Book reflections: 'The Old ways' by Robert Macfarlane

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've ducked out of doing a full review as it felt too daunting! So, here are some themes which stood out for me, having just finished reading Robert Macfarlane's The Old Ways. It took sometime to read as: (1) I am a slow reader(!); (2) it is a book that needs to be thought about and digested, rather than it simply being an exercise in getting to the end; and (3) there were times when I was not the mood to read it due to point (2).

So, the premise of the book: Macfarlane travels to various places across the globe (although mostly within the UK) to retread paths which have been used from decades to millennia. He begins his walking with the ancient, chalk-pathed Icknield Way, which starts in Norfolk and runs through to Buckinghamshire. He goes on to walk other paths in England, including the Broomway (across the tidal sands in Essex), before moving onto Scotland. It was here that I began to be drawn into the book. This chapter describes his 'ritual walk' in the Cairngorms and beautifully weaves together his grandfather's life, the ritual walk, his grandfather's funeral, and his own emotional journey through it all (as I touch on later, this is a key theme within the book: the parallels between emotional, physical and life journeys.) Macfarlane seems to be more connected to Scotland. His grandfather's love of the Cairngorms, and Macfarlane's childhood holidays spent up there with his grandfather, brought his own emotional connection to the forefront. By contrast, in other chapters he was walking the paths trod by others in the past with whom he had not had a direct connection, and they felt less 'full'.

Chapter seven and eight, entitled Peat and Gneiss (pronounced nice!) respectively, resonated with my fantasy for an isolated island journey. Macfarlane recounts his journey across the Isle of Lewis and then Harris by foot. As well as the landscapes and paths that he follows, he describes the people whom he meets and stays with. In particular, he writes of their many modes of attachment to the outdoors, such as the symbolic, spiritual, historical, and personal. Steven Dilworth, a man with whom he stays on Harris, has a ritualistic, artistic and very personal relationship with the outdoor life of Harris. This was illustrated by the making of ritual objects from the natural world around him: "...a hollow case made of a shell of lignum vitae and a shield of whalebone, filled with loose dolphin tech and the whole bound with fishing rope..." p. 172; the taxidermy of animals that he finds (or eats!); and his carvings on a ring of megaliths which had been dropped by the last glacier to retreat from that area. Macfarlane brings with this humour, sensitivity and an openness to experience which is so refreshing.

A fundamental theme of the book is the way in which the natural landscape is actively participated in; it is not something to be viewed from the outside, but something to be immersed in and experienced. Macfarlane does not write in an overly romantic style, but rather in a subjective, experiential and academic style. The mix feels rich, and sometimes it is not the best thing to read before going to sleep! In exploring Thomas's experience of the outdoors, Macfarlane writes:

"He senses that the light-fall, surfaces, slopes and sounds of a landscape are all somehow involved in accessing what he calls the 'keyless chamber[s] of the brain'; that the instinct and the body must know ways that the conscious mind cannot...he recognizes that weather is something we think in- 'the wind, the rain, the steaming road, and the vigorous limbs and glowing brain and that they created...We and the storm are one' - and that we would be better, perhaps, of not speaking of states of mind, but rather of atmospheres of mind or meteorologies of mind." (Macfarlane; p.341; original italics).

Thus, we are not beings which objectively look into nature. We are an active part of the environment and hence shaped by the natural world. As a pebble is shaped by water and wind, so we are shaped by the natural world. I want to add that this must include our own creations such as cars, skyscrapers and iPhones, as well as the weather, hills and fauna. Suddenly, we are no longer civilised islands of humanity in a sea of chaotic nature. We are an imbedded in and an active part of that natural world.

As the book comes to a close, Macfarlane comes back to his inspiration, Edward Thomas. In analysing his own experience with that of Thomas, and having walked the paths that Thomas had walked, Macfarlane comes to see the link between the external (nature) and the internal (how we see ourselves). He emphasises the symbolic parallel nature of walking a path and our own internal journey: "This, I thought, had been the real discovery: not a ghostly retrieval of Thomas, but an understanding of how for him, as for so many other people, the mind was a landscape of a kind and walking a means of crossing it." (Macfarlane; p.326; my own italics). Having recently been on a residential weekend looking at my relationship with the outdoors, this deeply resonated with me. Nature is something that we have a relationship with, and through this relationship nature is a window/mirror through which we can understand ourselves. I experienced this in being with an oak tree. The young shoots and old trunk co-existing together, as they do within me - the conflicted adolescent, and the responsible adult.

References

Macfarlane, Robert (2012): The Old Ways. The Penguin Group.

