Into the Cauldron

During November, I scheduled myself a week of Cauldron Time, after taking the workshop Into the Cauldron with Moss of Spiral Path. Moss's concept of Cauldron Time is about taking time to rest and look deeply inwards during the dark half of the year. For me this involved taking space away from social media and screens, reading, journaling, meditating, yoga, divination, foraging, spending time in nature, cooking nourishing meals, and taking naps.

I'm a carer and parent, so I couldn't take a week off as would have been ideal, but I did try to maintain an atmosphere of calm and restfulness, and I also thought hard before agreeing to any social plans and only accepted invitations if I really wanted to. I found all this much harder than it probably sounds! Turns out, I am not brilliant at resting.

However, once I made the effort, I found it very effective. Taking time away from screens and spending lots of time outside under the grey November skies almost made it feel as though I had slipped slightly sideways out of ordinary time and into a liminal space. Suddenly I had loads of extra time which I had previously apparently been wasting fiddling about on my tablet and achieving very little. I also hadn't realised how rushed I normally feel, hurtling at ninety miles an hour from one responsibility to the next - again, apparently pointlessly, since during Cauldron Time the housework still got done, the Spud arrived at nursery on time, and everything was accomplished which needed to be, without me turning up everywhere sweaty, out of breath and slightly miserable. It was such a relief to stop trying to push the river.

I also spent time in darkness - the Spud and I sat out one night to watch the sunset, and were delighted to discover that our garden is apparently a bat hotspot. We also went walking under the full moon one night. I realised that I habitually do everything indoors, but I will try to make the effort to wrap up warm and head outside for reading, writing and playing (drinking coffee, doing surveys and checking emails could all be done outside too).

I found myself getting creative in the kitchen - mixing Penicillin cocktails on a whim to use up the last of the 'good' whisky, collecting rosehips and making syrup. 

I blitzed through my reading pile, and delved into poetry for the first time in a long time (The Girl and the Goddess by Nikita Gill was my starting point). Another notable book I read was The Stopping Places by Damien Le Bas. I found it really interesting to have a glimpse of different cultures and different ways of seeing the world, as well as different ways of experiencing this island where I live. I've been seeing Britain very differently since I started looking more into Druidry, folklore and history and learning about what's beneath and beyond the malls, car parks and council estates, and I find it fascinating to have these small peeks into a multiplicity of ways of living and of being here. We may share the same small bit of ground but we relate to it, see it and understand it in completely different ways. 

The lack of social media was a blessing during Cauldron Time. I often feel torn, as I've made some great connections on Instagram lately and found out about some wonderful events, but I can't deny I am more content without the mental chatter and feeling of being surveilled. No amount of giveaways are worth my peace of mind, surely?

The days felt strange - my life revolves mainly around caring for others and managing the household, so it was hard to find time alone or to deeply meditate as I might have liked, but the week was full of little coincidences and synchronicities, and that feeling that I was just outside normal life, in a secret and special space. The slower pace was wonderful - I did about as much as I normally would, but without feeling frazzled or habitually tense. And I prioritised time with my son over time with other people, which felt right - an important boundary that at times I had been lax about upholding.

I found taking Cauldron Time to be valuable, profound and powerful. There were many lessons that I plan to take forward, such as not letting all my time drain into my screens, being present, slowing down, and recognising that time with the Spud or time alone is also special and important, and that it's okay to prioritise it even when that means saying no to other things. 

Afterwards I felt more nourished, more settled, less scattered. I didn't really want to come back to normal reality, and I hope to try to keep my focus on rest throughout winter. I definitely plan to take Cauldron Time again next year, and at least once more this winter, to help me continue to live with more mindfulness and intention. 

I also had a guest spot this month talking to Hazel and Jenny on The Wheel podcast for their Sustainable Yule episode - listen here.

Fifty-Three Ways to Rewild Your Mind

1. Read poetry, even if - especially if - you haven't read any for years

2. Ditch Amazon - go to your local library

3. Begin a meditation practice

4. Make a meal from local, seasonal goods

5. Cut down your social media time (I signed up for email newsletters from my favourite creatives so I don't miss the relevant stuff)

6. Have your first or last hot beverage of the day outside in the garden

7. Challenge your habitual consumption behaviours - for example, take a break from online shopping and visit local retailers instead, or try buying only second-hand for a while. Disrupt the consumption engine in your head

8. Make or mend something with your hands

9. Swim or paddle in wild water (obviously take all relevant safety precautions)

10. Spend an evening by candlelight

11. Make offerings to your ancestors

12. Consider celebrating, marking or acknowledging the solstices, equinoxes and fire festivals to create awareness of the cyclical nature of time

13. Rest

14. Tend a plant or garden

15. Forage for wild foods (this doesn't need to be more complicated than blackberries or apples)

16. Compost

17. Become aware of the phases of the moon

18. Spend time in starlight

19. Speak your truth

20. Make space in your life to appreciate art. Obviously this is very subjective, but some artists I love who to me express wild mind include Rima Staines, Iris Compiet, Jackie Morris, Hannah Willow, Brian Froud, Julia Jeffrey, Nadia Turner and Brett Manning.

21. Read widely and voraciously on anything that speaks to you

22. Again this is subjective, but some books that specifically evoke the feeling I wanted to achieve include Wild by Jay Griffiths, The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt and The Way Home by Mark Boyle

23. Listen to live music

24. Dance

25. Consider your relationship to movement. What would you do if changing the appearance of your body wasn't a factor? I have a particular hatred of the sterile box that is the gym, so I admit to being biased, but I love to exercise in a way that makes me feel good, which for me includes yoga, walking, dance, the occasional run, swimming and paddleboarding when I am near the sea, and the odd game of badminton.

