Ode to the Hawthorn and the Merry Merry Month of May

May…  A most hearty (if not a little tardy) welcome to you!

Almost every morning at the moment, I am awakened by birdsong.  Somehow, though, it’s hard to feel annoyed about this, because it is, quite simply, exquisitely wondrous. These so often invisible beings fill up so much aural space!  I love that they (birds) are always there, and yet so often hidden from view.

Outside, there is magic happening.

The countryside is literally exploding with life!  All the new leaves are young and fresh. Suddenly open space is smaller, as grasses, bushes and trees erupt with new growth. Openings are filled in and suddenly my perspective zooms in closer.  No longer can I see the horizon so clearly, and there is so much beauty to behold right in front of me.


Everything about this time of year fills me with aliveness.  This is nature at her most vibrant – she is almost shouting “Look at me!  You thought I was dead.  Haha!  See how luscious and ALIVE I am!”


The air is warm and the smell of blossom is on the wind.   Cherry, apple, pear, horse chestnut, all of them bursting with beauty.  And my favourite, of course, the hawthorn. Some people say how hawthorn flowers are meant to exude the scent of female sexuality.  Whether or not I know this to be true, I find the aroma that fills the countryside when the hawthorn is in full bloom completely intoxicating.  Yes, maybe even a little seductive.


The hawthorn, also known as the May Tree, is truly a tree of the HEART.  Traditionally, the Celtic fire festival of Beltane, marking the start of Summer, began when the hawthorn came into blossom.  Myths proclaim that this is the time when The Oak King reaches his manhood and the May Queen takes him as her lover.  Through their union, the May Queen becomes pregnant, and so all life begins.  Because of this mythology, since ancient times May is the traditional time of year for handfastings, marriages and unions of all kinds.  There is something about this month, and the bewitching magic of the hawthorn tree in particular, that incites passion, vivacity, joy, and the making of vows.

Besides its magical properties, hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) also holds healing properties within its flowers, berries and seeds.  Known by some as ‘valerian of the heart’ and others as ‘food for the heart’, hawthorn is perhaps most commonly used as a heart stimulant, increasing blood flow to heart muscles and restoring normal heart beat.  Simply because of these heart toning properties, patients using hawthorn medicinally are therefore  guaranteed a higher sense of aliveness and vitality.


The blossoming of the hawthorn and the arrival of May never cease to give me hope. They lift my spirits and make me laugh out loud at the sheer shameless beauty of all I see around me.   And, they remind me that no matter what our Winter is like – no matter how dark, lonely, hopeless and despairing we might feel that things will ever change – there they are.

Out of nowhere springs growth.  Out of death springs life.

They remind me too, that long after we are gone, all of this wild abandon of nature will continue.  Even without human beings to bear witness to this annual bursting forth of sheer vitality, the leaves will keep on greening, the hawthorn will keep on flowering, and the wheel will keep on turning…


Into the woods

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness

John Muir

In the past, T and I have discussed the question “Are you a plains person or a forest person?”  So, if you had to choose, would you live on the top of a hill with wide views all around, open space in abundance, or would you choose the closer confines of a woodland environment, surrounded by trees?  He’s always said forest.  I’ve been plains.

Here, in Cape Breton, we are surrounded by trees.  Everywhere we go… trees.  It is only when we’re on the beach, looking out on to the Gulf of St Lawrence, that there is not forest as far as the eye can see.  Other than the Daintree Rainforest in Northern Queensland, I have never before spent so much time in and amongst so many trees.  And it’s interesting what it’s doing to my psyche.

