This one's a bit of a flashback post to April 2020, those strange days locked down far from home, in Somerset, UK. It was super wierd as the government rules were vague yet there was a ton of paranoia and anxiety around because people were dobbing in their neighbours for going out more than the regulated once per day and so on. Bananas.
At the beginning we spent a lot of time walking locally and doing up a camper. We were so lucky as my sister in law had a cottage in the countryside which had a big yard, and the row of attached houses next to her were unoccupied. So we had space to hang outside without people looking in and judging us.
But then we started going out with the van and the dog, parking out of sight and going for super long walks, sometimes 15 miles at a time. We basically got out the maps and drew circles of the routes we would follow, discovering all kinds of things, from swings to barrows to standing stones. We met others out walking too, having been furloughed, and they were out seeing country side they'd never seen before even though they'd lived there all their lives. Most of the time we didn't see anyone.
We would take snacks of gingernuts, almonds and great British cheeses and water and explore. It kept us sane. Although we couldn't explore Europe and go back to Morocco like we wanted, we were determined to have an adventure.
We foraged alot, finding new plants and looking closely at the woodlands. It was fascinating to discover that some woodlands were more ancient than others and would have particular plants you wouldn't see elsewhere, or butterflies you could only find in one particular field. You could tell the age of a hedgerow by counting the amount of plants there.
One day we came across a family living in a yurt in the forest. The family had bought the land in 1971 and they had been there every since, eventually qualifying to stay there with low impact housing as they'd been doing it so long. The guy had cycled all his life and never owned a car, and like many cyclists at the time, was loving the traffic free roads.
In fact it was amazing to see clear blue skies without planes, and animals were often their were none. It was LIKE being in 1971. Honestly, it was a dreamworld country Britain - slow paced, quiet and beautiful. We couldn't have planned a trip to a better paradise.
In some ways we were glad the pandemic happened, and looking back now, forgetting how anxious I was we were never going to get home or the anger we couldn't go anywhere, it was a really special time. There's lots of stories to tell, and life is kinda about those.
Honestly most of the time I was just falling more and more in love with the countryside I already had an affinity with. My ancestors were from there, I met the love of my life there, and lived there for six years. So it's always home to me as well. I bawled my eyes out when I had to leave, and still miss walking in Somerset so much.
I wrote a lot of poetry at that time. This one captures a lot for me.
I crouched in wild garlic fields on a cool day -
Settled in the dark woods, they greenly nudged my boots
Nodded podded flower heads, a snowy bouquet
Praying to earth, under which white bulbs crowd, rooted
With ash, who twists upward through the muted shade
Releasing a resonant syllable in an entish tongue
Began decades gone, heard but once in this shadowy glade
Where I listened deep, and heard the hum
Of growing things - tail, claw, tooth and wing
The bees, home from the yellow meadow
The sigh of badgers, the robins darting song
And the drumming of the earth, quiet, soft and low.
As the months passed the weather got hotter and I spent a lot of time searching out swimming spots. As there were still restrictions and paranoia I'd find them blissfully quiet and could spend hours there reading and swimming.
This poem is a snapshot of my last moments there before taking the drive past Stonehenge towards Heathrow. It breaks my heart every time I read it as I recall exactly how I felt when I left my England.
'Don't go far' - they said
For we were leaving within the hour
I walk briskly down past the old mill
Across the bridge and along the stream
My hands dissolve in the running water
I have minutes, an hour - no matter
Skin cells slough away and part of me is left
Here, in the land that birthed my ancestors
I think of the boy Arthur turned fish
Learning the ways of the badger, the hawk
Empathy comes easy when you are that
Becoming the land, I am
He, the fisher king , healer of the land
Now it's the other way 'round
We're all out foraging for antivirals - in sunlight, in greenery
Kneeling in the meadows asking for redemption.
I pick posies of feverfew and wood avens
Dog rose 'twines round elder
Purple fog nestles next to thistles, ox eye daisies
Saplings of birch, blackthorn
I stuff plantain in my pockets
The wild garlic wilts yellow along the way
I pluck seeds and put them in my mouth
They, like the white blackthorn giving way to sloes
Bookend this spring of our discontent.
But here, by the water - how could anyone be anything but at peace?
I lift my hands and sunshine trickles down my elbows
Swooping back to the water, they stop mid flight
A deer stands in the field beyond, and behind that the oak
The blackbirds are stirring the leaves
I follow the tadpoles and fishes downstream
Into all the waterways of England
Look - there is my heart caught on the roots of an ash
my lungs swirling around wet stones
my insides kissed by the branches of willow
I cry all the way home.
'Did you go far?'
'Not far', I say, and pick up my bags.
