The presence of trees in our world should never cease to astound. Take a look at this Ginkgo, for example, living its moments peacefully in a Herefordshire garden. Note: This article, previously posted autumn 2023 has been reworked for this autumn, renewed after meeting the tree again recently. I hope it triggers some tree-like exploration…
Standing beneath its mature crown looking up, it was hard not to be impressed by the tree’s volume and its many stems shooting out in different directions. Dare I say, the tree may not have been an artistically formed treasure like the trained fruit in the walled garden nearby, but it did hold a rugged charm. If however the tree lacked any refinement in its structural form, it more than made up for this in style, its many clustered leaves shining en masse with a fiery yellow intensity.
With confidence the tree spoke too, proving it wasn’t all about the frilly foliage display. A soft purposeful sound emanated from its crown, a tune that hushed with each southerly breath of wind. As this cool November breeze blew in from the park, I moved in closer,
It’s about more than just buying a specimen plant or container, its the journey and experience it offers along the way. Let me explain, through Worth and Wonder.
Growing large plants in containers can be hugely rewarding, whether you’re looking to create an eye-catching floral focal point or simply provide some seasonal screening. Once you’ve found your specimen plant however, selecting the right container can become a trying task due to the seemingly infinite selection on the market. Furthermore, should design, depth and diameter of drainage holes not present enough challenge, the high cost just might, often nudging that idyllic pot solution into the ‘out of reach’ zone.
Putting aside aesthetics for a minute, one judgement we need to make is whether any given pot is sturdy enough to stand the test of time. In that respect it’s worth remembering that it’s not just the ageing process that dictates longevity, but damage from
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
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
On a slightly raised section of beach with high marram grass dunes behind me, I’m sat watching the sea briskly approaching high tide. Its advancing front line brings distinctive sounds of rushing and smashing as each wave folds over another, the odd leading wave pushing further up the beach and disappearing into the sand. A keen breeze fills my ears too, lifting the driest and lightest sand grains and streaming them into anything and everything – but all is peaceful.
I’m here because I need time to think and clear my head of worries I’ve carried for too long, and I’m hoping this will do the trick. Since peeling myself away from the family holiday and landing in this spot, I’ve written a little, tried listening to an audio book which dealt far too much noise, and sat quietly. Right now though I’m laid back on a tartan picnic blanket, its corners weighed down with chunky beach stones, and I find myself hovering just this side of sleep, not daring to drop-off completely.
With my head turned to the sun I welcome its breeze tempered warmth on my face and with eyes closed, I’m happy just now listening casually to the coastline sounds of people and nature. What if every day could be like this I think to myself, realising
It was an arboretum day filled with the brightest sunshine that beamed down between dense, top-lit clouds. To my foreground amongst grassy blades clothing two falling lawns, dozens of grape hyacinths were enjoying their moment, each with clusters of flowers no bigger than my thumb nail and shaded top to bottom with the lightest powder blue almost to black.
The Japanese style resting house under whose roof I sat, looked out over those flowers and a larger expanse of mown lawn that continued to fall gently away, eventually connecting to a wide and spectacular
In a far corner of an old deer park I rest for a while beneath century-old oaks, perched amongst tussocky grass on a log with just enough movement to rock gently back and forth. As I settle a glittery turquoise dragonfly zigzags by.
After a while I close my eyes to ‘tune in’, first to grassy stalks that tickle my ankles, then to the coarse bark that will no doubt leave an impression, soon after though, to the gentle waves of warm breeze that pat my legs and cheeks. The aroma is, as I’d expect, carrying a distinct whiff of deer and sheep.
Alternative layers of sound now begin to present themselves. Engines, one from a small propeller plane buzzing whilst ascending from the nearby airfield, then another more distant roar from a jet passenger plane passing high above. Both though are eclipsed, to me at least, as I restore focus to the nearer sound of the breeze that is rushing over, around and past countless oak leaves in the tree tops overhead.
Clouds moving constantly towards the southwest provide distinct periods of lightness and shade, warming on the whole but occasionally less so. On today’s summer day it is sandals and shades, tomorrow, due soon enough it’ll be boots and scarves.
On this day though, I’m enjoying just a few minutes idling, just listening and looking; valuable moments of peace in an idyllic location. All moments sat on this uneven log are well-spent ones as they progressively calm, nurture and nourish my own personal inner being.
As I tune in to everything around, expectations on me and my world, for a few moments at least, diminish. Schedules, plans and priorities are subdued, ambitions and worldly goals are hidden, as the environment around me speaks ever louder. Even the interruptions of passing engines leave me feeling no: not me, not now, not today, I’m happy right here on this piece of wood.
I’ll return to that log, to those aromas and the ankle-tickling grass again this week during moments of remembrance. Closing my eyes will transport me back so that I can again listen to the trees and feel the sun’s warmth on my skin.
The value of managed landscapes is immense, and I urge anyone, if you’ve not already done so to find your log, your bench or place to park, relax and free your mind. I can’t recommend it highly enough.
Do you have a sensory garden? If not, are you sure?
I find myself sitting at a little bistro table in my garden with fingertips poised near the keyboard. It’ll be my first post for a few weeks you see, after life, as it does, got a little heavy. But with a few moments of peace available I’m determined to reignite my writing brain and post something interesting, or useful at least so here goes; a post about my sensory garden.
Hyacinths punch well above their weight in terms of scent – these are incredible!
Gardening Ways 