Communing with nature, and nature lovers

 Capsicum and water droplets; sometimes nature is right outside the door. (Photo from personal collection)

As a lover of nature and wildlife, I often see my outdoor experiences as meditative, or as a communion with nature. On any long distance ramble, as I huff and puff through forests and fields, there is usually at least a moment of peace and clarity. Slivers of green and blue break through the concrete grey and black mirrors.

In today's posting, I want to reflect on, and look forward to, my interactions with nature and wildlife. And, I hope some of you might join me. 

Please do drop some of your answers to the following questions in the comments below.

How will you interact with nature today?

My most frequent interactions with nature happen in the garden. It doesn't matter what else is going on, how otherwise engaged I might be, I can make a minute or two, at least, to slip into the garden.

Personally, I am a fan of the unkempt and the overgrown. Whatever that means. The bees, the birds, the butterflies, and moths seem to like it too. Neighbours have their lawns and paving, but they don't seem to get quite as many wild visitors. And I know which I prefer. Life. Wildlife.

Yesterday, I watched a bumblebee visiting the flowers on my chilli pepper plants. A week or so ago, a wren flitted in and out of the budleia. A hummingbird hawkmoth regularly visits the budleia and red valerian. 

There is a lot of nature and wildlife just outside the door.

Do you have a garden? A balcony? Where will you go today?

Out walking, and sweating, in July. (Photo from personal collection)

How will you interact with nature this week?

When a day is free before me, when I want and need for nothing else, I love taking off on a countryside footpath and rambling for hours. That has been a constant for me since I was quite a bit younger. And the rambles were easier.

The physically exhausting experience of dragging oneself up and down hills, sweating and breathing harder, rewarded with nature and wildlife, is wonderful to me. Buzzards, red kite, swifts, swallows . . . All have passed overhead as I traipsed the outdoors this summer. All made me stop and wonder. They on wing, me on foot, for a moment together we  knew the struggle and peace in the transience of things.

Perhaps too, in walking long distances, over stretches of land untamed by slabs and pavements, there is a reconnection. A small step back to the ways of ancestors that better knew the ways of nature, and how to read its signs and clues.

How will you interact with nature this week? Are you a rambler too? Or, are you more inclined towards birdwatching in a hide?

Try anything new lately?

I am always learning, and there is always something new to discover. There are vast holes in my knowledge of the natural world and the wildlife around me. But, this is nothing to be ashamed of.

It doesn't matter whether you're taking your very first steps as a naturalist or your Chris Packham – none of us can possibly say we know all there is to know!

Our understanding of the natural world is ever evolving, in no small part because the natural world itself is ever evolving.

My pockets, my backpack, hold pocketbooks and guides to help me identify birds, flowers, leaves, and other things I don't recognise. I am ever learning, and the newest thing I did is probably going to be some scrap of knowledge I acquired. 

Identifying a flower, a bird, learning the difference between one call or song and another . . .

What about you? What have you learned recently? Or, have you had a brand new experience?

Where were you six weeks ago?

Six weeks ago, we were, globally, going through one of the hottest Julys on record.

The headlines told of rivers drying up. Landscapes that had been green weeks before were turning golden brown. And, here in the UK, we saw temperatures touch record breaking highs – over 40°C in places.

With drier, hotter summers a real possibility for the future, has this summer given you pause? What do you know of the consequences facing us if this becomes the norm? Or did you just welcome the summer sun?

Where will you be in six weeks time?

Autumn, winter on the way . . .

My mind turns to orange, brown, and red leaves littering the ground. I think of crisp, cooler days. I think of rain. I imagine those footpaths that, at the moment, are baked dusty dry, that will perhaps become mud.

In the garden, I will be thinking about preparing plants for winter. The strawberry plants that I will trim back when winter comes, and bed up with straw as they go dormant through the colder less sunny months.

Autumn is a time for preparation, as conditions change. A time for looking at what you have, being grateful, and a time for looking forward.

Nature and wildlife will also be preparing; gathering foods that will see them through winter, preparing for vast journeys, for some it is the time to breed . . .

In six weeks, we will be in early October. Where do you think you will be? How will your interactions with nature change? How will you have changed?

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