Nature Writing

Walks and Wild Words

| Gary Webb

Won’t you come and crunch some acorns with me? Fact, fiction and times past, all woven crudely together and unravelled here, in this short story search for purpose.

Early one autumn morn during a country walk, I happened across an impressive holly oak tree, where I chose to sit for a while. There, I was to discover not just a handsome tree but a potent place, one that offered a lens through which landscape and life could be viewed.

Prior to that deep-seated moment, I’d been drifting in and out of thought whilst stomping up a hill, upon which oaks and yews had lived for a century or more. Boughs from path side trees formed an impressive tunnel overhead, but my eyes were mostly flitting from fronds beside the path one moment, to fungi living on fallen wood the next: all the while crunching over acorns strewn all about, it being a mast year.

After a few minutes of continual climb, I was drawn by some light glowing from the side of the track, although given the seemingly never-ending weather pattern, it wasn’t so much a burst of sun, but a brief patch of brightness. Nevertheless, whilst standing there appreciating that burly oak’s silhouette, a narrow track appeared before me, so through the ferny foliage I duly stepped, unsure if I was simply exploring the place, or had been summoned to it.

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Earthen Foothills

| Gary Webb

I don’t speak mole, but I feel the need to try…

Digging, I push through dark earth, busily clawing my way forwards, behind me pushing scoops of loosened grub-free soil. If I could, I’d leave no sign of my existence at all, preferring by far to live below ground out of sight, quietly tunnelling and forming my subterranean world, only surfacing to taste fresh air from the midst of my mountainous mole hills.

Existing in your world and mine too, I take no solace or consolation from the sun or stars above as you might, or the clouds or trees for that matter. I live in and for the soil. My focus is close, my ambitions are kerbed, and my territory is limited by nature; I know exactly where I’m at.

You will know where I’ve been though, for whilst I can be inconspicuous, my industrial spoils are heaped in plain sight. My earthen foothills

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A Mist Laden Landscape

| Gary Webb

By late afternoon on Boxing Day and with natural daylight already on the slide, I knew that if I was going to find any time for a fresh air walk, I’d have to lace my boots sharpish and get out there. Once the decision was made then, it took but a few swift minutes to don my boots, zip on a fleece and winter jacket, close the wreath-dressed door behind me and head out in search of refreshment and rejuvenation.

Clean air was needed to clear away the yearly feeling of laziness and over-indulgence, during this self-imposed Christmas lockdown, even if I had tried to steer well clear of excess this year. Just yards from the front door my dreamy festive walk met with reality though, as a freshness nipped at my cheeks and cold air tingled my nostrils. Still, as the first

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A Talking Tree

| Gary Webb

If you know me you’ll know of my fondness for trees, and even knowing they have turned on me from time to time, I’m unlikely to have anything negative to say about them. This week being National Tree Week then, is a time for me to reflect on the wonder of trees, to celebrate and be thankful for them, and if conditions permit: a time to plant one too. It would be remiss of me therefore not to put pen to paper and fingers to keys in order to show my respect for our woody friends. If you’re here though for the usual ‘love and plant trees’ kind of message, you might just be barking up the wrong tree.

Today I’m not so much going to write about trees, but write as one, and yes you did read that correctly: I’ll be morphing into an actual tree, to present an alternative tree’s-eye view. Should you choose to read on therefore, you’ll find it’s not so much me talking about trees, but talking as one, for a change. Go with it for a while, I dare you!

Now, to a point, I’d consider myself tree-like anyway, my robust trunk having grown incrementally over the years. When puzzled, my furrowed forehead isn’t too far removed from a tree’s fissured bark, and at times I can get a little creaky. Thankfully,

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Rain’s Good for the Garden

| Gary Webb

We often hear it said that rain is good for the garden, a typical response meant to lighten the mood of a rainy day. Where though, does a rainy day leave the gardener, is a rainy day good for them too? Well, after years of living and around gardens, here’s my naturally positive take on this situation.

