Nature/Wildlife Tag

Going for a walk as Self-Care

I go for a walk almost every day. It has become foundational to my health and wellbeing. It is a simple self-care practice that is free and brings many benefits.

There are many different ways to go for a walk. For me, it is a flexible way to engage with my body, surroundings, nature and community. Walking is often a necessity to take us from A to B, where other transport is not available. It may also be a choice as a leisure activity. Sometimes it may include an intentional element – a goal, a pilgrimage, an act of remembrance. It can be social, therapeutic, for health, sport or simply for pleasure.

Developing a Walking Practice for Health

I began walking while travelling, as a way to explore and get to know a new place. When I arrive somewhere unknown, I like to walk to locate myself and map my surroundings. It gives me a way to discover an area, and to travel from one location to another.

I was recovering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome when my regular walking experiments began. I started going for a walk every day. I began to extend the distance I could comfortably manage to walk. My fitness and walking capacity gradually increased. I had time but little money, and as I walked more, I saved money on bus fares and soaked up more daylight, which improved my winter seasonal low.

I wanted to maintain my growing health and mobility. So, I began to go for the same walk every day. I borrowed a dog, which helped me have a reason to walk. It worked. I kept going for a walk whatever the weather. I noticed that by going for an early walk, I caught a morning surge of energy that I could surf throughout the day.

There are many health benefits of going for a walk. My feet stay warmer after a walk as my circulation works better for the whole day. Going for a walk when it is wet or cold improves my resilience to cold, and I suspect strengthens my immune system.

Going for a walk to other places increases my walkable range, combines with necessary tasks and keeps me active. I count my steps with an App on my phone, which creates an incentive to increase my steps. There are many benefits of walking 10,000 steps a day if you are able. Walking backwards can be positive too, increasing balance and muscle tone.

I have a basic daily walking loop. I extend the length at weekends, on beautiful days and when my time and energy permit. I also go for a walk instead of taking a bus when I can. Time with friends is often spent going for a walk, rather than sitting together.

Connecting With Nature Through Walking

I have been going for a walk most days for over twenty years. I no longer have a dog to walk, but often share my daily perambulation with people. My basic loop continues to delight me. I have grown familiar with the way it changes through the seasons and in different weathers.

My relationship with nature has transformed through this repeated encounter with the same landscape. I have come to know particular paths, trees, a river, and birds. I am getting to know the plants that populate my route through slow-growing familiarity. There are lots of Apps to identify wildlife. Pausing to listen to the variety of bird song can open up my ears to the sky.

Going for an Intentional Walk

I enjoy going for an intentional walk when I have more time. This might be to follow a designated route of special interest. There are many urban and rural routes that feature beautiful landscapes or historical features. Sometimes I walk through my own history. I recently walked from my birth place to my current home.

I have walked along rivers to visit their source, tracked culverts and found outflows into a bigger river or sea. I have walked to visit ancient trees. Sometimes I go for a walk with a friend to experience their special places. From time to time I go for a memorial walk to the place where a parent or pet is scattered. I have been on architectural walks at night-time, and cultural walks to discover more about the history of a place.

I also enjoy ‘psycho-drifting’ (or derive) – just following my nose along an evolving route as a creative exploration. This is a core practice of psychogeography. It can be a great way to meander. It involves letting go of habitual orientation and allowing the stimuli of the surroundings to emerge and inspire. Sometimes I do this as an ‘Artist’s date’  – spending time with myself to find creative inspiration. It can be fun to have a random walk, tossing a coin at each junction to decide the way forward, inspired by ‘The Dice Man’.

Sometimes I take an ‘Omen’ walk with a question in mind. I look out for signs, symbols, creatures and encounters which may add meaning to my inquiry. Inspired by an ancient path or site, I enjoy going for a pilgrimage walk to a meaningful destination. I am a fan of Julian Cope’s ‘Modern Antiquarian’. He shares his unique perspective on the ancient megalithic sites of the UK and Europe. I reach for his commentary when I find myself in the countryside near ancient historical sites. I may encounter a tree with prayer tokens or ‘clooties’ like the one I found here at Coldrum Longbarrow in Kent.

Walking to Weave Community

Whether I am walking a well-trodden route through wild countryside, or going for a walk through urban back-streets, the practice connects me with the land. Going for a walk grounds me, and helps to centre me. I notice that I feel more disconnected and out of sorts on days when I haven’t had the opportunity to go for a walk.

By going for a walk, I also feel woven into relationship with my environment. My daily loop brings me into regular contact with many familiar faces. We smile, say “Good Morning” or “Hi!” Sometimes we stop to notice the weather or share a story. I increase my relationship with the ‘spirit of place’ through going for a walk in my neighbourhood. It feels especially important that I meet people in this way who are different to me, and whom I might not come into contact with in other social settings.

There are lots of walking groups of people who want to meet others and walk together. The Ramblers’ Association is a charity that supports connection through walking, alongside an appreciation for the natural environment.