26. Check out the ingredients in your cosmetics. Consider a switch to cruelty free products. Better yet, natural, organic and cruelty free. Or even consider making your own - books like Wild Beauty by Jana Blankenship and Freedom Face by Lucy AitkenRead have an abundance of recipes

27. Buy only what you need

28. Learn the names of the animals, plants and birds in your immediate environment

29. Wander

30. If you have the opportunity, listen to stories being told out loud - this can be magical

31. Look at the world around you with fresh eyes. Slightly cheesily, I think of being a tourist everywhere I go, and look for historical buildings, unusual details, things that tell a story about the place. I have a particular fondness for old pubs, which are often the longest-lived buildings in an area and packed to the beams with ghost stories, and if this also includes sampling a local ale or cider, well, so be it. Often we go about with half our brain in 'the great digital nowhere', and this can be a way to bring ourselves back to physical reality

32. See what's on near you. Whilst I find that minimising my social media use as much as possible is the best thing for me, I can't deny it's really useful for finding out about workshops, markets, mending cafes, live music, Pagan gatherings, community gardens and all kinds of other interesting events that help me feel more rooted in and connected to my local area

33. One concept of Stoic philosophy that intrigues me is of not being addicted to anything. I can easily fall into habitual ruts (this whole blog started because of my shopping addiction), so I find it useful to regularly challenge those habits and make sure I am in control of them and not the other way round. Phone addiction is probably one of the most obvious, particularly for those of us who are rewilding, but this year I have gone without caffeine just to make sure that I could! Maybe consider having a look at your dependencies and shaking things up a little

34. I was surprised this year to discover how much I am held back by negative body image. I have found books like Beyond Beautiful, The Beauty Myth, Just Eat It and You Are Not A Before Picture really helpful in challenging this

35. Watch a sunrise or sunset

36. Let your bare feet touch the earth

37. Feel the sun, rain or wind on your bare skin

38. Let yourself change with the seasons. Be aware of yourself and your needs. In winter, when nature is sleeping and dormant, you may find that you, too, need to rest, and go within. Don't fight this urge. Capitalism and ideas about productivity and linear progress have made this very difficult, but do what you can. (This is a work in progress for me. I recently encountered ideas about living more cyclically through the work of Moss at Walk the Spiral Path, and I was surprised by how much of an emotional reaction I had to the concept)

39. Consider learning some of the skills your ancestors would have had - weaving, spinning, knitting, pottery, playing an instrument, for example. Ancestral crafts connect us to our history and our bodies as well as being beneficial to our mental health

40. Sketching, writing/journaling or painting are all ways to unwind without resorting to the endless scroll

41. Plant lore and herbalism teach us more ways to connect to the world around us. Although there is a vast amount of knowledge available here, don't be intimidated - you don't need to know everything about everything to brew a simple herbal tea (my simplest is this: I chuck a handful of lemon balm leaves into a mug, pour on hot water, and drink) or make an incense blend. 

42. Spend time with your friends and family (whatever family means to you). Sharing food by firelight is often wonderful

43. Stop mowing your lawn

44. Don't be afraid of the weather - just get a good coat

45. Go off-grid for a little while

46. Turn off phone notifications for email

47. If you can, spend a night outdoors

48. When you're outside, check in with all your senses (maybe not taste? But also maybe yes?)

49. Focus more on what makes you feel grounded, content, joyful, free or simply grateful. Living by your true priorities and values, not those of the dominant culture, is not easy, but it is importantvalues

50. Spend time alone

51. Challenge your comfort zone. So much of our money, time and energy is poured into our comfort and convenience. We are, in a sense, domesticated. How will we cope with the societal changes ahead in this era of climate change? (Many more of us in the UK will be experiencing cold and darkness this winter. Having these changes foisted upon us as the result of inept governing is, of course, terrible.) Finding ways to increase our strength and resilience could turn out to be beneficial in the long run. Common suggestions include cold water exposure, spending time in wild places or without electric light, breathwork practices such as the Wim Hof method, building relationships and communities, and learning how to grow, preserve and forage for food

52. Find a sit-spot that you can visit at least once a week

53. Care for and nourish your body, whatever that looks like for you

Earth-Based

Recently I got called out by an oracle card deck that I got for Christmas. The deck in question is a pocket-sized set of 40 cards by Nadia Turner, called Forest Fae. First of all let me mention how exquisite these cards are - enchanting and not a little strange. Unlike the other decks I use, they are also pretty straight-talking, as they each contain a short phrase or message. I appreciate this a lot on days when I'm not in the mood for decoding symbolism or intuitively analysing imagery. In fact, for a fae-based deck, I was a little startled by how forthright these cards can be.

As I shuffled, my mind was wandering. I was thinking about my upcoming visit to a medieval fayre, wondering what I might buy. What sort of clothes was I looking for nowadays? Did I want to lean into my more practical, natural side, my inner barefoot hippie, or did I want to go more Glastonbury glamour, with glitter and flower crowns? I have no idea what question I originally intended to ask when I picked up the cards, but it wasn't one of my interminable, imaginary wardrobe dilemmas.

The first card I turned said, "Take the cloud roads; delight in your imagination."

As someone who has bemoaned, at length, my inability to daydream and visualise, which has happened over the last decade or so and which I blame pretty much entirely on my total absorption with shopping, fashion and social media (and which has made it rather difficult to write any fiction in recent years), I felt like this was a strong nudge. Stop asking stupid questions; go and remember how to daydream.

But it wasn't really the answer I wanted. Shopping Brain wanted to be told to go buy stuff. So I asked for clarification and drew another card.

 "Seek inspiration in twilight wanderings."

I translated this as: remember that new novel you keep saying you want to write but can't get any ideas for? Perhaps you should stop worrying about clothes and pull your head out of Instagram. (And I've always loved walking in the evening, or at night, when things are quiet.)

Mainly out of curiosity, I pulled another card.

 "Go to the woods. Seek moss, mud, and magic."

Well, now my disappointment was forgotten and I was becoming elated. I couldn't have asked for more apropos advice. I couldn't actually go to the woods right that minute as I had someone coming to fit my smart meters, but I determined to go just as soon as I could. And not just to take pictures for Instagram, either. As my fourth and final card advised: "Be a caretaker of silence."

Coincidentally (or not), I had just downloaded a sample for Starhawk's book The Earth Path, in which she says: "To be a Witch (a practitioner of the Old Religion of the Goddess) or a Pagan (someone who practices an earth-based spiritual tradition) is more than adopting a new set of terms and customs and a wardrobe of flowing gowns. It is to enter a different universe, a world that is alive and dynamic, where everything is part of an interconnected whole, where everything is always speaking to us, if only we have ears to listen. A Witch must not only be familiar with the mystic planes of existence beyond the physical realm; she should also be familiar with the trees and plants and birds and animals of her own backyard, be able to name them, know their uses and habits and what part each plays in the whole." 

Like Starhawk, my initial interest in Paganism was sparked by a desire for a spiritual path that embraced and honoured the feminine, but I have returned to it lately due to my love for and connection with the land. Yet this is a connection I find hard to maintain; there's no denying that the jolt, the buzz, the shopping high (or the weirdly addictive mix of anticipation and unease that is my social media experience) can exert a greater pull in the moment than meditation, birdwatching in my sit spot, or walking in nature.

