Meditation and Mindfulness

In a couple of months I’m going on retreat to Sharpham House in South Devon where I’m hoping to learn meditation and mindfulness, geared towards those who feel burnt out. Well, I’m certainly that. It’s now nearly four years since Frog died and discovering how to function without him has been non-stop on every level. As my sister said, I need a reset (not to mention a rest).

As you might have picked up if you’ve reading this blog, it’s the ‘spiritual’ side of life that’s got me through so far. I don’t like the word spiritual as it sounds pretentious, but I don’t know how else to describe that part of me in a simple way. I also have trouble describing the quiet times I take while out walking the dog since I don’t actually meditate in an official way during them as I’ve never been taught how to do it properly. Hopefully the retreat will help with that.

The entire dog-walking period is a sort of meditation, I feel, as even if my brain is whirring throughout I always feel better afterwards, and often the whirring is interrupted and I’m stopped short by the beauty around me. Which is astonishing, given that I’ve lived in my current house for 45 years and been walking the surroundings for most of that time. Every day, it seems, there’s something new to see. 

And here are some recent photographs of some of those moments.

On a misty murky early morning at the beginning of the month, as I wondered what point there was in still being alive, I almost missed these two jewels under my feet. I’m so grateful I didn’t step on them.

Feather

Toadstool

Here is a corner I found recently for one of my quiet times. I’d never sat here before and I couldn’t understand why not. I’m under an oak tree (as you can see from the fallen leaves), there are no houses staring at me, I'm hidden by trees and bushes, I can see to the horizon, and there’s some wildness around in overgrown hedges. All the criteria I unconsciously look for. 

The perfect spot for a quiet sit-down. Ellie obviously likes it too.

I encountered this lovely and perfectly framed view for the first time as I walked home along a lane I use almost every day. My house is the furthest white blob in the middle of the picture.

 

A new view of my house (the furthest white blob in the middle)

Here is another route I’ve walked countless times. On the day of the photograph, in spite of mud and puddles, the approach of winter, indifferent weather and stupid worries that were wearing me out, I looked ahead and my heart was lifted.

Mud, puddles and Ellie

Book restoration

In my post 'Along the Grand Western Canal', I mentioned the wildflower book my parents gave me for my eleventh birthday in 1964 and which I’ve loved and used ever since, to the extent that it was falling apart. I couldn’t replace it, not only because it’s out of print but also because it contains six decades’ worth of my plant-spotting notes.

I am pleased to report, therefore, that it has now been meticulously restored by Celandine Books of Wiveliscombe and I’m thrilled with the result. The book has kept all its character and turned into something beautiful and usable again.

 

Before

After

I'm not sure the same can be said of me, but I'm working on it.

A Devon beach (Budleigh Salterton) a few weeks ago

Kinder Rising

In April this year, the Right to Roam campaign organised a mass trespass and trespass-swim at Kinder Reservoir in the Peak District, Derbyshire, in memory of a 1932 trespass on Kinder Scout, the Peak District’s highest point.

The 1932 trespass was in protest at losing access to the wild hills and moorland of the area. These were a lifeline for inhabitants of nearby cities like Sheffield and Manchester, pretty grim places at the time, but landowners had begun to fence them and keep people out. 

The trespass led eventually – a long time later - to the establishing of National Parks (1949) and long-distance footpaths (1965). However, as the Right to Roam says, the business is unfinished. See my earlier post for the shocking facts about how little of our countryside (about 8 per cent in England, for example) is, even now, open to us.

The Right to Roam made a moving film of the day. Do watch it.

In the film two people, Alex and Jo, talk about what nature means to them and Alex in particular expresses what I feel, but he says it so much better.

Like Alex, I love to sit quietly in nature – to think and dream and breathe and connect, to just be - and I try to do it every day. I like to find new places, and I like to find somewhere I can’t be seen. Here are some recent hideaways. (I've lived here long enough (45 years) for the farmers to tolerate me, so I'm not trespassing, but they do all think I'm a bit of a loony.)

 

An early morning, inside an oak hedge

On top of a hill camouflaged by long grass. (Spot the dog.)

 

Underneath a giant oak tree, with its canopy reaching to the ground all around me like a tent.

Dog Dementia

Ellie arrived to live with us a few months before I started this blog, which makes her 15, a good age for a dog.

Ellie at one year old

Physically - apart from deafness, cloudy eyes and wonky back legs - she’s doing pretty well. We still walk a couple of hours a day. She still chases rabbits. She still beats the bounds every evening, marching round the garden barking. She still enjoys her food.

Ellie and me contemplating the bluebells, spring 2024

Mentally, however, it’s a different story.

