In the same way, I started this substack, I am now nudging my way back to it. The only way to write a newsletter is to write one. The last three weeks I lost my voice, metaphorically thankfully. This has taken me a week to write. Despite some lovely experiences, both in nature and with paints, I simply did not know what to write. More than that, I just couldn’t open my laptop. My mind and body colluded with the weather and a grey mizzly duvet seemed to have settled over me. I felt lost. I’m trying to find my way in my new life - living with a chronic condition and not having my old work identity, not being able to do things as I did. I’d thought I’d be able to, if not exactly jump into a new career, at least gently start building one. Unfortunately, this newsletter, along with lots of scribbled notes and half thoughts are all I have so far. I am simply not well enough to be starting any of my other ideas. And that’s hard. I think that’s why the words weren’t coming. There was a bit of ‘what’s the point?’
But, there is a point, I am slowly growing an audience, and people have said they like what I’m writing. Those comments have been such a big gold star for me. I like doing this, maybe that should be enough, but don’t we all thrive on positive feedback? I have to believe that I will be able to do more than just this newsletter, run workshops, give talks, sell paintings, support others to develop their nature connection, and be creative in nature. That I will be able to paint when I want to, for however long the inspiration needs.
I don’t really know what has nudged me back. A few days ago, I actually felt a pull to my art table, out on a walk I started constructing sentences in my head. And so. Here I am.
Noticing
More splashes of gold - daffodils, primroses, and celandines. A blackbird declaring its territory outside my back door. First violets on a scrubby verge. Finding salty treasures on a rare sunny day at the beach.
Despite the wintery blasts some areas of the UK have had, and the dull wet we’ve mostly had on the south coast, spring is still marching on. Each week, each day brings another ‘first’. One of the benefits of being connected to the virtual Twitter world (and Instagram to be fair) is the advance notice of actual twitterings. On one trip to the beach, I remembered reading mentions of skylarks, but I hadn’t heard them yet. But, my favourite beach is one of the few places the South Downs reaches to the sea. And so, suddenly, just as I was getting back into the car, there it was. That tinkling song falling from the sky, almost reminiscent of the old dial-up internet tone with its buzzes and tizzes. Unseen but definitely not unheard. I almost ran to the couple in the car next to me “Can you hear them? They’re here! It’s spring!” (I restrained myself and just celebrated with Bridget the dog.) Unfortunately, in many places, skylarks are rare due to changes in farming practices. But here, spring and summer on the Downs nearly always have a background accompaniment of the skylark and if you crane your head up, you just might catch a glimpse of them against the sky.
Twitter was also responsible for another connection, this time both natural and human. I’d thought the blossom I’d been so eagerly documenting was Blackthorn. My foggy brain only ticked early flowers before the leaves. But a Twitter thread by the excellent @naturalcalendar reminded me that Blackthorn has THORNS! The clue is in the name and the care needed when foraging for the sloes! Instead, the blossom was more likely to be Cherry, or possibly Cherry Plum. So, in the mizzle, we set off to investigate further. In the orchard, trees in the boundary hedges shone out like fluffy beacons, full of blossom. It might have been grey and cold but the trees were well on their way to spring and fulfilling their purpose. One gentle giant stood alone, enabling some close noticing. The difference between these early blossoming beauties (thorns aside!) is in the sepals (the green bits underneath the petals) A few photos later, with the blossoms looking especially luscious in the rain, and I had an id - Cherry Plum it was. I’ll just have to wait a bit longer for the billowing Blackthorn. Then, tweets replying to the thread gave me a much needed bit of human connection, someone else as happy and fascinated as me about looking closely.
And then…
FROGSPAWN
and and and MATING FROGS!!!
If you haven’t guessed, we were quite excited. I can’t even remember what my Stepmum said, only that she very excitedly came in from the garden and I just about remembered to put my wellies on instead of rushing down the garden in my slippers.
And there it was! Frogspawn, a lovely gelatinous shiny clump perched in the pond. Then, as I’m perilously leaning out to get a photo, another cry goes up “A frog!” More PJ threatening leaning for a photo of the little guy sitting on a stone at the bottom of the pond. But on editing the photo, I realised it had too many legs, and oh! It’s not sitting on a stone, it’s on a female frog! More Twitter consulting (thank you @ Kate_Bradbury) and it was confirmed that it was indeed frogs mating and the female (underneath) was full of spawn so we are now awaiting more shiny jelly joy.
While all nature encounters, especially those in your garden are magical, this was extra special because this is the pond’s first spring. While we knew there were frogs (and toads) in the garden, we were still waiting for the wildlife to really use the pond. We just needed to be patient, as they say, build it and they will come.