Intellectually, I feel excited.  All the reading I’ve been doing over the last year or so, about ‘wilderness’ and the impact of the loss of our native large fauna on our natural world, tells me that this landscape is how our own small and terribly overcrowded island would have looked before the forests disappeared.  This is what projects like Trees For Life, who’s aim it is to restore the Caledonian Forest up in Scotland, are envisioning.  A land literally COVERED in trees.  In fact, before we left home, someone said to me “Nova Scotia is just like Scotland, before they cut down all the trees”.  While this is true in some sense – there are huge numbers of lakes, some vast, some small, there are hills , there are blackflies aplenty (midgie equivalent), there is even a man playing the bagpipes just outside the cafe where I’m sitting right now – I don’t feel the immensity of space that I do when I’m in Scotland.   This is because not only are the ‘mountains’ here that much smaller, but in Scotland the bare and open landscape, devoid of trees in many parts, gives me much more a sense of expansiveness somehow.  And, although the Gaelic music also floats around in abundance here, what I hear around me are Canadian accents, and so I feel very, very far away from my own ‘culture’ and, most importantly, my own land.

But what is “my own land” (by that I mean the land of my birth)?  What does it really look like?  I know WHAT it looks like in present times, of course, but now I also have a sense of what it must have looked like way back when (and perhaps what it ‘should’ look like now?)  And it’s pretty radically different.  While humans have clearly made their mark here – dirt tracks disappear off main roads, marking out thoroughfares used by people living in the near and far reaches of the forest – because of the impenetrable nature of this forest, it feels like there are large areas where no human foot can ever have stepped.  Up there in the hills reside bears, coyotes, moose, and lynx.  The kinds of animals that conjure up feelings of fear, excitement and WILDNESS in me.

So, it’s interesting.  As I find myself agreeing wholeheartedly with those ecologists that lament the loss of our native wildscapes, those who campaign for the return of our vast forests, for the reintroduction of our lost megafauna, I also find myself questioning just how I personally would cope living in and amongst so many trees again.  I say “again” because once upon a long time ago all of our ancestors walked these forests. These tree-covered lands are in our blood, in the ancient memories stored in our very bones.  Their roots grow deep within our souls.  We are of the forest and we are one with the forest.  It is only because we cut the vast majority of them down so very long ago that we have lost that conscious knowing of the wild woods cape.  Not only that, but we have also, tragically, become afraid of it.

That comes as a huge sense of loss, for me.  When I was in the Daintree I felt fear of ‘what is out there’.  At times, I couldn’t fully enjoy where I was because I was worried about what I couldn’t see.  And here it is the same.  What is out there IS unknown and unseen.  We, as humans, do not fare well when we do not know and can not see what is coming towards us.  Or, indeed, as my own small family takes its first tentative footsteps out into the world, far away from the comfort, safety and loving arms of our home, family and friends, when we do not know what we, ourselves, are heading towards.

So, I take these forests as a fine metaphor for where I find myself in life right now.  I literally CAN NOT see what is out there.   I must let go of knowing, and trust that, step by tiny step, we will find our way.

When I first read John Muir’s quote above, I thought “Ha, not for me!”  Clearly, I have much to learn.  Or re-learn perhaps…


Wild inspiration

I was meant to be doing something else this weekend.  I was supposed to be on a Way of Council course in Bristol.  I booked on to this weekend a long time ago and had been really looking forward to it.  A time to learn more about Council; a space to connect in to my own way of being in the world; an opportunity to hear what others have to say about all of this.  All held in a most sacred way.

And I didn’t go.  Because this week I have been feeling overwhelmed (again).

Overwhelmed with all the options that feel open to us at the moment with regards moving to Wales.  Overwhelmed because the girls are at home ALL THE TIME and I can’t often finish a thought process, let alone have a whole conversation about that thought process.  Overwhelmed because there’s so much I want to DO in life and how do I choose/prioritise, because obviously I can’t do it all?!  And overwhelmed because I feel that with all the different balls I’m juggling – mental/emotional/real/not real – I feel like I’m failing badly at all of them.  By Wednesday I’d convinced myself not only that I’d ruined my children’s lives by being such a bad mother, but also that I was never going to be anything of worth in the world because, well, just because I’m basically crap at everything.  And besides, the world is f****d anyway so really what’s the point?