About a month ago she started barking through the night. I tried everything I could think of that might help – ignoring her/going down to see her, letting her out for a run round the garden, putting an unwashed t-shirt in her bed so that the scent comforted her (something we did when she was a puppy), light on/lights off, in her crate/out of her crate, crate covered/crate uncovered.

Then one morning before breakfast, she vomited her supper undigested and later on in the car had a funny turn, retching, howling and shaking. I took her straight to the vet and they tested her blood, x-rayed her and scanned her. They couldn’t find anything wrong. 'Has anything traumatic happened to her recently? they asked, but I couldn't think of anything. 'Probably a touch of dementia then,' they said, prescribing both painkillers and a sedative to be on the safe side. Nothing changed. Then they prescribed sleeping pills. Still no change. 

And now, weeks later, we’re both exhausted and still she barks. I wish I could talk to her. I wish I could find out what’s wrong. But sometimes I think there is no rhyme or reason to it all. It’s just her brain breaking down. It’s heart-rending.

She follows me around during the day and barks when I go upstairs and leave her behind. (She’s too weak to climb the stairs now and too heavy for me to carry.)  I could sleep downstairs so that she can be near me during the night but it would be a huge disruption for me and, selfishly, I’m resisting. I'm experimenting with the ramp she uses to climb into the car.

I wish Frog was here to help.

Frog, with Ellie as a puppy

It's not time for Ellie to go yet, but when she does go, it’ll be another huge chunk out of my life. Who knows where I’ll go or what I’ll do then.

A quiet moment in March last year

A Right to Roam?

First, a story. Perhaps an over-simplification, and there may be inaccuracies (history and facts are not my strong points), but this is how I see things.

Since the invasion of the Normans (in the eleventh century), we in this country have become separated from nature. Firstly, the Normans parcelled up huge chunks of land (like Cornwall) and divided them among themselves, concentrating land ownership in the hands of the few. Then in the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries, these few decided to take for their own the common land which ordinary people used for food and fuel. They fenced it off and instituted a more intensive form of agriculture which meant that many lost their homes and livelihoods. With the advent of the industrial revolution, these destitute country people moved to cities to look for work (where they lived in poverty and squalor and probably never saw even a blade of grass).

We are still suffering the effects of these events, to the extent that 1 per cent of the population of England owns half the country (Who Owns England? and The Lie of the Land by Guy Shrubsole, 2019 and 2024) and about 85 per cent of us are urban. We are excluded from 92 per cent of the land and 97 per cent of its waterways (The Book of Trespass by Nick Hayes, 2020).

This is not healthy, either physically or spiritually. We need fresh air and exercise. We need nature for the world to make sense. We need the sense of freedom that wild nature brings. We need to know about nature so that we care for it and protect the planet.

The Lockdown emphasised this, as nature was all we had left. Many more people than before went out for walks in the country and, unfortunately, some farmers and landowners reacted badly to this, enclosing footpaths with wire fences and padlocking gates. Making the situation even worse.

I call this sort of footpath a gulag. The bridge is for animals.

Locked into the footpath and out of the countryside

Enter the Right to Roam , an organisation started in 2021 by Hayes and Shrubsole which campaigns for England and Wales to have the right that Scotland already does.

The Ramblers organisation is also campaigning for more access to the countryside. An Act of 2000 gave us the right to walk freely over mountain, moor, heath and downland. They want that expanded to cover woodland, watersides and more grassland. Woodland alone would more than double our freedom.

A right to roam wouldn’t mean that people can walk wherever they like without consideration, but it would mean that we might be able to enjoy more of our beautiful country – swimming in rivers, camping out under the night sky, exploring wild places, going off-piste.

A Duchy of Cornwall wood, with access barred by the sign above. So enticing.

An overgrown watermeadow, currently out of bounds. Is there anything more beautiful?

There would of course be responsibilities on both sides. We would need to respect crops and farm animals, and avoid damaging the countryside with, for example, litter and fires. There would be exclusion zones around places such as houses. Landowners on the other hand couldn’t needlessly obstruct access.

But, in the end, it could be of benefit to us all. The public would be better educated about what to do and not do when out and about. We could share guardianship of the countryside with farmers and landowners, which might help safeguard nature. Farmers could make friends with their communities and feel less isolated and misunderstood. We’d all be happier and healthier.

That is my dream.

And here are a couple of pictures of things going right, of farmers engaging with visitors – a taste, I hope, of things to come.

Devon, 2020

Kent, 2025

*I read elsewhere that in the UK as a whole 1 percent of the population owns 70 percent of the land, but I'm checking this figure.