Nature/Wildlife Tag

01 Jan Birch Tree

When natural conditions prevail, Birch is the first tree that will grow on open land, beginning the cultivation of a woodland. Glennie Kindred holds much knowledge about both the practical and symbolic ways of trees.

“Birches are known as nurse trees, and their generosity and ability to nurture other trees and plants form part of their key signature picture. They do this via the nutrients and minerals that their root systems bring up from deep within the ground, and these are returned to the soil through their leaves as they shed them in the autumn, making the land fertile for other trees to follow”. From ‘Walking With Trees’ by Glennie Kindred.

Birch is the first tree in the ancient Irish alphabet too, the Tree Ogham (pronounced Oh-am). It is associated with new beginnings. If you look closely at a Silver Birch tree, you can find splits in the bark that resemble eyes or vulvas, which remind me of this connection with birth.

In the ancient world, Birch was aligned with the Goddess Brigid. The Birch tree’s gentle waving branches that reach down from her upright trunk resemble a caring mother figure, and is known as ‘The White Lady’ or ‘The Lady of the Woods’. I pass this particular statuesque Silver Birch regularly, and greet her with a silent nod. Unlike the Yew, a Birch lifespan is closer to that of a human, so this tree is a grand senior.

Becoming familiar with a particular tree through the seasons, is a good way into nature connection. If you are looking for a bit less digital time, and a bit more time outdoors, the start of the year is a good time to make small adjustments to your routine. A regular ‘sit spot’ can be a great way to practice this, without making any great effort to a particular meditation, but just a regular location to be for a short period of time and allow nature to be present too.

I keep an eye open for the many Birch species that line streets and light up parks and gardens. The Paper Birch with its dazzling white bark that peels like paper is particularly bright. If like me, you are unable to recognise many trees, the Woodland Trust now has an App to help to identify different species.

The energy of Birch brings healing, and a creative boost to the start of a project. This may include clearing uncertainty and looking at events from new perspectives. Flower Essences are believed to contain the vibration of a flower. Findhorn Flower Essences include Birch drops, if you are looking for another way to make a deeper connection with this tree.

What are you facing towards in 2024? As this new year begins, is there something that you would like to discover or develop? Can the upright intention of Birch, with its gentle, inclusive kindness bring the medicine of an open mind and inspiration as you step forward?  Wishing you well in all your endeavours.

Find our Grief Tending events coming up here.

01 Jan Yew Tree

The yew has long been associated with the end of the year. The original ‘yule log’ was from the yew tree, now represented in chocolate. Both the word yew and yule share derivation with the Old Norse word jól, the name of a long winter festival of the sun.

I was introduced to the wisdom of Yew trees through Sam Lee, Chris Parks and Charlotte Pulver. They invited a group to sing and breathe under an ancient Yew, which was an enchanting experience.

The Yew Tree if left to its own devices will keep growing for thousands of years, and has a number of ways to regenerate itself. Hence it is a symbol of the eternal, of death and rebirth. It is the final letter in the old Irish alphabet, the tree Ogham. It’s bark, needles and berry seeds are all highly poisonous (although the flesh of the seed is not). As another reminder of death and regeneration, Yew is used as an ingredient in chemotherapy.

Through becoming more familiar with this tree species, I was inspired to visit was Kingley Vale Yew Forest in West Sussex. Weaving under the sweeping yew branches was magical. Meeting some of the ancient trees there under a shady canopy offered an invitation to slow down, to compare my short life in relation to their longer timeline of people and times gone before.

The end of the year can be a good time to review where we have been over the previous twelve months, to mourn the losses, celebrate our achievements and harvest the learnings. The Year Compass is a free online tool to explore a full review if you are looking for a reflection process. It also invites an orientation to what’s next. One of the questions that I like, is ‘What three places would you like to visit in the year ahead?’

