its size and geography, this is more of a challenge than a danger. It may add an extra hour on to your walk as you look for the most used paths up or down the long wooded limestone slopes facing East. These rise up to a sharp ridge with views West out to sea. You can choose to scramble down the cliffs to more open shrub and meadow stretching out towards the marshes at sea level, or go back down through the woods on another path.

I returned again and again to explore and find special places: The two big old Yew trees existing quietly in different parts of the woods, with wide, low trunks and thick branches spreading out to root on the ground. I would climb into the centre of them and listen to the wind breathing through the branches above. The ashes of of my collie are now part of one of them.

The hidden valley gently sloping up to the ridge, swathed in bracken in the summers. Gorse pods popping in late afternoon sunshine as I watch for butterflies. The damp tangle of mossy, lichened boulders, ferns and tree roots at the bottom of the cliffs. I would lose my way time after time, unable to find the new path I was trying to learn. Despite such frustrations, or the stresses I brought with me, I always left this crag feeling calm and peaceful, and ready to face the world again.

The processes of getting lost, and learning were, I think, the reason for this subsequent calm. If you want to get to know a place or a person, you have to spend time with them and pay close attention. You need to be continually observant of all the different aspects that come together to create this unique being or place, to make familiar what is new to you, and learn how it all interconnects; in the case of the crag, its rocks, its trees, its seasonal plants and flowers, the foxes, the deer, the bird populations, the ants and beetles. You too connect with these over time, keeping the paths by walking them. Your focus flows out, away from your interior world to all that is around you. Nan Shepherd describes this process so beautifully in ‘The Living Mountain’ about the Caingorms, a place on a much grander scale where it is dangerous to get lost.

Although I don’t go to this crag anymore I visit it in my mind. I walk my favorite paths, and greet the trees I got to know, and the spaces I would rest in. I have learnt other places too, but this crag will always be special to me. It was spending time here that re-connected me to my childhood when I also used to go out on my own, exporing the woods and fields around the village we moved to. The hollow oak in bluebell wood, the field where skylarks nested. They became places of safety for me. I felt at home in them, as I did on the crag.

What places have you encountered?

Encounters: strange creature

Maureen Mclean/Alamy. The Times 9/12/21

We are on our usual last walk of the day in the park. We keep to the perimeter path where there is light. Troubled humans often seek out the discretion of the dark centre. Suddenly the lurcher bounds off and is swallowed up by the night. Excited barking starts up. What trouble is she making? I leave the safety of the light to find her. The collie trails behind me, anxious. Following her voice I find her dancing around something pale and scuttling. I grab the dog. She goes on barking. Spooked, like the collie, I make myself lean down for a closer look. It could be injured.

It takes me a few seconds to realise what I am seeing.

I crouch and catch hold of its shiny white front. When I tug, a small plastic pot comes off. A perfect fit for a hungry hedgehog’s snout and eyes. Inside the pot are the smeared remains of what looks like chocolate sauce. Yet another human danger.

The hedgehog trundles away and we walk back to the path and the litter bin, the lurcher now quiet on the lead. For once I give thanks for her instinct to hunt.

http://www.wildlifetrusts.org

What encounters have you had?

Encounters: cormorant

It is early November, mid afternoon. Walking along the canal towpath I see a cormorant making circles on the black water. It dives, black feathers below black surface. Where will it come up? A game I like to play.

Pause.

It emerges near where I am standing, but not alone. In its beak the silvery fat back and tail of a large fish, head already on its way inside. Quick as a flash the rest follows. Unlike a heron with its long, erect neck, I cannot see physical traces of this final journey of the fish. The bird drifts on the slow moving water, stretching its neck and head up to the sky. Absorbed, I think, in the transmuting of fish into fowl.

What have you encountered?