I'm engaged so much with my gadgets lately that walking in a green space does strange things to my eyes, as they readjust to different shapes, spaces, patterns of sensory input. It's refreshing, like a bath and a nap just for my eyes and brain. 

I'm not sure how many times I'll need to learn the same lesson before it sticks. But at least I'll have my cards to keep me on track when I need it. And in the meantime? I guess I'll be in the woods.

I'll be away next week celebrating my handfasting - which, all being well, will be this weekend. After three postponements and a brief and casual (but admittedly lovely) legal ceremony, I'm deeply looking forward to finally being able to have our wedding!

The Feral Gardener

Sitting in my garden this morning with my fleece over my dressing gown and a lovely, steaming mug of coffee, I smiled to myself wondering what my neighbours must think of my approach to gardening. My method can be described as a combination of thrift, ecological-mindedness, a fair amount of total ignorance about gardening, and a bit of laziness too. I like that the most ecological approach to gardening often seems to also be the easiest.

I did work hard last summer getting a lawn area seeded for the little one to play on, and planting our first vegetables. Then I was a tad disheartened when the lawn grew in patchy and we lost most of our radish crop to pests. The weeds, however, grow with abundance - I kept meaning to borrow a hoe and tackle them, after a few afternoons spent digging out each and every one with a trowel. Then I discovered books like The Forager's Garden (Anna Locke) and Letting in the Wild Edges (Glennie Kindred) and realised I could be digging out plants that were useful or beneficial. I decided to stop weeding indiscriminately and instead to learn what exactly I had growing. I also choose not to use chemical weedkillers or fertilisers, which sometimes feels like I'm stacking the odds against myself, but I'm adamant it's the right thing to do. 

One of the few things we bought new when we moved in was a compost bin, which is happily doing its thing. Dai's dad has offered us his old water butt, and we've made pathways out of rubble we found in the garden when we moved in, and planters for herbs out of whatever we could find, such as an old sink and a beer keg. Currently I'm saving up Amazon vouchers (one of the survey sites I use pays in Amazon vouchers rather than cash) for a bokashi bin set, so that we can turn our kitchen scraps - including those that can't be composted in a standard compost bin, like meat and dairy - into fertiliser.

The first frosts came around before I was ready, and we lost many strawberries and a couple of tomato plants. At first the colder weather drove me indoors, but after deciding to resume my morning sit spot regardless of the weather, I began to spot more and more wildlife in our weedy, scraggly patch. Robins are apparently partial to the three tangled elder trees that I had gingerly separated and gently pruned in the hopes of helping them avoid disease. There were blue tits in the bare-branched apple tree that reached over our fence from nextdoor. Once or twice we spotted a squirrel racing through the yew trees just behind our fence.

My neighbours on the left have the most velvety and pristine lawn you can imagine, which is nursed by sprinklers dawn till dusk, April till October (I've never seen their children in the garden - though I've seen them gaping at us from the bedroom window!). Comparatively, last year I decided not to mow my lawn, to help it establish itself, and since I haven't weeded it either what I have now is a small and bedraggled meadow (I will mow it in the spring!). I also didn't rake up the leaves from the neighbouring sycamore - I can't quite get behind the idea of raking a biodegradable, soil-nourishing product into plastic bags, so I'm hoping it will work as a kind of free mulch.

The result of all this is that right now, my garden looks a terrible mess. The clematis at the bottom of the garden has evidently been left unmanaged for several years, and has swarmed up the nearest yew tree with parasitical fervour to form a green wall between us and the cemetery. I'm not sure what I can do about that - I tried hacking it back last year but it has simply shot straight back up with undiminished enthusiasm. But in the spring we will have nettles for tea and soup, and in the summer we have blackberries - though Dai would rather plant a thornless variety. We were able to decorate our house for the winter solstice with holly and ivy from our own garden. 

As well as our three elders and nextdoor's apple we have a beech tree, a conifer and a small aster of some description. We've also tried planting a cutting from a friend's fig tree, and should soon find out whether or not that has been successful. So the ingredients for a forager's forest garden (and a small, handy grove) do seem to be in place, and I'm hoping that my job this year will amount to steering it in the right direction, and adding more and more edible plants. 

First Steps on the Path to Rewilding

Once I allowed that hopeful word 'rewilding' to take up space in my head, I had to start thinking about what, exactly, that was going to entail for me. A quick brainstorm threw up ideas like:

- being aware of the moon's phases

- having a 'sit spot' 

- writing poetry

- making something with my hands

- foraging

- permaculture

- going barefoot

It also meshed well with some of my other positive habits, like celebrating the seasons, decorating my altar with nature finds, going for daily walks, reading and journalling, as well as those habits that are always the first to go when my mental health takes a hit and my phone use goes up, like doing yoga, meditating, practicing my pennywhistle, and cooking from scratch.

It fit with the positive habits I wanted to create too, like eating locally and seasonally, getting more sleep, and shopping considerably less - and shopping second-hand or small when I do shop. It also kind of answered a conundrum that had arisen for me whilst I was trying to tackle my shopping habit - what do I do with my time, headspace and energy if I'm not constantly spending money on my image? Creativity, magic, activism - a triple-pronged answer that to me felt just the right kind of wild.

In short, the more I thought about it, the more rewilding myself seemed like the logical next step on my mission to re-enchant my life.

The first steps onto this path then became really obvious. I had to make space in my life to begin making these changes, and that meant my technology use had to get under control. Since reinstating my social media accounts to help promote my book, I'd gone from an average of twenty minutes a day phone usage to an average of three hours. It was a bit of a shock to me how little control I seemed to have over it and how quickly the hooks of addiction got under my skin. 

This time around I couldn't take the easy step of deleting my social media apps. Firstly, I didn't think my publisher would be hugely impressed, and secondly, I have a new (to me) phone which has the apps built in. I tried disabling the apps, but once I figured out I could re-enable them in about four seconds, it quickly became a pointless exercise. I started re-reading How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price, with the aim in mind of learning moderation. I wanted to be able to make a post every few days, respond to a few comments, emails or messages at a time, and then - crucially - put the phone down and get on with my life. It's eternally frustrating to me that I find this so difficult! I'll let you know how progress goes on this.

Next, I wanted to double down on my outdoor time. Whilst reading Rewilding the Urban Soul by Claire Dunn back in late summer, I'd gotten into the habit of taking my first hot drink of the day outside to the garden, and sitting on the patio to watch the wildlife in the trees and the clouds roving across the sky. Kind of a very domesticated version of a sit spot. And I noticed that it seemed to lift the mood of the whole day - not just for me but for the Spud too, who would charge around with his toy trucks in wellies and dressing gown. One morning he spotted a squirrel and was thrilled with his discovery for hours.