Yes… those old chestnuts.  (Sigh…)

So, by Thursday I knew that what I really needed was time and space to get all of this CRAP out of my head, and for me, that means removing myself from pretty much everything and everyone.  I needed physical space, openness, air, hills, trees, vistas.  I needed to walk somewhere wilder than here, because when I do I always feel better – I can just give all of my overwhelmedness to the land and she will always take it.  This, I know.

The Malvern Hills are not what I would exactly call ‘wild’, but they are not too far away, and when I got there at dawn yesterday morning and the mist was down, well I could have been anywhere.  It was beautiful.  The mist gave me an atmospheric feeling of deep, ancient mystery and, other than the paths that criss-cross over the hills, I felt at times I could have been walking not just anywhere but anytime.

I kept smiling to myself as I walked – I had headed to the hills to get height, expansive views, distance, clarity and vision.  And it was so misty I could see only 30ft in front of me most of the time!  And so the message I received was loud and clear – you need to stop looking to the horizon, to what might be out there, to what you may or may not actually be able to see.  You need to look at your feet, at the ground right there in front of you, where you are walking right now.  And yes, you need to take small steps – you need to remain mindful of where you’re going, and what you’re doing!  

When, at times, the mist did clear, and I was given glimpses of the view, I was immediately distracted by other thoughts.  Thoughts that, quite frankly, are really not important in the grand scheme of things.  And so I found myself actually inviting the mist back in.  To bring myself back to the here and now.  To embrace the unknown and to not see it, as I find myself doing at times, as something to fear or worry about, but to see it actually as a gift in reminding me to come back to the present.  To myself.

After all, as Eckhart Tolle would quite rightfully remind me:  

As soon as you honor the present moment, all unhappiness and struggle dissolve, and life begins to flow with joy and ease. When you act out the present-moment awareness, whatever you do becomes imbued with a sense of quality, care, and love – even the most simple action.  

The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment

Eckhart Tolle is probably the only person in the world I would actually allow to come along with me on one of these walks.  Ah yes, I’d happily allow Eckhart to walk alongside me awhile, speaking words of wisdom in that soft, meditative, inner peace-inducing, German-accented voice of his as we ambled up, down, around, within.

Him and the best dog in the world of course.  Now there’s a being who could give a good lesson in enjoying the present moment…


(no that wasn’t taken in the Malverns…  I’m way too in the moment to be taking a camera with me on these solo walks in the wild, don’t you know)

Fire, fire, burning bright


Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be 2cm tall?  Small enough that you could climb into and explore the deepest, hottest, brightest, reddest, most amazing parts of these fiery caverns?  Ok, so you’d obviously also need to be 100% heat resistant, but in this imaginary world, anything is possible.  This is something I think about every time I am around fire.

fire_dragonI LOVE fire.

It feeds my soul on a primal level, takes me to a place that is timeless, and allows me to connect in with all that has gone before like no other thing in life.  I don’t even have to close my eyes to feel the never-ending rows of ancestors circling round, bending low to absorb some of the life-giving heat that emanates out, warming their hands and nodding to each other in ageless recognition that all is still well with the world.  As long as we can sit and be around fire.


I am often at my most peaceful, most contented, and most present when I am sitting round a fire with friends.  Maybe we are celebrating the turning of the seasons once again, giving thanks for all that has been and welcoming in all that is to come.  Maybe we are putting the world to rights whilst simultaneously feeling the insignificance of ourselves under the endless array of stars and planets and satellites that continue to go round and round and round over our heads…  Or maybe we are toasting marshmallows, revelling with music, wine, whiskey and telling silly stories.  So many very fine reasons to gather together around a flaming heart.

And yet I do not do this enough in my life.  Why?  Why are there always more ‘important’ things to do?  Why, often, does it feel like such a huge effort to step outside, gather wood together, and simply light a fire?  Why, when I know that it nourishes my soul so much, do I not give myself this simple gift more often?


And so this is my journey…  To make more time for things that are so simple, yet so rich in gifts.  To nurture and nourish my soul, to feed and lift my spirit, to warm my feet, my hands, and my heart.  And to be with fire a whole lot more.