Sample chapter from Nature Escape
It is 6am on Saturday 23rd July. The sun is up, blazing the sky with golden promise – but without much noticeable heat. The air outside is cool and dew has yet to evaporate from the leaves in my garden. How do I know? Because I’m standing outside, barefooted upon my lawn, scrunching my toes into a tangle of meadow grass and clover. There was a time when this lawn was closely mown, immaculately-striped and the envy of its neighbours. Not anymore. Now it has been allowed to grow long, wild and free. Like the beards, hair and minds of retired businessmen, it has been allowed to relax and reveal its true nature.
I’m usually up and out here at this time, before my family awake, standing amongst family of another kind. With cup of tea in hand, and while still wearing my pyjamas, I take in the new sights, sounds, smells, and ‘conversations’ of the day. Each day is different. Some are happy, with birdsong and bright sunrises; some are brooding, with air thick with water vapour and storms building on the horizon; some are lazy, like in high summer when the dawn light seems to last forever and the sun spills forth like molten metal as it rises; some days wish they’d not bothered to get out of bed at all, as overcast sky and drizzle dampen its spirit; and some are held immovable, locked in frost and breathless air as though something sinister has passed by in the night. Today is happy. I know, because a song thrush woke me at 4am to tell me the good news.
I’m celebrating good news, too. Mrs H, Little Lady and I are beginning a new life together in North Wales. We’ve recently moved from our cottage in the Cotswolds to be further ‘away from it all’. We’re here, surrounded by mountains, wooded valleys, silver streams, slate cottages, tumble-down farmhouses, pleasant locals and an altogether greener and more relaxed way of life. We found our haven just over the border in Wales, where the Cheshire Plain rises to meet the Clwydian Mountains. Here, in a modest plot on the edge of a village, we found our home. It’s next to farm fields and woodland, streams and lanes too narrow for vehicles. It’s a place of birdsong and natural beauty. Just two miles away is the magnificent Welsh Dee: a river with some of the best wildlife and grayling fishing in Europe. Amazingly, property here is half the price as ‘down south’, so we’re no longer burdened by a Titanic-sized mortgage. Free from debt, we tread and skip much lighter on the lawn these days. No wonder my toes are wriggling so much.
I’m excited by the prospect of our future here, also by the potential for the weekend ahead to be very different to normal. With my family away for the weekend (they’re enjoying a summer holiday at the seaside with Nana and Grandad), I have a window of opportunity to do anything I want. Having finished the decorating last night, I’m free to choose my agenda for the weekend. The thing I want to do, more than anything, is explore the woodland close to home. I can see it from here: a mixture of oak, beech, sycamore, horse chestnut, larch, pine and birch. It’s only a hundred yards away, at the end of the lane, next to the postbox that greets me at 4pm each weekday when I send handwritten letters to my friends. I have a feeling that this wood will become my friend, too. It has ‘bolthole’ written into its every leaf and branch. And I know the owner, who has given me permission to visit it whenever I like. Where better for a weekend’s Nature Escape?
I first discovered the appeal of Nature Escapes when I was at school. After the home time bell, I’d find myself running to the wood at the edge of the school playing field in an attempt to escape the fists of ‘Mungo Chutney’ the school bully. There, amongst the safety and screening of hawthorns and nettles, I’d sit quietly and hold leaves to the light, studying their veins and textures; I’d cup handfuls of leaves and bring them close to my nose, smelling the decay that gives so much life to the soil; I’d close my eyes so I could hear birdsong and leaf susurrations more vividly.
Eventually, I’d run to the wood regardless of threats. It became my special place, where I yearned to be during my six hours of schooling each day. I had an excellent education, the best of which was in that wood. It gave me a lifeline that’s threaded its way to today and no doubt beyond. It’s tugging me forward, towards those trees and to a weekend of woodland wonderment. It’s time for me to go back indoors, get dressed, collect some supplies, put on my Big Boots then head out in search of sylvan solitude. How about we spend twenty-four hours together, ‘alone’ in that wood? I’ll write about the experience so that, when it’s published, we’ll have something into which we can always escape – day or night – to once again ‘be’ in that wood. I’ll collect some leaves, too, so that we can ‘bookmark’ our return visits. And, as it’s been reserved for an occasion such as this, I’ll be using walnut ink in my pen. This will be an experience, and book, made entirely by the presence of trees.
“Books made of paper; paper made from wood; wood from trees, that grow in a wood. Feel the page. Touch the tree. You’ll soon be there, being free.”