So as well as my daily walk, I wanted to take up this practice again. I'd been driven indoors by bad weather, but just as with walking, when I made the effort to wrap up warm and get out there it was always worth it.

In similar vein, my third resolution was to restart my practice of watching the sunset every day. This was something I'd stopped doing after we moved, simply because there was no longer a window conveniently facing in the right direction. But it wasn't exactly a hardship to take the time to sit on the doorstep for a little while. I was surprised by how much I missed those few daily moments of beauty. And surprised that I'd just let the practice slip.

Three things seems like enough to aim for, for now, although I do have some more ideas once I've managed to incorporate these habits successfully. Wish me luck!

A World Without Climate Change

Even if there was no climate crisis, our way of life still needs to change.

If we continue clear cutting and burning our great rainforests, we will lose their beauty and biodiversity. Without forests, we would face greater flooding and soil erosion. Thousands of species, many even undiscovered as yet by us humans, will lose their habitats and face extinction. Many plants that could be used to create lifesaving medicines will be destroyed before we even learn their properties. Indigenous peoples will lose their ancestral lands. Their way of life will be under threat, their wisdom lost. 

If we continue strip mining the earth for her resources and using toxins in our factories, the air we breathe will continue to be pumped full of toxic pollutants. Air pollution is already killing people all around the globe. 

If we continue to demand more and more of those resources to make things we don't need, children and prisoners of war will continue to be forced to work in open pit mines in brutal and dangerous conditions to harvest minerals. Sweatshops will continue to flourish, trapping thousands of people, mainly women, to labour in degrading and unsafe conditions for long hours for paltry pay. The fruits of this labour will continue to be piled high and sold cheap - and we will continue to fast track them to landfill, where they will leach toxic chemicals into our soil and water. What will we do when we have no space left for landfills, no places left to build incinerators to belch out poisonous fumes over our communities?

Our oceans will continue to be choked with plastics. Our marine species will continue to decline, their bellies full of wrappers and cling film mistaken for food leaving them no room for nutrients and condemning them to starvation. Illegal fishing practices will continue to devastate our seas, destroying habitats on the sea bed, reducing populations of fish below sustainable levels and risking their extinction, threatening the livelihood and food security of coastal populations. The salt marshes and mangroves that provide protection from storm surges and flooding from the sea will be lost to human activity such as agriculture and development.

Our sewage will continue to pollute our rivers and oceans. Dyes and other run-off from our factories will continue to be pumped into rivers, killing wildlife, spreading sickness amongst those who need those waters for drinking and bathing. 

Pesticides will continue to devastate our insect population, again killing entire species, and those species that depend on them, and so on all the way up the food chain. Our topsoil will become starved of nutrients and unable to produce flourishing crops. We are degrading our soil far faster than it can replenish itself, risking desertification - meaning we would not be able to feed ourselves. Without wild bees and other pollinators, we would lose many plant species around the world, including some of those we rely on for food.

Imagine the world we are heading towards if we don't clean up our act - figuratively and literally. Polluted air; polluted water; food shortages. A world of poverty and misery, tarmac and concrete, the stench of landfills and burning plastics. Pandemics and flooding, slave labour, starvation and homelessness. Loss of bees, whales, dolphins, butterflies, birds, and millions more.

Climate change sceptics argue that there is no climate emergency, that we can continue on this course of endless profit and eternal growth. Even if that were true, look at what it would cost.

Lessons From The Rebellion

Apologies, I haven't been as active as usual or responding to comments with any kind of regularity due to the death of a close family member. I am still reading and do appreciate all of your comments!

Weeks after taking part in the Impossible Rebellion, albeit in a small way, I realised I was still thinking about it. Partly this was simple satisfaction - I can be prone to cloistering myself away, partly because I'm an introvert, but also partly because of the intensive nature of being a full-time mum, partly because I'm finding that Druid study, in fact an interest in the esoteric in general, requires a fair amount of headspace for processing, learning, practising, and investigating. And also, not least of all, partly because those aspects of me and my life that go against the grain of normal living - or perhaps are simply different to what some of my friends are doing - sometimes make me feel a bit alienated. 

Not shopping is one of these things. Many blogs will attest to the fact that it's fairly common nowadays to take some time off from shopping. Maybe for environmental reasons, maybe for decluttering or financial purposes - maybe all of the above. However, my fascination with the mechanics of consumer society has led me to believe that I am looking not at a temporary pause but at a move towards a different way of life, as I try to unhook myself from the capitalist machine, as much as I am able.

The more I learn about a culture that feeds on our disconnect, our wants, our insecurities, the less bandwidth I have for girls' night chat about who's getting Botox. 

So, anyway, Rebellion felt liberating for me because I actually got myself out of the house and went and took part in something meaningful with others of, if not like mind, then at least similar hopes and fears about our planet and our future on it. Rebellion also showed me some of my dreams in action, such as non-hierarchical organisation and a gift economy. 

It was a bit startling to come home again, and after a fortnight of daily actions and emails showing wild creativity, love and rage, as well as the deep concern for our environment that drives the movement, to take my mum's rubbish out and find that a neighbour had shoved fifteen leather handbags in perfectly good condition into the bin to be incinerated. I'd almost forgotten that possibly the majority of people are not coming at everyday situations thinking about their effect on the environment, or even the simple facts of where our belongings come from and where they go when we don't want them any more. (I rescued the handbags, by the way, and they have been rehomed. I also rescued a box of Christmas cards, a pack of gift bags, and four brand new rolls of gift wrap. I really don't mean to make a habit of pulling stuff out of bins, but I cannot stand waste.)

The more I keep up to date with the climate science, the more I find I'm becoming a sort of apocalypse prepper. Like, might as well face my addiction to shopping now, because there ain't gonna be no trips to the mall when Southampton's underwater and people are rioting in the streets because there's no food and no space. I can't decide whether this is an unhealthy mindset or simply a logical one. Either way, my skill set of spinning, weaving, knitting, foraging and that archery course I took will hopefully stand me in good stead when the chips are down. I hope. Meanwhile, there's a lot of dissonance between my position, and that of someone who thinks the place for their unwanted leather goods is the dustbin. And it's hard to summon up enthusiasm for Botox when the chances of living long enough to develop serious wrinkles are looking increasingly slim.

