Posts Tagged ‘walking’

The Commute

September 18, 2016

…it’s not enough that we learn a location, a way of being that’s in balance with nature. We must also learn a direction, a way of moving toward wildness. The mythology of our civilization is onto something when it says “we can’t go back.” We (individually and collectively) find it psychologically much easier to drift deeper into comfort and control and predictability, than to open ourselves to rawness and otherness and flux. How often does a child who wears shoes become an adult who goes barefoot? Have you ever seen a “property” owner remove a lock from a door? How many people, as they get older, have fewer possessions and care less whether those possessions get scratched? We try to go “back to nature” by moving to the woods and installing buildings and utilities, but how many people move to the city and take them out?

We have to learn, if not these changes, then thousands of changes like them, and the relentless focus and expansive awareness to drive them. If we don’t, as long as we favor domesticating motion, we’ll get a ratcheting effect that will seduce us from the healthiest society straight through self-absorption into hell. (Ran Prieur, ‘The Animal in the Dark Tower‘)

In pursuit of knowledge,
every day something is added.
In the practice of the Tao,
every day something is dropped. (Tao Te Ching, v.48)

(Advance warning: there will be a lot of photos in this post.)

Last November I moved to a rented room on the edge of a village much closer to where I work. The bike journey went down from 40-45mins each way to more like 15mins, saving me time and effort, allowing me to set my alarm a little later in the morning and to get back a little earlier in the afternoon, arriving a little less exhausted/cold/wet/sweaty than I did before. Other aspects of life here give me a bit more of a headache, eg: distance from shops, scarcity of public transport, dependence on lifts when carrying stuff that’s too heavy for a bike, eg: guitar amp, but for the most part I’ve improved the quality of my day-to-day life, not least because I’m basically out in the countryside now: minimal traffic noise (some passenger jets), no street light outside my window, the occasional tractor, garden machinery, dogs and all the birds coming and going… It’s pretty nice all things considered.

Anyway, the reason for this post was to share another small way I’ve improved my life over the last couple of months. I was prompted by advice to stay off my bike for an extended period in order to give a chronic inflammation I’ve been getting in the perineum/prostate area a proper chance to heal. So instead of cycling up a busy-ish country road to work I’ve been walking a series of footpaths, tracks and backroads along a different route. My commute now takes around 45mins in the morning and more like an hour in the afternoon, the extra time taken up by bits of foraging, interactions with farm animals & wildlife, general dawdling and the fact that I’m usually barefoot (I figured this was a bad idea in the mornings in case I got stuck by a thorn or splinter which I couldn’t easily get out). But I don’t view it as a loss over all, although it did take a surprising amount of self-persuasion to get started:

“Don’t think about it as dead time, extended from your compulsory working hours, but as an intrinsically pleasant activity to fill your time. Something you’re doing through an active choice, not because you’ve been reluctantly forced into it. You claim to love being out in the wilder places, yet spend nearly all of your time in intensively managed gardens and allotments or sitting indoors in human-only spaces, more often than not on your own. You claim to enjoy walking at your own pace and in directions of your choosing, but most of your walking is done in lockstep behind a mower staring at straight lines on the ground and going back and forth, back and forth… You know hardly anything of the land here – start to make a commitment. See the changes through the seasons. See what the wildlife is up to. Slow things down and take time to look at things a little deeper rather than whizzing past, thinking ‘that looks nice but I’ve got somewhere to get to and don’t want to run late’. Gather food & medicine along your way. Spend less time reading media describing faraway places which you’ll never see and more time reading (and participating in!) the news of your actual locality.” etc etc.

So here’s a photo record from a day back in July with comments (references to Patrick Whitefield go to his excellent book How To Read the Landscape, which I highly recommend, especially to UK-based readers). Click to embiggen and scroll through:

It’s started getting dark in the mornings now, so I don’t know how much longer I’m going to keep doing this. Probably for a while still because I’m getting rewarded by sightings of deer now that I’m travelling through their preferred time of day (it’s surprisingly easy to creep up on them, especially when bare feet are keeping the noise levels down – just freeze when they look up at you and wait until they persuade themselves they’re just being paranoid and go back to their browsing. My best so far was around 15m before they barked at me and bounded off into the trees. Magic…) The inflammation hasn’t gone away yet, sadly, so I’ll have to look to other possible remedies for that, but the whole experience has been so enriching thus far I don’t really mind. Would be nice to do the walk on a few frosty mornings in winter, with the light spearing through leafless trees… if there is any light by that point!

What other opportunities do we have to slow things down, go back in time, slip into deeper, infinitely more satisfying modes of being and how can we rearrange our lives to make the space for these things? Closing words from Martin Shaw, who has made inspiring attempts to sink deep into the land he describes as having ‘claimed’ him in Dartmoor:

February: Stepping Out

February 22, 2011

Photos from a sunny day walk:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I’ll let you know what I did with the Cuckoo Pint later…

Here’s a picture of me getting my walking legs in last week on a three-day trek along the Greensand Way:

Wish it had lasted longer; felt like I was just about to blossom when it was time to re-enter the grey town and get my spirit crushed once more. Was great to be out & about full-time though, sampling all the new-sprung greens lining the paths and sharing it all with a beautiful woman (who I’ve now been with for a whole year – happy anniversary H!)

Life can be good.