An Introduction to Ecotherapy

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esterday evening I got back from a three-night residential workshop on Ecotherapy in a beautiful ancient wood in south Derbyshire. Ecotherapy, in its most basic form, is the inclusion of nature in therapeutic work. In particular, I am interested in the idea that nature can hold the therapeutic frame (created by client and therapist) in a much more healthy way, when compared to a man-made room; a room which has, in part, been designed to keep the elements, and hence nature, out. It is a bringing together of humanity with its natural roots. This is in opposition to our modern world which tries to exclude nature from the human world, and also destroy it. Like an adolescent who rebels against his family, and tries to deny their existence via destructive behaviour. So we also rebel against our natural heritage, and attempt to push nature out of our lives: we stay in as much as possible, only being out of doors to travel between man-made, enclosed spaces; spending our free time locked in man-made constructs, such as TV and the internet. When was the last time that you went outside simply to be outside with nature?

Southern Stone

This weekend gave me the opportunity to experience my deeper connection to nature. To literally connect my feet with the moist, cool earth. To remove my layers of protection and experience the warmth of the sun, the heat of the fire, the chill of free-flowing water. Raw experiences, which were not mediated or filtered by modern Western culture. Direct contact. The workshop allowed my whole self (body, mind and spirit) to contact nature in a space which was held by the natural world, and this included thirteen other humans (the other group members!).

I learnt about myself in unexpected ways. Nature could be a mirror through which I could see myself reflected. It could show me the different compass points of myself: child, adolescent, adult and elder. And the way in which these can co-exist. There was a two hundred year-old oak tree which had an aged trunk, middle-aged branches, adolescent shoots, and brand new acorns. The oak tree lived with all these parts coexisting. In fact, it needed all parts in order to survive. So it is the same with us. The playful child which can coexist with the responsible adult. Thus, the oak tree (and I am thinking of a particular tree here!) was a mirror of me and allowed me to accept these different parts of myself as "ok", rather than trying to reject them.

At the beginning and end of the workshop we were asked: why do you want to work with people outside? While I cannot come forth with a complete rationale for working with people outside, here is some of it. Nature is the way it is. It is dynamic and also stable. Nature is a comforter, a nurturer, an escape, a symbol, an energy resource, a teacher, and a support. My relationship with nature has allowed me to grow into who I am today, and it has given me what I am today in the form of my body/mind/spirit. I want to be able to facilitate that for other people so that they too can reconnect and deepen their own relationship with their natural heritage. I want to try to break down the defences that we have built up between humans and nature.

My part of the group mandala

Yet, how do I come back to my life and integrate this into me without alienating myself from the modern world, or simply ignoring what I have experienced and learned, and go about my life as before? How can I reach out and touch the inner city of alienation from nature and at the same time be held by the healing natural world? I wonder how the two can come together both in me, and in humanity as a whole.

For the next ecotherapy course facilitated by Martin Jordan and Hayley Marshall, see the following link.

The swallows have arrived

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Swallow egg fragments, 2014

n Sunday, my wife saw a single swallow (hirundo rustica) fly out of our stable. I got excited! Since then, two swallows have taken up residence in the stable. The nest is neatly tucked in between the light fixture and the ridge of the roof. I have been waiting for swallows to return to this nest since October last year. They have been nesting here for the three years we have lived here, and probably longer.

There is something about swallows which give me a feeling of joy/freedom/being alive. The way that they fly is impressive and graceful. They dive, dodge, zip, glide and soar just above ground level. They are the agile fighter jets of the bird world, whilst swans are the jumbo jets: slow and cumbersome. They are able to turn 180 degrees in the space of a few feet, before changing direction again. My eye can follow many birds on their relatively predicable flightpaths, which are often straight lines. I struggle to follow the flights of swallows. I was going to try to get a photo for this article, but my lack of photographic skill mixed with their flying speeds meant that I couldn't!

I wonder if another reason for my love of swallows comes from experiencing some sort of contact with them. When I work outside they come within a few yards or even feet of me. They call and chatter to each other to warn of a large mammal near their nest. Yet, they do not appear directly frightened of me. Simply aware of my presence and the possible danger I could pose to their brood. They are aware of me, and I of them. We have, therefore, made contact with each other. There is a deep power in contact with non-human animals. It actually feels less ephemeral than human contact can be at times.

Last year I happened to be outside when the swallow chicks took their first flight. Late summer. A clear blue sky. Seven or eight swallows flying between the stable and the house, chattering and calling to each other. I anthropomorphise, and imagine the parents encouraging the fledglings in their flight. The cat comes out of the house and is immediately dive-bombed by a parent, and she scampers back inside. Gliding, swooping, turning and diving. The fledglings enjoying the freedom. As each day passes, they fly further and further afield, until one day in October they are gone.