As well as forever marking myself out as some fringe-dwelling weirdo, I came home from the Rebellion armed with information:

The government aren't listening. No one is coming to save us. I find it utterly horrifying that our alleged representatives are blithely making things worse - while saying all the right things. They are not even bothering to work towards their own targets. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't so frightening. On an unrelated note, remember that time Iceland peacefully overthrew their government? Oh, you don't? Wow, our billionaire-owned UK media sure kept that quiet, didn't they? Wonder why. (I'm not saying XR are planning a revolution. But I hope that someone is.)

Trying to do the right thing can also backfire. I was confused when I saw in one of the email dispatches from XR that youth activists were peacefully occupying the headquarters of environmental charity WWF. When I first became interested in environmentalism I set up a small monthly donation to WWF, and I was appalled and deeply saddened to learn that this organisation has been partnering with and/or receiving donations from polluting companies such as Coca-Cola, HSBC, Pepsi, Domtar (a coal company), Monsanto and the ubiquitous Shell (see below). Their management and board of directors includes people from General Motors, BP and Unilever. They are also guilty of an array of human rights abuses, including funding raids on villages by paramilitary organisations, stealing land from indigenous peoples in the name of "conservation" (here's why that doesn't work to anyone's benefit), and working with vicious anti-poaching guards and "shock troops" who have committed a terrifying variety of crimes from rape and torture to murder. Wow. For more about all of this, please check out WTF WWF. I used their page to cancel my direct debit to WWF (and you can bet I wrote to WWF and told them why), and will be donating my money to the Guarani Yvyruppa Commission in future.

Shell are everywhere. From former Shell employees putting together panels of scientists to fight against the move towards net zero (this is old news, but I came across it fairly recently, hence I flag it up for your perusal), to the company sponsoring a Science Museum exhibition about greenhouse gases and climate change - the museum signed a gagging clause forbidding them from naming Shell as a sponsor for the exhibition, and agreed not to 'sully the reputation' of the company by carefully not mentioning the part that fossil fuel companies are playing in the devastation of our environment. (Also, MURDER, can we all just stop giving Shell money, they are awful and terrible.)

Mo' money, mo' problems. Or, as the Bible says, "The love of money is the root of all evil." Will Farbrother from Money Rebellion has said, "If the City [of London] was a country, it would be the world's ninth biggest emitter of CO2, worse than Germany." I recently experienced myself how addicted we are to the accumulation of money when we had some cash flow problems due to Dai changing job. I had enough savings to carry us across the gap, but oh how deflating it was to see that number in my savings account go down - despite my fondness for anti-capitalist rhetoric and staunch belief that money isn't everything! Of course, the amounts I'm talking about are small change to many of those who work in the City. How much more gripping must their addiction be, played out on such a tremendous scale?

To end on a brighter note, my biggest takeaway from the Rebellion was that a different world is possible. I know because I saw it. I saw community and cooperation, kindness and honesty. I saw people making art on the streets and sharing free food. Extinction Rebellion's explanation of their principles and values is an exciting and hopeful manifesto. The entire Rebellion exists through non-hierarchical organisation, prioritising autonomy and decentralisation. During the protests, community hubs set up for rebels provided a safe space to retreat to, where hot food and drinks were provided, as well as support ranging from practical to emotional. For a short time out of time, these protesters form their own society, a society radically different than the violent, oppressive system we currently have - and it works. 


"Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. 
Want more of everything ready-made. 
Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery any more. 
Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something they will call you. 
When they want you to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute." - from Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

Seaside Scavenging and Surfers Against Sewage

On our recent holiday to Pembrokeshire, I found that my environmentalism, which had been difficult to keep at the forefront of the way I live what with house moves and renovations, parenting, worries about money, clothes and religion, not to mention trying to rediscover some kind of social life after the hermitude of COVID, was burgeoning again.

This was for a variety of reasons: firstly, it's hard to spend time in such an incredibly beautiful area as the Pembrokeshire coastline without being in some way touched by it. There's a moment on the way to our holiday cottage (we go to the same place every year), when the narrow road, set deeply between ferny banks and clawed hedges of gorse, has wound its way out onto the cliffs, and suddenly the hedges fall away and the vast expanse of Newgale beach is revealed, as if a magician has flung back a veil and shouted, "Ta da!" It never gets old, never ceases to take the breath away, and that seemingly endless vista of sky and sea is different each time, whether grey and wild, the peach and gold of sunset, or foaming and depthless turquoise on white sand. How can anyone not want to protect that, to preserve it? 

Secondly, whilst we were away I read a really fascinating book, Free by Katharine Hibbert. It's a memoir of the time Katharine spent as a squatter, mostly without money, living literally off the vast array of things that are thrown away every day. Having worked in the waste industry I thought I had some idea of the scale of our society's astonishing wastefulness, but this book opened my eyes in a whole new way. I think that reading this book had me looking at what was around me with fresh eyes - I don't normally go through bins, as a general rule, but when I was taking a bag of rubbish out I noticed a windbreak jammed into the holiday cottages' shared bin. It's probably broken, I reasoned, but some spirit of devilry made me drag the whole thing out to see what, exactly, was wrong with it. Turns out, nothing whatsoever. It's currently in our cupboard under the stairs, looking forward to next year's holiday. 

On an old blog of mine, when I was still working in the rag bins at the local recycling centre, I was quite open about which items of my clothing had come from the bins, and I took a lot of flak for it. I totally appreciate that dumpster diving isn't everyone's cup of tea (although perhaps we ought to consider those for whom it's the only option. Trash picking is a way of making a living in some countries. In the UK, cafes, supermarkets and restaurants throw away tons of unopened food on a daily basis - yet many throw bleach on the food or otherwise render it spoiled or inaccessible to deter people from trying to retrieve it. How is it even vaguely acceptable to send food to landfill when there are people who are going hungry?! Who writes these rules?!). But why is it considered fine to throw away usable - or even unworn - clothing, yet distasteful to retrieve or make use of it? Doesn't say anything good about this culture's values, if you ask me.

Thirdly, we spent a lot of time in and around the city of St Davids. I was really heartened and excited by the eco community I could see in action there - from environmental protests in the high street to sustainable, fair trade and zero waste shops, and a wild food cafe. I haven't had a lot of luck connecting with other people in my area who are passionate about the environment - there's a local Extinction Rebellion branch, but they sadly don't answer their emails - so other than Greenpeace Zoom calls, I generally don't get to discuss these issues outside of monologuing at friends and family (which is definitely a thing that I do. I mean, I try not to be That Person, but sometimes all the frustration and the worry and the love has to go somewhere, y'know?). And let's be honest, even were we not in a climate crisis, a noticeboard advertising 'Slow Flow' yoga classes alongside coastal foraging courses in a shop selling small batch local ales with folkloric names, and beauty products made out of seaweed, is definitely my jam.