Devon Trip & Beechleaf Gin

May 21, 2010

Last Leg

Back from a short trip to/around Devon. Highlights included:

1) – Hitching down. A few long waits near the start and more dickheads & misanthropes than on previous occasions (one guy pulled over, asked if I was homeless, asked if I needed work, offered to pay me £10/day to ‘push around a wheelbarrow’, and drove off when I declined). Otherwise some really nice, friendly people: old and young; ex-hitchers and first-timers; male and female; hatchbacks, 4x4s, rundown trucks and even a beamer (! – almost never happens); retired ex-military, off-duty policeman, builder, electrical engineer, council worker, hippie type, housewife; Surrey to Devon in around nine hours

2) – Meeting Robin Harford and going on one of his ‘Wild Food Foraging Courses‘ – super-informative, mixing history, politics, recipes, personal stories, nutritional info and the all-important hands-on taste tests. I met hemlock for the first time (taller than I’d imagined, not as bad-smelling as the books had me believing, kindof a thrill knowing here was a plant that could kill me – R had a charming story about an American family who got paralysed for several days in the woods from eating a not-quite-lethal dose: the conscious waiting to see if you’ll die or pull out of it and whether some animal is going to come and “eat my face” in the meantime…), picked & ate my first raw stinging nettle (super-tasty & nutritious: treat it gently but firmly, pick a young, light-green top off at the stem, roll it all up into a ball inside one of the leaves and squash all the sting out of it between thumbs and forefingers, pop in mouth – prepare to get stung while practicing!) and saw the famed coast-hugging colonies of Alexanders, left by the Romans back in the day. Felt rather overstuffed at the end of two hours, but plenty of (wild) food for (wild) thought to take away with me and work on back home.

It was nice to meet somebody who has read a lot of the same books as me & synchs up to my way of seeing. Good talks about Alice Miller, Derrick Jensen and others… R and his partner had even tried to raise their daughter on continuum concept principles (failing largely because of a lack of community support), and there was a nice moment when he asked if I’d read Lierre Keith’s The Vegetarian Myth, and I replied that yes, I had a copy in my bag right there & then! So thanks to Robin and also to Chris who very kindly let me camp out on his land for a couple of nights.

Sleeping arrangements

Morning view

3) – Driving around, and later wildcamping with H on Dartmoor.

4) – Coastwalking from Beer to Lyme Regis, with an especially nice stretch along the ‘Undercliff‘ which has reverted to woodland over a couple of centuries after a big landslip in 1839 eventually rendered the land unsuitable for other, more ‘productive’ uses:

One of the most spectacular landslips occurred on 24 December 1839, 3 miles (4.8 km) west along the coast in Devon belonging to Bindon Manor and known as “The Dowlands Landslip”. About 45 acres (18 ha) of fields growing wheat and turnips were dislodged when a great chasm was formed more than 300 feet (91 m) across, 160 feet (49 m) deep and 0.75 miles (1.21 km) long. The crops remained intact on the top of what became known as “Goat Island” among the newly formed gullies. On 3 February 1840, five weeks later, there was a second landslip nearby but much smaller than the former. This strange phenomenon attracted many visitors, and the canny farmers charged sixpence for entrance and held a grand reaping party when the wheat ripened. (link)

The whole area was positively buzzing with life, providing a tantalising glimpse of what this country could look like in the (hopefully) none-too distant future.

Ruin

(The way I saw it there, and the way I’m seeing it more often everywhere I go: we humans are going to have to prove that we’re worth more than our weight in manure in helping the land get where it wants to go – if we want any chance of playing a part in that future, that is.)

5) – Meeting up and staying with C & M, old neighbours of ours who moved to a rural village near Honiton about ten years ago. Great to catch up and exchange shower & bed for tarp & sleeping bag for a couple of nights. More thanks!

6) – A day and a night in the New Forest, ‘wild’ ponies galloping through the campsite. Perhaps it was the wrong area, but the whole place felt ‘wild’ in a pretty sterile, managed, aesthetic-appeal-y kind of way. Great meals though, mixing in wild greens into ‘omni-mush’ mixes of, variously:  rice, pasta, quinoa, couscous, dried veg, chicken curry, chili con carne … etc. Plus hearty helpings of hot porridge in the mornings, all over my little gas stove.

Anyway, I came back more-or-less in time to take the young beech leaves out of the gin they’d been soaking in for a little over a fortnight:

Soaking

(Actually I left them in a cupboard, but outside looks more impressive. This (above) was the before shot; after the leaves had blanched a little and were going brown near the surface.) I got the idea from Food For Free where Richard Mabey has a recipe for ‘Beech Leaf Noyau’. After the soak, squeeze the lime-green gin infusion out of the leaves and simply mix with a cooled syrup (I followed Pamela Michael’s instructions in Edible Wild Plants And Herbs, where she halves Mabey’s amount of sugar to 225g, boiled for a few minutes in 125ml water – this for 75cl of gin) and add a few healthy glugs of white rum (Mabey suggests brandy but Michael opts for rum because she’s ‘afraid to alter the ethereal colour’). Bottle & serve. It goes down a treat – a smooth spring flavour and deceptively strong.

Squeeze

Finished

Possibly I’ve waited too long to post this and you won’t be able to try it until next year (I don’t know how it might turn out now that the leaves have toughened and darkened) – sorry! I’ll make up for it by telling you in advance that you can eat the nuts too, when they start to drop in the Autumn. I had good times in September/October laying my jacket under low-hanging branches, shaking out the pointy brown kernels and continuing my walk with a pocketful of them, which often wouldn’t last the journey home. You just need good thumbnails to open them and snack away! Handy tip: the ones that flatten when you pinch them are empty. Look, they’re starting to form already:

Baby beechnuts

So yes, the Beech tree. I think it’s my current favourite. Check out this beauty soaking up all the sunshine at the top of my road:

Beech beauty