An Oasis of Calm
In the heart of every winter is a quivering spring and with the rain now shrunk to a drizzle, the limpid grey clouds are brighter and clearer for my sake. In the tall trees above the squirrels sun bathe with their give away tails hanging into space. The oak and the ash now broke their buds and grew green, but the birches also take my attention on this lovely morning. The airy grace of their besom branches and the intricate patterning of the bark I find so delightful.
There was no other sound apart from the scuffing of my feet through the leaves. Suddenly a woodpecker flies ‘cursu undos,’ opening and closing its wings at every stroke, always rising and falling in curves. The woods all around were so dense that I had no view at all, but suddenly the trees parted like curtains to provide a spectacular vista. On exiting the woods a buzzard swoops overhead and complains at my loitering. I hadn’t intended to linger but the sight of the ewes with their lamb’s head-butting their mothers’ teats on this splendid morning was beyond compare. The gambling lambs are so clever as I observe them nibbling and browsing different grasses but also searching for herbs amongst the hedgerows, such as hedge parsley and dock. Dock however being a deep rooted plant contains valuable minerals and trace elements which are not readily available in shallow rooted plants. Whenever the field is wet you will often see the lambs clamber onto their mother’s back to keep their delicate feet dry, all this proving that sheep are more intelligent than we ever give them credit for.
As I approach the entrance to the farmyard it was like stumbling across a magical world. The roof of the old farmhouse was clothed in clouded moss with lichens clinging like mussels on a wharf. The farmer greets me but regardless of the prevailing drift of discussion Percy the barnyard peacock with his beautiful train of showy feathers demands to be heard. His notes are grating and painful to my ears whilst Blue my trusty spaniel feigns an interest in an old outbuilding where the grasses sprout and amidst the brambles a bright breasted robin watches me curiously. I call Blue’s name but the wind tore the sound away. Blue had trailed a musky odour and I watched in fascination this small slender, lightening fast creature which hopped and skipped and flickered about like a whiplash. It was Whizz the little weasel; She sat for a moment with a begging attitude, the better to see afar, then dropped onto her fore paws and ran away. I could not call my wondering thoughts together as I watched her play. Some people call it madness but to myself it is a very splendid form of madness. For more than fifty years my admiration for these brave little creatures is as strong for me as ever. I never forgot the role they played in my youth when Mother Nature carried me through the lethargic mist.
The farmer’s wife threw her come here glances to me and with her low soft voice just above a whisper takes me to the barn where Bess the sheepdog lies with her pups. I noiselessly step over the shut-eyes of the tiny sleepers and observe how quiet they breathe. With her freckly hand she reaches forward picking up one of the pups and handing it to me, this warm bundle of fluff slept on, her little nose and ears twitching, at that moment in the smoke-ring of my mind I was transported back to when Blue was just a tiny pup in my hands. I placed the pup back with her anxious mum. They are so helpless and totally reliant on their mother but in no time at all in the creeping trance of time they will soon become articulate.
In an old out-building our summer visitors the house martins arrive in May. They begin their first stage of nest building by laying a foundation of mud, gradually applying more mud and layers of grass and finally laying a thick layer of feathers to keep their chicks cosy and warm. As for good foundations they have a lot to teach us.
As Blue and I follow a little path through the farmyard and observe the wild roses, sweet scented and growing, the little harebells push their blue bell flowers out on stems as fine as vines. In the distance a young fox runs across my path with a rat hanging from his mouth, stopping me in my tracks. Following close by was his dens mate a vixen, they began to play tug o’ war with their quarry but suddenly the dog fox drops the rat and runs towards me leaving the vixen to disappear with her prize. The dog fox stops momentarily, inquisitively he looks at Blue then quickly disappears through the hedge, Blue bares his teeth but stays by my side. I became totally captivated by the scene. On many occasions I have caught a glimpse of the fox but the time to find out about the woodland fox is when there has been a slight fall of snow on a winter’s day, when the record of their activity may be found in the pad marks of their script.
As we leave the farm and follow the tractor path heading home, a mother duck followed by a line of baby ducklings waddled along the path which leads to a dream of loveliness, a quiet stream flowing through a field of golden buttercups which then flows placidly beneath overhanging alders and weeping willows, it will be their safe haven for the night for she knows there is a storm developing. With the heat from the sun you could see the quarries and cracks in the edge land where the crops grow, but shortly the storm clouds will have their way as in the distance I can hear the thunder and we quicken our pace.
The fox and the badger don’t care for thunder, they go to ground and I wonder if the young foxes knew of the storm’s coming and also headed for home. However, the hare is stimulated by the thunder and drums with his hind legs well before the storm reaches him. The thick clouds now hurry over the sky as the shadows chase the light across the fields. As sure as the stars return again after they merge into the light I will once again see something of Mother Nature in every footstep I take, in each hour of twenty four and each and every moment in them.
These wonderful magical moments have enabled me to understand that it is the heart that knows the path to follow, the mind is simply there to organise the steps to be taken.
Image courtesy of Duncan Prescott