So, all this in mind, it was both deeply disappointing and incredibly enraging when the first piece of news I read upon returning home was about my local water supplier knowingly and deliberately discharging sewage into the ocean.

Not once.

But 7,000 times.

Hugo Tagholm, CEO of environmental group Surfers Against Sewage, said, "It’s absolutely scandalous that Southern Water dumped raw sewage in the sea for so long, hiding their tracks as they went so they could increase their profits. This shocking, criminal capitalism is one of the worst cases of companies wilfully putting profits before the health of people or planet.

"Worse still is that water companies, including Southern Water, seem to continue dumping raw sewage into fragile, precious and finite blue habitats, with over 400,000 separate raw sewage pollution events pinned to their collective reputation in 2020 alone. All whilst their CEOs walk away with huge pay packets and dividends."

We are paying for the privilege of having our effluent dumped into the sea. How dare you, Southern Water. I'd like to round this post off with some snappy parting shot, but honestly I think I'm too disgusted. 

Finding the Urban Wild

In June we moved house, from our grey council estate further into town. In many ways it was a relief - the new mortgage was cheaper than the rent, and finally we could put our own stamp on our dwelling without worrying about the landlord. Living closer to town was convenient for visiting friends, family, and helpfully our house is on the same road as the nursery the Spud will eventually be going to. The house is smaller, but it's a 1940s build with a fireplace and a beautiful archway between the kitchen and living room. It desperately needs redecorating, and we're trying to sell a lot of our furniture on Facebook marketplace in order to actually fit, but it's a brilliant house and I love it.

The garden is quite big, but it hasn't been tended in some years and is made largely of weeds and mud. This means I'm out there from dawn til dusk digging madly and putting down lawn seed, as about every two minutes the Spud traipses dirty footprints all through the house. I've given up on keeping anything clean in the meanwhile, so the downstairs is slowly becoming a swamp. I have also started a small herb garden and a vegetable patch, and my first crop of beetroot is coming along nicely. (I did, however, discover that we have an infestation of chafer grubs, which kill lawns - d'oh - so I'm going to sow clover seeds as a cover crop, which will also be good for the butterflies and bees.)

However, there have been some downsides to moving into a more urban area. Firstly, I no longer have easy access to woodlands and meadows for my walks with the Spud. We are within half an hour's walk of two brilliant nature reserves (the one we have made our territory for the last couple of years, and another, which is Green Flag rated and rather splendid), but it's not quite the same as having the river right on the back doorstep. I was surprised by how adrift and disconnected I have felt, not having quite such easy access to green space. We have been exploring the scrubby patches of trees and greenery around the edges of urban life, and I am learning that this kind of hardy, defiant growth has a very different spirit. It's harder to feel that strong sense of connection that I had been experiencing, but I'm hopeful that I can adjust and learn from this. I have Claire Dunn's Rewilding the Urban Soul and Tara Sanchez's Urban Faery Magick on my reading list to help me get acclimated!

Pentagram graffiti under a bridge. 
This is the same river that runs through the nature reserve where the Spud and I used to walk, but the vibe here is very different!

A more worrisome discovery is that living two minutes from the high street has kicked my consumerism into high gear. I've gradually been getting this back under control, but it wasn't an outcome I'd considered and it caught me rather by surprise! Sometimes it was obvious - hey, I'll just go browse this artisan market and the local independent shops for some home decor bits... yes, I definitely need another candle holder... - and sometimes less so - hey, a Nepalese takeaway, I'll just stop for some momos... hey, a Waitrose, I really fancy some sushi - but I quickly noticed that my finances were feeling the pinch and started avoiding the shops (and takeaways) unless I actually needed something.

The Spud wasn't immune to this either! He's well aware that shops are large repositories of toys, sweets and other things he doesn't have yet (on our last foray into the local independent shops he wanted a lucky waving cat and some crystal tumblestones... that's my boy) and has taken to hurling himself on the floor screaming if he is not bought Things! Immediately! I don't mind withstanding the hurricane of a toddler tantrum and will sit on the street and wait him out rather than cave in and buy a new toy from every shop we happen to pass, but avoiding the high street for now is probably the best strategy for both of us...

Another manifestation of the consumer trap I've noticed since we moved is that now I live on one of the main thoroughfares into town and am seeing lots more people every day, my anxiety about how I present myself also kicked up a notch for a while, and I had a few weeks where I wanted to waft around in flowy skirts and lots of jewellery to present a suitably alternative and Pagan appearance (although if questioned I'm quite sniffy about adopting a Pagan uniform, go figure). Looking a bit mysterious and witchy is far from being a problem in itself of course, but in my case it meant wanting to buy lots of new clothes, and also a tendency to stop doing the actual work in favour of spending a bit more time on my eyeliner. Style over substance is something I can easily slip into, and it's really not worth it.

This phase luckily came to an end when I was out on the new (to us) nature reserve and realised that I felt a bit conspicuous in my outfit. It was easier to switch off from the everyday and get connected when I was in my usual t-shirt and jeans or leggings. As I'd realised before, what feels great on Glastonbury high street or at the local rock bar doesn't always work well in other situations, particularly when my focus needs to turn outwards instead of inwards. I've not given up on my flowy skirts and jewellery for occasions when I know I'll be comfortable wearing them, but it was a reminder that, boring though it might seem to blend in, it does help me stop worrying about the surface stuff and writing shopping lists in my head and actually, y'know, do some Druiding.

Other than regularly visiting the nature reserves and spending lots of time in my garden, I have some other activities planned to help a) with being an effective student of Druidry and b) my transition to less consumerist living. Firstly, on my street there is a town museum, with a strong focus on the Iron Age, and I must pay a visit. I really want to get to know the history of this area, its folklore and - yes - its ghost stories (because I'm nerdy about spooky tales!). Secondly, I'm going to explore local shops of a different kind - I'm talking local produce and our excellent plant nursery. Thirdly, if time allows (which admittedly it may not) I'm considering getting involved with the group that runs conservation activities on the nature reserves as well as at other sites up and down the river. And lastly I've signed up to write infrequently on environmental issues for a local paper. I've also been asked to run a yin yoga class and guided meditation session for a dear friend's mental health support group - this is a bit out of my comfort zone (speaking? In front of humans?!) but when I thought about it, it seemed like a good way of supporting and being of service to my community. None of which require me to buy new clothes!

But I think the most important thing I can do is the same as it's always been - keep going outside!

