Wood; a porous, fibrous material used as a structural
material by trees and other plants. It is composite of cellulose fibres embedded
in a matrix of lignin. The result is a material that is strong in tension and
resists compression. Each growth ring marks a year and records the climatic conditions it withstood. It was in the
branches of trees that long ago a certain species of primate evolved. In the canopy we
found edible leaves and fruits and shelter. When as a species we climbed down from these
protective primeval branches, with our tool making opposing thumbs, it was to
wood we first turned to build the world to our liking. It is our first choice
as a building material whether for houses, boats or constructing
furniture. It has been utilised to make
weapons probably since the very first hominid picked up a stick to fend off a
predator.
Of course as we have evolved and “progressed” we have sought
other materials; ores from the ground, stone and synthetic products. Yet,
despite this veneer of sophistry we still harbour a love and yearning for wooden items, marveling at its beauty and intricate graining. Indeed as infants we are bedded down in
wooden cots and when we pass from this life we are returned to the ground; naturally
in a wooden box. Around churches and graveyards can be found Yew
trees; a long living tree that connects us with our long gone forebears. So the
need for trees is physical, emotional and spiritual.
And in woods and forests, there we find a satisfaction for
this need. A meme doing the rounds recently declared that “nature is my church
and forests are my cathedrals”. I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. At
college I studied Biology and Environmental Science; I know that forests are
important as ecological reservoirs, that a rotting stump is a home for a myriad
of tiny insects from which all other lives depend in a huge interdependent
network. Yes this is a good enough reason to love woods and forests as well as
the fact that they produce oxygen and filter carbon dioxide from the atmosphere
to fix it as wood. But there is more.
There is magic in the world. Did you think it was a myth, a
mere faerie tale perhaps? When I say magic I don’t mean a card trick or an
illusion of smoke and mirrors. No, I mean that which we would call the
fantastic; that which we would call otherworldly. It’s all a question if where
to find it… the rest is down to the perception of the individual I suppose, but
personally I know there is something phantasmagorical about forests.
Have you ever heard the term “Being pixie led”? It means
that an individual becomes lost in familiar surroundings. The myth is that it
is the “little folk”, those mischievous denizens of wild places, which are
playing a trick on you. According to folklore the spell is easily broken; you
take your coat off and put it on inside out, close your eyes and turn around
three times widdershins (counter clockwise). Why this should placate them I do
not know. It’s just nonsense right? Especially where I grew up; it is just the
cider addled ramblings of ignorant yokels, and yet… let me tell you a true
tale.
Growing up on the Blackdown Hills on the Somerset/Devon border,
the fields about were interspersed with woods of beech and oak, while the
steepest hillsides were wild with bracken, gorse and heather. Many were the
hours I spent wandering those places, eager to see all that I could and just
revelling in the wildness of it all. I've had tame crows hop on my shoulder and
had badger cubs playing around my legs but these things aren't strange as such,
although they are precious memories.
What was strange was one day walking through the woods on my
way home. The skies were grey and threatening rain. I was walking down a
familiar track, one I had traversed countless times before when it abruptly
disappeared in a tangle of brush and bramble. I looked behind me thinking to retrace
my steps, perhaps I had daydreamed myself into taking a wrong turn? But no, the
path I had just walked was gone as well. I knew where I was but was unable to
get to where I wanted to be! Then I recalled the spell, what did I have to
lose? I chuckled to myself as I took off my denim jacket and put it on inside
out, shut my eyes tight and turned three times counter clockwise. I opened my eyes and there was the path straight
in front of me. I looked at my feet and could see my prints in the mud where I
had spun and their trail leading to where I had been forced to abruptly stop. I
laughed again, but a little nervously this time, but also in wonder as I
hurried out of the woods and headed home. It was a lesson learned that made me
love the woods all the more and I got extremely protective of trees.
Over the years of course I began to think logically as life
settled into the monotony of work and I began to forget the whole episode.
Besides I was a teen then and teenage brains are wired differently. I probably
just strayed from the path, that was all, and when I closed my eyes and turned
I just saw the path again, but from a different angle, yes that was all it was.
God, what was I like back then? Completely away with the faeries unlike now…
Last year I took my son for an afternoon’s hike in my
favourite woods, the same woods I spent so many happy hours in. I thought it
would be nice, just the two of us. It meant dragging him from his Nintendo DS
however, much to his disgust. I hadn't been in these woods for years but I
remembered the general layout of its tracks. The trees are taller now of course
but I knew where we were. I knew that I wanted to avoid a particularly dense
patch of dark conifers. I remembered
having to crawl underneath the branches and having my face and arms scratched
by draping brambles. Yet try as we might every path we took drew us inexorably
into the very place I wished to avoid. Soon I was doubled up and my lad was
complaining about the brambles and the path threatened to disappear. It was
then that I remembered an event from my youth. My son looked at me incredulously
as I told him what had happened to me many years before, but what did we have
to lose? Besides there was “no-one“ who could see us perform our ritual, so his
pre-teen coolness wasn't threatened (no human anyway!). He shook his head as he
took off his fleece and put it on inside out. We spun widdershins. As before
there was the path, unobscured clearly leading out of the conifer stand. We
hurried along it, my son not ridiculing his silly dad this time and looking
warily up at the trees now, fully expecting to see mischievous, and laughing
elves!
The path led us to more open forest of mature trees. I knew
where we were again; we should be coming to the stile and the way out of the
woods. The topography was helping us too. All we had to do was follow the slope
and… oh, a fallen tree is barring the way. No matter we can just go around it
and… our feet threatened to sink into a marsh and then my son pointed out that
I had not turned my tee shirt inside out. I smiled at my son’s new found sense
of magic and promptly did as he urged. Once more we both thrice span
widdershins and opened our eyes. The spell broken, there was the path leading
directly to the stile not twenty yards away and clearly visible now, where it hadn't
been before.
So go into the woods and feel the magic, tread softly and
speak in hushed tones, because you may not actually be alone, but fear not; if you get pixie
led, it’s just a game the little folk like to play and you know how to
overcome it now, don’t you?