On my list to visit for 2024 is the Yew tree in the churchyard of St Andrews Totteridge in North London, which is thought to be around 2000 years old. Yew trees are often found in churchyards, and may pre-date the current church building, marking an older site that was locally significant.

If we have the luxury of time off during the dark of winter time, it can be resourcing to go inward, to dream, to replenish ourselves with rest before the next cycle begins. I find a pause helpful – even when we are only able to take a micro-pause of one breath. Pauses allow us to digest experiences, to connect with our inner world, or another being. They provide us with a moment to gather ourselves before heading back into the world. This movement inwards can be a resource to help us to face the storm of life – whether near or further afield.

In Glennie Kindred’s book ‘Walking With Trees’ , she invites us to step into a deeper enquiry.
“Walking with Yews inspires us to engage with our own abilities to transform, adapt and change. We can choose to start again by walking away from old life style choices or old ways of looking at things. We always have the choice to change our thinking habits and transform our beliefs. Each end, each death of the old, be it small or large, opens up a new opportunity for a new beginning, brings with it hope, and new possibilities waiting to unfold.”

Find our Grief Tending events coming up here.

01 Sep Goldfinch in Net

Over the garden wall I discover a Goldfinch, head stuck uncomfortably inside the bird feeder. Some of her feathers have been torn out in her effort to free herself. Without much hope, I lay her in a container with seeds and water. It sits in the studio, away from the cat’s view. Defying my expectations I come back later to find her reviving. She spends the next two days hopping around, making a cosy place to sleep out of paper towels, scattering a bowl of small finch-friendly seeds, drinking and bathing in a saucer. She eyes me steadily, but makes no attempt to flutter towards the door.

Leaving her to sit quietly in peace looking out at the garden, I research finch care. Goldfinch is a totem of joy and self-expression. I wonder whether we are good luck charms for one another? I feel the responsibility of this beautiful grounded creature. At last I discover The South Essex Wildlife Hospital. I am impressed with the ethos and efficiency of the charity. They answer the phone, give me helpful advice, and agree to take care of my charge, much to my relief.

A game of catch the Goldfinch with a red fishing net allows me closer inspection of her gorgeous yellow and black livery. Swiftly transferred to a ventilated cardboard box, we transport her up the A13. She flaps intermittently on the way. On arrival, in the delightful country setting of the wildlife hospital, we are welcomed by the sound of a lively bird chorus. In response she emits a single “Cheep!”

22 Aug Bee on Thistle

Avebury has become an anchor for me. It is a still point in my psycho-geography. Built around 6000 years ago, in Megalithic times, it keeps calling me back. In this modern era of uncertainty and upheaval, it feels necessary to tap into ancient pathways. The stones – which once formed circles and an avenue – along with Silbury Mound, form part of a constellation of land energy markers.

This is a place of pilgrimage. I notice a plethora of omens as I walk. Small signs take on significance as I contemplate my inner journey. I try to stay on track, following my own idiosyncratic path through life. Crows and wood pigeons call to me here, as they do at home. Crow feathers drop at my feet like breadcrumbs, to show the way, whether I am in the city or in fields.

I stop to watch a bee on a thistle. From ancient times, the thistle represented strength, determination and power. In the Druidic tradition, the bee represents sunshine, the Goddess. I have brought brandy and dates to bring succour and sweetness to honour the ancestors. I wish I’d brought honey. “Where is the honey?” Dexter rings to ask from our kitchen, echoing this, as we sit looking out at Silbury Mound, about to make our offerings. A day later, in another ritual, I will be offered and drink a sip of mead. I am grateful to the bee for its labour, essential to life then as now.