After what seems like days and weeks of rain, autumn’s dampness has well and truly settled in, and it feels like I may not see dry soil in my own garden again for some time. I don’t state that as a complaint though I have to say, as I’m understanding that weather’s balance constantly moves back and forth, some days or weeks sitting wet, some dry, and in between, hopefully, there comes some useful middle ground.

An image of a lake with swans, and autumnal trees in the background. Above is a sunny and dark sky and rainbow.
When the weather turns – Sourlands Pool, nr Farnborough Hall, Warwickshire. Gary Webb.

Where gardening and garden visiting is concerned, striking that perfect balance between weather and conditions can be a fine thing indeed, and most of us do live in hope of this garden idyll. If, however, I’m to wait until the soil is dry, or postpone

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A Great Escape?

| Gary Webb

Bolting to the hills for some peace and tranquility, to relax and connect with nature beneath the stars. Well, that was the plan…

Our journey consumed motorway and main road miles until eventually, we found ourselves driving in and out of shady hollows and threading along narrow twisty lanes. By the time our dirty tyres rumbled over the farmyard’s concrete and gravel, a sheepdog barking its welcome, it felt as though we’d literally bolted for the hills. Our retreat, it must be said, whilst feeling a little selfish did seem long overdue, being much needed to restore some kind of balance.

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Writing on Gardens and Nature

| Gary Webb

I might have sunk into the depths for a while there, but I’m back now and getting into my old writing ways, on gardens and nature.

If you gave me the stage with an open mic, words would probably fade and I’d likely find myself with little to say of consequence. However, if you gave me a scribbling stick and asked me to write something down, I’d likely be back to you in no time at all asking for more paper, and a pencil sharpener. Writing does something for me, and over time it’s grown to the point where I couldn’t imagine living without it in some shape or form. Lately however I have needed to step back a little.

Recovering from illness, I’ve hardly found myself not able to write for a few weeks now, and I have genuinely missed it, indeed my last post back in April took quite a while to pull together. Feeling under parr has made it

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A First Forest Bathing Experience

| Gary Webb

Exactly what do people do when ‘forest bathing’ is a question I’d pondered for sometime, when intrigue recently got the better of me. I happened across Healing Earth Ways who were offering a session relatively nearby, another bonus being that participation supported Warwickshire Wildlife Trust; surely it was a win-win situation for all.

My first session began on a sun-blessed morning when frost covered shaded ground, beside a reservoir car park in rural Warwickshire where our welcoming guide stood patiently with a list of names, smiling reassuringly. Before us was an especially bright white stand of birch trees, and behind those a woodland belt which clearly concealed the place we’d soon to be heading.

Morning perfection, by Gary Webb

Beginning with an introduction to the nature of forest bathing, or Shinrin-yoku as it’s called in its origin homeland Japan, our guide softly explained what we’d let ourselves in for. Rather than

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Beyond the Old Bamboo

| Gary Webb

Just between you, me and the trees…

Autumn sun streamed through shade shifting trees on a day I’d put aside for outdoor exploration. The venue chosen for strolling, clicking a picture or two and sitting awhile was a local arboretum, with a strap line quietly confirming it ‘The Cotswolds Secret Garden’, so I feel lucky at least to have found it!

After ten or so minutes of ambling I began to settle in and decided the time had come to sit and write a little. As fortune would have it, set back from the path a silvered timber seat presented itself, its intricate woodwork dressed with tiny vivid green mossy pincushions; I’ll be like the moss I thought, and will sit quietly on this lovely bench and observe.

Sunlit Sasa

Into my view and just across the way came a large lily pond cushioned to the rear by a belt of ferns, their fronds showing signs of a seasonal shift. Filtered light fell all over this area as my still busy mind processed all I could take in. I wondered whether, by the end of October, if the ferns would light up due to the cold or whether they’d fade away gently, as some do, to a brown crispy nothingness.

Over a century ago, the entire scene before me had been carefully created at great cost, both to someone’s purse and to the backs and muscles of many hard working folk. Huge rocks had been acquired, hauled around the

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