Friday March 24th 2006

Pam and I were walking in Coole Park at lunchtime today. We were alone in this wonderful green space as the tourist season was still a few weeks away. Pam was struck by the incredibly loud joyous singing of the birds. Although she’s walked these pathways very recently she commented that she didn’t hear a single bird. I told her it was because of me. Because the birds hadn’t seen me for a few weeks, they were a bit worried that something had happened. They were delighted therefore at my unexpected presence and were bursting their gills with joy at seeing me again. I’m a bird person you see. I think they’re just wonderful so why shouldn’t the admiration be mutual. Last year I missed the wood anemones. I can’t believe I missed them. What on earth had cluttered my being so much in spring of last year that stopped me from walking the woods and feasting my eyes on one of the most pleasurable sights of all time: the wood anemone.
Weeks ago, in another quiet secret wooded space I started spotting the signs: the bright yellow celandine, the herald of the anemone and then those wonderful leaves of the wild garlic. This time they wouldn’t escape me. We weren’t pressed for time today. After emerging onto the clearing by the calm waters edge, we disturbed a feeding heron who took off, circled and did one of those stone skeeting water skimming manoeuvres that stunned us both into a lengthy silence. I asked Pam if she’d mind following me along a pathway in search for my wood anemones. I was only a few yards in and there they were, heads dripping, blasted by the recent winds and rain.They were few in number and I gently lifted each little head in welcome. Holly I had left at home as I’d been at a Tibetan Healing Movement session at 10am. I take Holly with me everywhere these days but today’s walk would have been too long and I don’t like leaving her in the car if I’m not at close quarters.

‘Did you ever hug a tree?’ said Pam. When she said that she did, I asked if anyone had seen her do it. I’ve never hugged a tree, though after Holly and birds and wood anemones I truly love trees. We’d left the lake, the woods and were just about to sit in the car and perhaps it was the Tibetan Healing Movement that morning and its connection to nature so back we went. ‘I’m taking that one’ I said, stopping in the avenue of ancient spruces and Pam crossed over and picked hers. Because Pam was an experienced tree-hugger she told me to close my eyes which I did, having had a quick glance round to see no one was coming. And I wrapped my arms around this tree feeling a bit daft. Nothing. Ice cold. When after a few minutes I moved away without a glance back my hands were covered in resin. There was no sign of Pam and when she did emerge she was beaming. ‘Wonderful’ she said and described how she had felt this surge of energy rise up from the tree and move upwards towards the heavens. My tree had no such effect. I felt my tree was emotionless, hurt, wounded, sad. ‘No’ Pam insisted, ‘you’re doing it wrong. So we swapped trees. Pam’s tree was older. Gnarled. There was several vines criss-crossing it and I wondered how exactly best to position myself. But I wrapped my arms around it and the vine provided a soft bed for my cheek and suddenly a sense of warmth and protection and friendliness suffused me. I lingered longer this time and when I looked over at Pam, I was smiling. And what about Pam. She felt there was something wrong with my tree and she felt the same coldness and rigidity. And on closer inspection we both spotted the gouged bloodied initials dug deeply into its bark.

Last year Ken removed all the rotten timbers that ran from the far side of the doorway to the gable of the house. Over the years the jackdaws had nested in the timbers at the gable, while the starlings, less frequently, had set up home just left of the doorway. It didn’t seem right that they’d return this year only to find all doors barred so this February Ken made two long bird boxes, positioning them just below the old nesting places. I’d already seen my jackdaws. They appeared a few weeks back pecking away in the next field pretending they’re not at all interested in the new set-up but taking a good look when they don’t see me watching. Still it took a while. I felt perhaps the entrance was too open. The old entrance gap was surely much more difficult to exit and enter? Maybe it was just too new and bright looking, maybe that’s what was keeping them away. So I gathered a few sticks and a bit of straw and lodged a bit of old timber across the entrance giving it the ‘antique’ look, and I knew all was well when a day or so later all my carefully positioned bait was pitched out onto the ground. We had lift off.