Letter to the Earth

Written for the Letters to the Earth project. I'd love for you to write and share your own letters (which can be art, or poetry, or however you like to express yourself) to help encourage and inspire change ahead of the COP in November. In uncertain times, putting pen to paper can be cathartic. And the more of us who speak up on behalf of the Earth, the harder we become to ignore.

Dear Earth,

I'd love to have something pithy and original to say here, but I'm going to try to speak from the heart. I think you deserve that much. 

The fact is that I'm scared. I never thought I'd be a mum, but now that I am, now that there's a little being dependent on me, I'm finally looking around at the mess we're in, and I'm terrified that it's too late to make meaningful change. 

For a long time I took you for granted. Yet as a child I loved nature. I loved to play in the woods and build 'grass houses' in the fields. I still remember waking early on frosty mornings to ride horses out on the rolling downs, when the grass was still cold enough to crackle under their hooves. I remember building dens in the woods with my friends, coming home for dinner with muddy knees and leaves in our hair.

I'm not sure when the disconnect started, but I know that for a while there was a time when I was too busy to notice a sunset, too concerned about my hair and make-up to swim in the sea. I'm lucky that my little one loves nothing more than to be outside - our daily walks gradually, quietly reminded me of all the wonder that was here all along. 

I just want to tell you that I can see now the state that we're in, and I want to change it. I want to help you, to protect you, like I wish I had been doing all along. I want my little boy to have a future, a safe and thriving future, but even had I not been a mother, I would want to protect and cherish you simply because it's right. Because you have given me everything. You are my mother, and my mother's mother. You were my playmate in childhood, and as I grew up your beauty gave me strength when I felt down or lost. 

I'm sorry for all the ways that I am and have been part of the problem. Change is slow, and going against the grain of convenience and consumerism is sometimes stupidly difficult. I'm also sorry that those in power are choosing not to listen to our voices. It's frustrating, and it's terrifying, when every day more is lost and we have so much more to lose. It seems that those who could change things will not. I'm furious that 'growth' and profit and business-as-usual are deemed more important than the Amazon and the pollinators and the oceans, and I don't understand how we came to conflate destruction with progress.

But I promise that I will keep trying to do what I can. I promise to take action on your behalf, as much and as often and as fiercely as I can. And I will keep on loving you, and I will teach my little boy to love you too, with all his wild heart.

Forever,

Kat

Scenes From The Impossible Rebellion

On Tuesday this week, the Spud and I found ourselves on the train to London. I hadn't really thought that I'd be able to take part in the Impossible Rebellion in person this year, mainly due to financial concerns but also because I'm a full-time parent and that's kind of an intense job. So on Sunday, when I learned about the XR Families group and their kid-friendly Feed-In and Play-In, I immediately started looking at train tickets. 

Monday night, I almost didn't sleep. I'd seen some scary scenes of somewhat aggressive policing at the protests, and whilst I trusted the organisers to have arranged a child-safe space, I was still a little nervous. Still, I reasoned, I wasn't going to be locked on to anything or glued to the pavement - if at any point I felt uncomfortable, we would get up and leave. 

I channelled my nervous energy into making a 'Little Rebel' patch for the Spud out of a stained old t-shirt, and for myself I recycled an old tote into a back patch for my waistcoat. I wanted to be able to cover the patches with our jackets if need be - I'd seen photos of a mother and children refused access to a protest site, preparing their materials in the street. I didn't fancy travelling all that way to become a rebellion of two, so I wanted us to be able to move 'undercover' if we had to!

Once we arrived in London we had plenty of time to make our way to the meeting point, as specified in an encrypted message by the organisers. We got there early, which was just as well, as the intended meeting place had been made inaccessible, so I had to try to follow directions on Google Maps to find the others. My complete inability to navigate made a five-minute walk feel like half an hour, but luckily the rebels were pretty easy to spot, their pink flags proudly bearing hearts and hourglasses. 

A lot of this particular group seemed to already know each other. There was a definite middle-class-hippie vibe, and the fashion choices ranged from cardie and leggings to the ubiquitous vegan mama uniform of colourful-harem-pants-and-relaxed-jumper. I spotted a boiler suit hand-painted with the XR hourglass on the back, with a tree growing up through the middle. The organiser Miranda made a point of personally greeting all the new arrivals, which was nice, and I struck up a pleasant conversation with a friendly blonde lady with a perky ponytail and a child slightly older than the Spud.

The Spud and I settled on the edges of the group. He was tired by this point and deeply cranky, but from his hiding place in my lap I could see one bright eye roving over the other babies and children. Eventually he plucked up courage to join the group and begin chalking on the pavement, beside a blonde boy of about nine years old, who, much to my amusement, was writing 'DISOBEY' in capital letters. (The Spud drew a tree.)

Watching the kids playing, I almost jumped out of my skin as an arm slid around my shoulders. It was a chap in patchwork trousers and a 'police liason' pink high vis, who introduced himself and asked who he needed to check in with. I directed him to Miranda, not sure whether to feel pleased or vaguely alarmed.

Once the group had assembled - don't ask me for an estimate of numbers; it seemed a desperately small group to begin with but by the time we set off our numbers had swelled - we began our march through Cheapside to the Bank of England. The Spud mostly marched with the index finger of his free hand jammed firmly in his nostril, so I was quite glad when I reviewed the livestream (you can see our action from 2.16; it's worth watching to hear the speakers) later on to find that the walk itself wasn't broadcast. Plenty of people stopped to watch the rebels go by and to take photos. One motorist beeped his horn as we crossed the road; not sure if it was encouragement or derision. A cyclist pulled her bike over to applaud.

We arrived outside the Bank of England and spread out on the pavements on either side of the road. As soon as the police and our liasons halted traffic, the group rushed into the road itself, spread out our picnic blankets, and sat down, much to the surprise and exasperation of our police escort. There we remained for the next hour or so, forming a road block. The kids played together, made art, blew bubbles, and we all sang songs. A friend I sent pictures to commented on how peaceful it was compared to the bad rap XR get in the press. Several speakers gave talks, notably Caroline Lucas from the Green Party. The speaker from Afghanistan moved several people to tears, including me. 

At three o'clock, the rebels had agreed with the police we would move off the road, and we did exactly that, resuming our camp on the pavement outside Fortnum and Masons, where a panel of doctors and scientists had set up an 'emergency childcare meeting' at a pink table. By half past three the Spud was indicating that he had had enough, so we quietly gathered our things and headed back to the station. At least he had had fun sharing toys with a new friend, and perhaps we had inconvenienced one or two billionaires. I like to hope that we helped get the message across in some small way, but it seems to me that however loudly we sing, no one in power is listening.