19 Jun Fledgling

Shelly scoops up the young robin, who concussed has dropped to the ground in a state of freeze. No avian parents to oversee the youngster’s wellbeing are around to sound the alarm. She uses gloves to avoid scenting the fledgling with human. The cat expresses interest. Shelly protects the robin from predators and the chilly breeze. Her care over several hours is rewarded with a happy ending. Movement returned, the robin takes off, visiting later to drink from the bird bath. Squiffy the squirrel is also a beneficiary of Shelly’s nurturing. Wildlife comes close in the garden. Pigeons, foxes, squirrels amongst other wildlife regularly entertain us. I watch blackfly on a Cardoon – the plant has grown as tall as me – being harvested by ants. Kohlrabi and chard seedlings struggle with my inconsistent parenting. I tell Sophy I am growing vegetables. “Use it as a practice in non-attachment,” she advises.

10 Jun Parched Earth

One of the essential elements for growth, nature needs water. Without moisture plants wither and the dry soil erodes. For weeks the pram has rattled across the hard ground. Now the rain falls at last to lick the cracks where shoes and balls have rubbed the grass bare. The undergrowth seems to breathe a sigh of relief as it gulps down large droplets of cool wet. “Grandfather used to call the rain ‘the erotic ritual between heaven and Earth’,” writes Malidoma Patrice Somé in ‘Of Water and the Spirit’. This sensual blessing of water on parched earth mirrors the tears, that may come when sorrow is tended, perhaps after a long drought. Sobonfu Somé lately, and Malidoma still, brings wisdom from the Dagara people of Burkina Faso to the west. I have learned how water helps me to connect to feelings, to allow suffering to be honoured, to remind me of the cycles of life and death. I feel the rain stroke my skin, and the flow of life moving through me.
See more about Malidoma Patrice Somé.

08 Jun Changing Roses

In the crucible of these times, things are changing. I have slowed down. My frantic to-do list has become an unattainable manifesto. I settle with ‘what is’, and try to accommodate it more graciously than before. Each day on the path to and from the marshes I see a moment in the life of this rose. It caught my eye, when at first only three heads were visible. The central one, darker rust, was squeezed by the blossoming peach faces of the other two. Then, I watched as the central face unfolded to take its place; until all three unfurled into glorious papaya coloured blooms in a garden full of roses. Each day the rose requested my attention, hoped to be documented. I forgot my camera. I raced to return home for lunch, a Zoom meeting, or to go to the loo. Yet each day on its arc from bud to hip, it became more beautiful. I counted the days past its prime, and yet in decline it gathered grace. Petals dropped to the ground. In its disintegration I remembered its opening, but found in its evolving form an elegant transformation.

05 Jun Pink Peony

Summer has come early. Sunshine has blazed through May. People in before times sat enclosed in air tight offices, the boxed in confines of schools, over-priced flats, houses and stuffy tube trains. Under lockdown they have been gradually coming out into green spaces. As I perform my daily pilgrimage with companions, dogs and pram, I witness the ebb and flow of training routines, an increased surge of bicycles and joggers, and now picnics. In spite of the political ‘hokey-cokey’ of lockdown regulations, rosy cheeks are blooming. Peonies display their fabulous array of petals, catching my eye. I drink it all in – the healthy motion, the lush hedgerows, the abundance of life, my delight in the colour pink.

09 Apr Cherry Blossom

In the midst of restrictions, here is beauty. Nature is unfurling full steam ahead, ripe with life. Blue sky and fat white blossom at its most open. Each day more petals fall like confetti. The cherry tree in South Millfields has no regard for pandemic regulations. Leaves are coming, blossom showers in celebration of spring. I walk the dogs, gulp in fresh air, blue sky, sunshine and trees. At night I pad across the carpet to the bathroom where moonlight illuminates the toilet. I feel my cells respond to larger forces. Sweat, then cool keeps me awake at 2am, in my new day by day existence. Walking the dogs, anchored by nature’s disregard for anxiety holds me steady. This is my spiritual practice. I delight in watching noses twitch in the breeze, feel grounded by capturing shit in small green plastic bags. This cherry tree is now a place of pilgrimage. I breathe it all in, stand less than two metres from its trunk.