Summers Past - To The Trees Edition #64

Out on the land, it feels like there is a pause. The striving to create slows, and attention is turned to developing that which has appeared. Having toiled for many months through spring and into summer producing their foliage and flowers, the trees now bask in the sun, filling themselves up with light and funnelling it into their developing fruits. It seems as though the trees, as well the birds, use this time to turn around and nurture their creations, and I feel like doing the same.

As I have had very little time to write of late, this July has been the busiest month for tree walks to date. For this month’s newsletter, I will take the opportunity to look back through the words I have written in the Julys of gone years, to peer into the written legacy that is growing here, and to investigate just what I have been up to over the years! Perhaps this also has some interest to you, my dear readers, in churning up some of the long-lost articles in the To The Trees library, bringing fresh light to dusty words.

At its core, this newsletter is driven by the desire to share how nature makes me feel, and what golden strands of inspiration are borne of sitting and walking and playing in nature. I hope I translate it to the extent that others might gain a glimpse of the peace and bliss this activity brings, how it has enhanced my life, well being and state of mind. Above all, I appreciate the extent to which this task keeps me focused on the seasons, aligns me with the fulling of the moon, and provokes me into inspired realms with regularity.

The following excerpts are drawn from past July editions of the To The Trees newsletter. I started releasing these articles monthly with the full moons, way back in 2020, which to me feels like a different century. This spring marked 5 years of monthly writing dedicated to the trees which has resulted in 64 editions.

Reading one’s work retrospectively, like reading an old diary, brings past moments into the present, or more perhaps more poetically, provides a breadcrumb trail into the past. It provokes memories that might have otherwise been lost and uncovers joyful moments and inspirations from nature that had fallen from my mind. At the same time, it offers the chance to revisit and develop these ideas so they might turn into even juicier fruits in the future.

Thank you for reading.

#53 – The Summer That Never Arrived – 2024

Paradise Lane

“In the narrowing lanes, the verges bulge. They are propelled upward and outward by repeated saturation, and now encroach some distance into the width of the lanes. The leggy new growth shoots are now halfway to the moon and in places threaten to completely enclose the roof of the narrowing walkways, arching under their own weight to join fingers in the middle of the Lane. The experience of walking amongst the looming hedges is a novelty, they form towering walled corridors with only a thin strip of tarmac below feet and a thin strip of sky visible overhead. They provide labyrinthian journeys through the lanes, completely cocooned in green and growing still to such an extent that yesterday’s previously familiar localities, today become unrecognisable and one’s mind is fooled into the occupation of a completely different visual reality, much to the joy of my imagination!”

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#42 – Silver Lining – The Weather! – 2023

“As the sky grows darker, the advancing leviathans let off a little spit, followed by an ominous pause. This is a final warning of the last opportunity to gain shelter before the beast’s blackened bellies are breached and the full extent of their force ensues. A quiet pitter-patter starts and then steadily increases to reach what might seem like a climax – great steer rods hammer down from the beast’s undersides like a million rattlesnakes crash landing through the canopy – but there is more still – maximum flow is not yet reached. A final crank of the dial increases the guttural hissing to capacity while bringing visibility to a minimum. On one occasion I was treated to a flash of lightning and immediate clap of thunder directly overhead before the great water beast was slowly ushered away by the prevailing winds and the noise gradually subsided to a more moderate and continuous shushing.”

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#32 – A Postcard from Dorset – The Oriental Plane – 2022

Oriental Plane – Abbotsbury – 25/06/22

“The awe that struck me in that moment chimed upon at least fifty different feelings, felt all at once, while all five senses fell into one. Sat upon a plinth of her own making, roots exposed and lower trunk heavily fluted, this regal plane presided over a considerable area of land. Such was the immensity of her presence that she created what felt like an entire planet all of her own.
Nothing grew within her halo, her elephantine boughs, as thick as most plane trees, imposing and assuring in their purpose and strength, boasted verdant foliage which was penetrated by a very subtle green gold light, the full extent of the midday sun must not have reached the ground around her for decades.”

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#20 – Glastonbury Cemetery – Copper Beech – 2021

21st July – Copper Beech Goddess

“These giants seem to exist in a liminal space, they are dreamlike, hazy, yet so definitely tangible. When you arrive beneath them, they also seem to step towards and over you, enveloping you in their long arms. From the outside these trees can seem dense and imposing, from underneath they are ethereal, and one is welcomed into another world. When the sun shines through them, the full force of their beech light is released, and one half expects a resurrection to occur. How can something so substantial and heavy, appear at the same time as delicate as a feather and as ethereal as a shadow upon mist?”

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#7 – A month to remember 2020

“I sit in a number of carefully selected spots, one of which has been recently occupied by a tent. I know the dweller, he was moved on from his previous spot when an elm dropped a large branch directly on his campsite. It reminds me of the line in folklore: “Elm hateth man and waiteth”. Though there is little to hate about this man, I think the woodland folk were ready for him to move on. Trouble is, he just so happens to have moved to another area that is bristling with the mischief of the fae, a regular sitting place of mine. I daren’t mention it!

This spot is attractive to me, it’s secluded and sheltered from the wind and there are three layers of canopy, a bottom layer of dogwood, with field maple in the middle and cherry on top. The floor is wet, but I have found a darling solution to that: bunches of ash keys, at this time of year, make perfect cushions. There are plenty about, still hanging to branches that have failed to weather the recent winds. I take two good sized bunches, shake out the rain and place them on the floor, placing my bum on top of them. I’ll sit there for a good 45 mins to an hour, sipping coffee from my flask, allowing my mind to meander in and out of thought and observation. It’s a sort of open receiving state that allows ideas and inspiration to flow while at the same time calming my nervous system, and slowing down the thought revolver.”

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