Being More Tree

I went on a writing course the other week that involved nature walks, equine therapy, forest bathing and meeting lovely new people. My favourite part of the weekend (aside from the food, being fully catered for when you’re a Mum of hungry teens is pure heaven) was the time we spent in the forest. I love trees; I love the rushing, shushing sound their branches make when the wind greets them; I love the calming shades of green on fluttering leaves let go to blow their own way; the way the branches set a-glow in the evening sunlight.

I’ve been lucky enough to find myself in the forest a few times lately. We took the kids and their cousins to Puzzlewood, a magical ancient woodland that’s been used for scenes in TV and movie productions like Merlin and Star Wars. My teenage son’s reaction when he saw the gnarled, moss-covered trees was:

“Now this is my kind of scenery!”

Not bad for a self-confessed video-gamer. The kids of today still understand the gravity of nature, all it takes is stepping foot inside some trees for them to feel re-connected to it. It’s all it takes for us grown ups too.

I took the hellhound to Sherwood Forest recently, a day out just for us. We took the long route, cocking our heads to better hear the calls of cuckoos and woodpeckers, stopping to inhale the earthy aromas of moss and petrichor. We took on the pace of the forest, moving gently, exploring deeply. Everything seems to move slowly in the woods; dandelion fluff floated on the breeze; a single, fat drop of water landed on my head on a blue-sky sunshine day, from where?

We came across a beautiful hollowed out husk of a tree. It appeared sad and a little sinister from a distance, but up close I marvelled at the life still going on inside it, teeming with bugs and fungi, a welcoming space for small animals like bats, birds and hedgehogs to nest, roost and shelter.

We also found two new trees seeming to grow from an old stump like nature’s own planter. Apparently, it’s called stump sprouting. The new sprouts utilise the stump’s root system and stored energy, thriving on the foundation and connections made by the old tree, a natural form of regeneration.

We humans can often crave things that stunt our growth, or be so concerned with our individual growth that we forget about the communities around us, and that can make us sick in so many different ways. What would it look like if we reached for what kept us nourished? If we connected to those around us? Shed our leaves and grew new ones? I’d like to be more tree. Trees reach towards the warmth, searching for sunlight to help them grow tall. They send their roots down into the Earth, forming complex connections that nourish not only themselves but the rest of the forest. I come across people who are more tree; they’re community focused and have a way of thinking about the world that recognises they’re part of it, not just living on it, and this gives me hope that we can all learn to be more tree.

I wrote a short poem while we were forest bathing. It doesn’t rhyme in my usual style, so it feels a little different for me, a little slower, a little calmer, a little more tree.

Be More Tree

I rest my head upon your rough bark

And fancy that I feel a thrum of connection.

A tendril reaches into my spinning brain. Slowly

it winds and gathers furious thoughts

Taming them with soft spaciousness

Gentle as a spore on the breeze

It stacks them like a pile of kindling

Beckons me to plant roots, rest a while.

Fun fact, up until now (my 40th year) I have been pronouncing lichen as li-chen when it seems it’s pronounced lai-kn, proving that the lady I overheard in the supermarket today was spot on when she said:

Every day is a learning day

-the lady in Asda

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Apologies, no audio this week, I recorded it thrice and each time a distinct and annoying crackle inserted itself over the audio, but at least in reading you get to look at some beautiful pictures of trees.