Creating
I am always creating in my head, I am always thinking about drawing, dripping, and designing. But I think I got fearful, of anything that might use up too much of my limited physical and mental energy. It’s all too easy to get lost in the flow of painting and then pay for it later in a symptom crash. Much of my best work comes from time warming up, exploring paint and marks, from long sessions lost in play. I was frustrated that the only way I could do it was packaged up into 20min slots marked out by an alarm on my watch with rest in between.
After a bit of thinking and inspiration searching for a way to get some art back into my daily routine, I dug out my coloured pencils and crayons for some sofa scribbling, for some reason this is easier on my energy levels. It might also work for adding some colour to my #greensketching? I might even use some realistic colours but I quite like this rendering of the cliffs!
Maybe it was these nighttime experiments which precipitated the pull of my art table. It took a few minutes to clear some space and I did work within the parameters of the alarm on my watch, but paint was mixed, dripped and washed, podcasts were listened to and I felt happy. And that’s what it’s all really about. I’m still not creating every day, some days I desperately want to but my body rules bed is the only option. But something has shifted and I am starting to believe I will actually have something to display at the Open Studios in June and maybe even something to sell. There’s definitely a shift away from the winter trees, but that fits with the season! Maybe they will return next winter and at least I’ll have done the prep work.
Reading
While I couldn’t find my own words, I have finally devoured ‘Finding the Mother Tree’ by Suzanne Simard. This is a story of how Suzanne, a Canadian Forester, and Researcher went against established policy and Western tradition to learn from nature. Rather than accepting what she had been taught and how forestry companies worked, she wanted to discover how trees and forests really worked. It all started because she looked closely, she noticed what was happening with the saplings she was planting and the earth around them. I am in awe of the determination she had and the barriers she had to battle against to prove what indigenous people already knew and worked with. While there is technical language in the book I think her passion, storytelling, and description carries you through (shout if you think I’m wrong).
Her findings are often summed up with two phrases. You may have heard the term - the wood wide web? This is the network of communication between the trees, plants, and the fungal networks that surround them. The other is in the title of the book - Mother Trees, how older trees support younger trees which are often their offspring, by sending nutrients through their roots. But conventional forestry practice is underpinned by the belief that nature is in competition. As the ultimate aim of forestry is to produce as much timber as possible, all competition has to be eliminated with clearance, herbicides, and pesticides. This seems to me to be a universal conflict between humans and the world around us. THere seems to be a human belief (in some) that in order to succeed, we have to compete and rise up over others, rather than working as a community. This is then translated onto nature, trees are planted in clear cut plantations, in straight rows, with all other species removed and destroyed. This might be the way to grow straighter trees that are easier to harvest, but that isn’t the way nature produces a healthy ecosystem. It isn’t the way to produce a healthy human community either. Suzanne ultimately proved that by working with nature you can create productive plantations without contributing to reductions in biodiversity and visible effects of climate change such as flooding, soil loss, and the spread of diseases that conventional practices were causing.
While this is a book about years of research, it is also the story of the trees, of us learning what nature has to tell us, or rather what modern societies have forgotten and tried to leave behind. Suzanne’s story is one we all need to learn, that we can’t use, twist and treat the natural world purely for our own gains without devasting consequences. That learning how nature does things might be the better way.
P.S. As a side note, this book also challenged me in another way - I hate mushrooms! At least eating them, I always have. I still vividly remember learning about fungal networks and how they spread through the soil at ‘A’ level and it almost horrified and scared me! It’s only in recent years, partly through learning more about them, looking closely at how beautiful they can be (the mushroom part of them at least), and photographing them that I’m changing my view of them. I’m still not going to eat them though!
So, there we are, I’ve done it. Hopefully, the next letter won’t take such a huge mental effort and will be out at the usual time. In the meantime, I’m leaning into
recent letter, about how she's trying to have a more positive outlook, instead of fearing the worst. This resonated so much with me, she has so much more to cope with than me in terms of chronic illness and writes about how that can trap you, and limit you. Like her, I've tried to start each day a fresh, to do something nice every day, not focused on my symptoms even if just for a few minutes. It's hard sometimes, but it's often all we have and it does make a difference. She's also doing a daily photography project over on Instagram so do have to look at those.
I miss skylarks!
Must find that book, I find the interconnectedness been trees and the fungal network fascinating.
The concept that resilience comes through connectivity and mutual support, be that in trees through the wood-wide web, or humans through families and community is just how nature works. Unfortunately the human ego can sometimes delude itself that we are apart from nature, and that John Donne was wrong when he said 'no (wo)man is an island'.