Why the Bank of England?

From an email from Digital Rebellion, whose actions this week are also focussing on the Bank of England: "The Bank of England regulates and oversees the stability of The Uk's economy. It had the power to bail out the banks during the Banking Crisis and to supply billions of pounds in COVID loans this year. 

"To quote them: "Promoting the good of the people of the United Kingdom by maintaining monetary and financial stability."

"Did you know that billions of taxpayers' money during the pandemic was handed to Fossil Fuel companies in the shape of very low interest rate loans (0.3 to 0.7% interest) - adding to the Climate Disaster we’re facing? Did you know that the Bank of England also has its own investments and bonds in Fossil Fuel companies? 

"The Bank of England acts behind marble walls and layers of institutional secrecy - but our money is being spent on propping up the very companies responsible for pushing us over 1.5C degree warming into 3C and they have said it on their own website. The Bank of England could, overnight if they wished, refuse any financial institution in the UK to do business with Fossil Fools. Have they? Nope.

"Recently, the Bank of England has claimed to build a ‘Path to Net Zero’ but its actions fail to live up to even that hollow promise. We ask whether the Bank of England will stop funding fossil fuels? We ask whether it has a Climate Bail Out fund for the flooded cities, ruined businesses, and impoverished communities that the Climate Crisis will create? We ask whether it will ensure that UK insurance companies keep their promise? Because so far it has utterly failed us - despite telling us they work for the Good People of The United Kingdom they are still doing business as usual and funding Climate Change."

Parenting in a Nature-Depleted Age

'What is the extinction of the condor to a child who's never known a wren?' - Robert Pyle

I was an outdoorsy, free range child, but as a teen things changed. As I grew older and spent more and more time on my appearance, I also spent more and more time online. I was the girl who wore six inch heels to walk the dog. I wore a full face of make-up to stay indoors on the computer. It just became my new normal. I lost touch with the previous version of me who played amongst the bluebells and always had grass stains on her knees. Eventually I started to avoid doing anything that might smudge my eyeliner, interfere with my hair extensions or damage my lace petticoats. I stopped going swimming or to the beach. It actually got to the point when the breeze on my skin felt irritating - annoying and alien. I preferred to stay indoors, where the temperature was regulated and nothing might muss me. Chatrooms, blogs and forums were my 'real world'.

I realise that in a lot of ways I was an extreme case! Luckily this bizarre phase only lasted a short while. But I'll never forget feeling disturbed by the slightest of breezes! Now I'm more like my mum who, come rain, shine, storms or snow, always went to the back doorstep first thing upon waking, and sat on the step wrapped in her dressing gown, looking into the garden with her cup of tea. That peaceful time and connection with the outdoors is a great way to start the day refreshed and grounded, even if your toddler wants you to join in his persecution of the local woodlouse population rather than drink your coffee in peace. But I digress.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see now how lucky I was to be able to have such an outdoorsy childhood. We were able to rent a house in the village, which we might not otherwise have had access to, as my parents worked for the landowners. This provided a brilliant place to grow up - surrounded by woodlands and meadows, I could play unsupervised but safe from traffic, and I was able to range further as I got older. Of course not every child has access to this much unspoilt nature, particularly not nowadays as we try desperately to house our growing population and provide the infrastructure that they need. 

We now live in a digital age. Many well-meaning friends and family have said things to me like, "Not to worry, soon you can get your little one a tablet, and then you won't have to do so much with him." I absolutely could plonk him in front of a screen for several hours a day, but as we've learned when we've fallen back on that easy option before, we all suffer. His mood suffers, his behaviour suffers, and bedtime becomes an all-out battle. So we keep screen time to a minimum - just an episode of one of his favoured shows now and again, usually if Dai's working and I need to cook dinner without small hands trying to investigate all the hots and sharps. 

If it hadn't been for the Spud, I'm not sure whether I would ever have rediscovered my love of the outdoors. He's an extremely active child - I once took him to a class for lively toddlers and he ran rings around all the others before effecting an escape through a door one of the other mums had left open whilst looking at her phone. I had to hurdle chairs, bags, and other people's children to catch him before he could find his way out into the street.

To keep his energy levels under control so we can have relatively calm days, he has a minimum of an hour's walk around the neighbourhood. Every day, rain or shine. In the warmer months, he spends more time in the garden than in the house. Had I not been a parent, I might have spent a good chunk of 2020 under the duvet, or vegetating in front of Netflix. As it was, every day we spent our allotted hour down on the nature reserve, avoiding other people and enjoying the birdsong, and we've kept up the habit. If the weather's bad, we often don't see anyone else around. On rainy days, we put on our wellies and waders and go splashing down the river, just us and the ducks. 

I recently read about 1000 Hours Outside, which encourages kids and parents to match screen time with time in nature, and I've kept this in the back of my mind ever since - on those days when I struggle to feel enthusiastic about rebuilding the leaf pile for him to jump into for the 97th time, or when he's leading me further away from home just as I'm starting to think about checking my email. Every hour we spend wandering woodland paths and back alleys is another hour closer to that epic 1000 hours. 

The Spud with his bag of wildflowers

The fact is that although I no longer live in an idyllic village, I want my son to have the same interest in the outdoors that I have. The sad truth is that we now live in one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world. One in seven of the UK's native species face extinction. Just 13% of the UK's land area has tree cover - compared to a 35% average over the rest of Europe. And if my generation raise our children indoors, staring at screens, things can only get worse.

Nature deficiency is bad for children. Author Richard Louv describes some of the symptoms: 'Diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses.' In her book Losing Eden: Why Our Minds Need the Wild, Lucy Jones writes, 'My grandmothers had an inherent lexicon of the natural world and how it operates. My parents knew their birds, flowers and plants; names, timing and behaviours. I knew a bit, maybe five to ten per cent of what they knew, and I was keener on wildlife than most of my friends. It would follow that my daughter's connection with the natural world would be even more remote than mine. Would she be able to name - by which I mean know - anything at all? Or would she be so desensitized to the point where a connection with nature would have little - or no - value?' 

Not only are we depriving our children of a vast array of joys and wonders if we fail to encourage this connection, but it's bad for the rest of the ecosystem too. Children won't care about what they don't know. In our increasingly industrialized society, facing a deeply uncertain future of extreme weather events, pandemics and climate chaos, further alienation from the world that sustains us will only further contribute to the modern view of nature as hostile and 'other' at best, and at worst a collection of meaningless resources to be plundered.