Sylvatic Serenity
“almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature”*
For the past couple of months at A&L we’ve been reading Hardy. Recently, his poem “In a Wood” and, typecast, I was asked to write about my own experiences in a wood, a topic I feel quite sure I’ve beaten to death by now. However, as Dr. McEricher is very hard to refuse…
True that I could write about my time in the woods on autopilot but Mr. Hardy, Dr. M. and you, dear readers, all deserve better from me, so — in the spirit of boundless and everlasting adventure — I decided a fresh approach was in order. On Thursday morning, I drove myself to the Ganaraska Forest, to a tract I’ve visited only a few times, none recently. Fresh woods, fresh sensory experiences. At a whopping eleven hundred acres, The Ganaraska Woodlands more than qualify as a forest but the small tract I explored definitely fits the description and feeling of a wood.
The woods have long been my sanctum sanctorum, welcoming me like a rural chapel. Approaching the woods along Walker Road, on a day that is overcast, there is a numinous aura in this noble wood. Having chosen my trail and begun my exploration, I walked along a cloister - its columns formed by the trunks of venerable trees and its arches by their boughs — into the heart of the wood.
Unto this wood I came
As to a nest;
Dreaming that sylvan** peace
Offered the harrowed ease–
Nature a soft release
From men’s unrest.
Sylvan peace - it doesn’t get any better than that!
‘Though my sylvatic walks often begin as a crusade for wildflowers, on Thursday I had no goal, no destination, no agenda, just a meandering stroll to nowhere. Slowly. Observantly. Haywire by walkers’ and hikers’ standards; I seldom followed the path, veering off right and left as the whim guided me, listening to Audubon’s choir and breathing in the herbal, earthy aroma of wildflowers, moss and damp leaves. Bliss!
Sometimes I feel as if I spend the entirety of winter waiting and yearning for these divine walks in the woods.
During the past ten years, I’ve spent considerable time in a wood — Jobe’s Woods at Presqu’ile and Peter’s Woods (Northumberland Forest) on the Rice Lake Plains — time which fostered within me, an ever-deepening connection to and love of sylvatic environments.
“Waldeinsamkeit” is a German word that I learned from Peter Wohlleben*** who tells me it does not properly translate to English. Wald means woods and einsamkeit means seclusion. Together, they describe the pleasure of being alone in the woods — that tranquil solitude that so many hikers and forest bathers experience. In a small glade, deeply embedded in these tall woods, I sat on a downed log, sipped the icy-cold lemonade in my flask and absorbed my fill of waldeinsamkeit.
Thursday, after the rain, the colours and smells of these venerable woods are spectacular. Aromatic scents like cedar, fragrant flowery scents from the wild roses, herbal scents from the Thyme-leaved Speedwell in the underbrush. Refreshed from a rain shower, the colours of the woods are at their absolute, vibrant best. Sauntering through this wood, it is impossible to miss the importance of nature and, if you’re seeking a sensory reset like me, a walk in the woods is just the ticket.
With the calls of so many birds making the woods ring, I fancifully wondered just how many species make their homes within the grand patriarchs of these woods. Or how many critters dwell beneath the chaparral, darting to and fro, foraging, playing, safely out of sight of meandering humans. And besides these there is a charming rindle, hosting small fish, turtles, bullfrogs and the efflorescence of Lady ferns.
With a generous sampling of Mother Nature’s bounty on offer, the woods is a motherlode of inspiration for creativity. Bathed in that almost glowing, green, phosphorescent light that is particular to the woods, I could well-imagine forest faeries and unicorns frolicking in its tenebrous depths. With a smile, I left this wood, entirely bemused.
A walk in the woods is one of life’s simplest pleasures and most deeply rewarding enterprises. Sadly, it seems as if Mr. Hardy does not agree — he did not find the serenity he was seeking, finding himself more content in the city with the urban life he knew so well:
Since, then, no grace I find
Taught me of trees,
Turn I back to my kind,
Worthy as these.
There at least smiles abound,
There discourse trills around,
There, now and then, are found
Life-loyalties.
Not me. Time spent in a wood like this one was sheer perfection.
’Til next time, y’all…
*Thomas Hardy from “Under The Greenwood Tree”
**Sylvan = belonging to, consisting of or found in woods.
***Peter Wohlleben, Author, The Hidden Life of Trees
In A Wood
(Thomas Hardy, from his novel The Woodlanders)
Pale beech and pine so blue,
Set in one clay,
Bough to bough cannot you
Live out your day?
When the rains skim and skip,
Why mar sweet comradeship,
Blighting with poison-drip
Neighbourly spray?
Heart-halt and spirit-lame,
City-opprest,
Unto this wood I came
As to a nest;
Dreaming that sylvan** peace
Offered the harrowed ease–
Nature a soft release
From men’s unrest.
But, having entered in,
Great growths and small
Show them to men akin–
Combatants all!
Sycamore shoulders oak,
Bines the slim sapling yoke,
Ivy-spun halters choke
Elms stout and tall.
Touches from ash, o wych,
Sting you like scorn!
You, too, brave hollies, twitch
Sidelong from thorn.
Even the rank poplars bear
Lothy a rival’s air,
Cankering in blank despair
If overborne.
Since, then, no grace I find
Taught me of trees,
Turn I back to my kind,
Worthy as these.
There at least smiles abound,
There discourse trills around,
There, now and then, are found
Life-loyalties.