It is through the practice of going for a walk that I become more sane, enjoying the many ways walking connects me. I often walk with a question, or a problem, and a creative response or solution comes as my feet beat their rhythm on the ground. I breathe more deeply, circulate my blood, inhale the rich smells of composting leaf or flowing water. I feel held by the earth, feel the wisdom of trees, ponder the patterns of history, or deepen my relationship with a friend.

Go for a Walk

Going for a walk gives me a supportive way to increase my wellbeing. To stay in balance our nervous system needs both up-regulation and down regulation. We need both active practices like walking, and also restorative practices that allow us to receive and drop into deep rest. As an important part of my self-care routine it feels both profound and simple to go for a walk. It might be fast or slow, serious or playful, long or short. I invite you to experiment and go for a walk.

Sarah Pletts is a Grief Tender and Artist who offers workshops in London and online, sharing rituals where grief on all themes is welcome.  For more information about Grief Tending events see here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The book described in the text is shown in a meadow.

In Braiding Sweetgrass’, Robin Wall Kimmerer weaves together a practical understanding of indigenous teachings with environmental science, and stories of parenting. Her eye as a biologist, love and respect for plant, creature, and place meet her heart as a mother living through challenging times.

Recognising the richness of her heritage, (she is a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation), she invites us to grasp what has been lost through the deliberate repression and separation of Indigenous American people from their children in former generations, and what is now being reclaimed.

The stories in ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’, both handed down, re-told, and told anew, with her fresh perspective show the importance of living in right-relationship with land and the more-than-human world. The profound knowledge learned from nature is not exclusively for Shamans. This book reveals a way to experience deeply through observation, paying attention and inquiry. I was enchanted.

As I read this book, the significance of the ‘Honourable Harvest’ – taking only what you need – sunk in deeper as I foraged for berries, leaving half for other creatures and regeneration. This is book written with beautiful words that drew me in through descriptions of relatable encounters with nature. The sweet and sour of her insights make me look more closely as I step through the forest, nestle my feet in moss, watch rain-drops. I will drizzle maple syrup with a new reverence.

She does not shy away from these changing times:
“If grief can be a doorway to love, then let us all weep for the world we are breaking apart so we can love it back to wholeness again.” I am left feeling inspired and hopeful that we may learn to live in wise community with others of all species.

You can find Grief Tending events, which foster connection with nature and each other here.

Sarah Pletts is a Grief Tender and Artist who offers workshops in London and online, sharing rituals where grief on all themes is welcome.  For more information about Grief Tending events see here

Image shows tree described in text in winter. Image by Sarah Pletts

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.

Sarah Pletts is a Grief Tender and Artist who offers workshops in London and online, sharing rituals where grief on all themes is welcome.  For more information about Grief Tending events see here

Image of tree, described in the text, and theme of the text.

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.

Sarah Pletts is a Grief Tender and Artist who offers workshops in London and online, sharing rituals where grief on all themes is welcome.  For more information about Grief Tending events see here

Despite his fresh-faced boyish looks, Sam Lee’s album, ‘Old Wow’ digs deep into oral folk music traditions with the wisdom of an old soul. I am a funk music fan. Folk is out of my comfort zone, but I am lured in by the meanings of words that ache with melancholy, and the bass lines that creep along in tracks like ‘Lay This Body Down’.

He offers a brilliant synthesis of old and new. He uses or re-imagines folk songs learned from singers of disappearing oral traditions. He arranges modern fusions to bring these songs to new ears – using an eclectic mix, which includes double bass, piano, percussion, guitar and violin. The arrangements come alive, full of sorrow and the beauty of nature.

‘Soul Cake’ begins with three verses of ‘Green Grow the Rushes O’ – a folk song, which goes back centuries, weaving astrological and Christian symbolism inextricably together. I sat as a small child next to my mother on the piano stool, enjoying the oral yoga of singing its ‘jibberish’. Now, the poetic lines hang between my ears. Lee has re-written this as a foray into mortality. Symbols from the original build into a counting song that describes the circle of life. Lee winds folk poetry with the harmonies of grief. ‘Old Wow’ reminds me of the magic of Scott Walker’s haunting lyrics, served with an inducement to love life.

Watching him perform at the Medicine Festival was stirring. He orchestrated the crowd to sing a powerful nine-part lament. I was moved as we sang a Requiem for nine recently extinct species: the Pyrenean Brown Bear, Passenger Pigeon, Eurasian Wolf, Rita’s Island Lizard, Large Blue Butterfly, Bermuda Night Heron, Eskimo Curlew, Silver Trout, and Charles Island Tortoise. In his own words, Sam Lee aims to create: “a timeless bridge, music that can be looking both backward and forwards, and a soulful accompaniment to an urgent need to fall back in love with nature if we are to know how to protect it”.

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!”

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.

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.

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.

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.