Last week, a friend told me how she took her young children to the woods and had a great time running through puddles and playing hide n'Seek. I got shivers at the very idea: it's not a place I would go to on my own or take my children. I see houses out in the country surrounded by banks of evergreen trees and wonder how they can live with such a dark, brooding presence beside them. The sound of the wind blowing through trees, to my mind, is a lonely sound. And then there is the fear of one of them falling on top of you, or your house or car.
Last weekend my husband and I celebrated our anniversary in Parknasilla hotel which is set on 500 acres of land. On the drive down a storm was blowing in the from the Atlantic. The utter blackness of the night, the lashing rain and the acres of tall, dark, brooding trees lining the narrow country roads leading to the hotel sent my mood plummeting.
However, the next morning dawned fresh and delightful and after eating a massive breakfast including four poached eggs - a misunderstanding with the waiter - I suggested we explore the grounds.
A small gate takes you down a path lined with eight foot high freshly clipped hedges until you emerge onto a small beach with a full view of the Atlantic. We crossed the boardwalk spanning the beach and reached a grassy knoll on which were a series of white painted wooden signs pointing to the Heron's Walk, the Islands Walk. Enchanting. We opted for the Islands Walk.
We came to a grove of trees. I hesitated. I reminded myself I was with my husband and kept going. The trees didn't look like normal trees. Trees are tall and straight with green leaves on top. We were surrounded by a tangle of pale, thin, smooth boughs that looked like long, bony arms and that reminded me of the old, gnarled fingers of my granny. The greenery came from several feet over our heads, the low growing ferns and the beautiful emerald green moss that seems to cover every rock and boulder. It was easy to see where the stories of leprechauns and little folk came from.
Every so often our path would be crossed by a tiny stream struggling to make's way through clogged leaves and twigs. The engineer in me found a stick and happily squatted down at its banks to nudge the debris out of the way until the stream flowed again.
I confided in my husband my uneasiness of wooded areas. "This is where you find the bodies of murder victims," I told him, "according to the news they're always found by a man walking his dog or by a woman out jogging." My husband pointed out that the murders are usually done elsewhere and the bodies are only brought to woods to be dumped. I told him I didn't want to be the person that found the body either.
That night I did not sleep. I don't know whether it was being in a strange bed, eating too late and too much or the room being too hot. At 1.30 am I stopped trying and got up. Bringing my phone and book with me, I found a seat in a corridor in front of a window overlooking the sea although at that hour nothing was visible.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realised the night sky was clear and truly beautiful. Being so far out from 'civilisation' the stars were at their brightest and, although only a finger nail, the moon glowed bright too. I opened the window to breath in the sea air. It was so still that the only sound you could hear was the sea lapping against the rocks.
I longed to go outside but I was afraid. I was afraid I might get locked out, afraid of who I might meet - man or beast - and, so afraid of being afraid that I might scare myself to death. The fear turned to practicality - I didn't want to wake my husband looking for my clothes at four into the morning. What kind of lunatic does that?
I sat on that chair. I meditated. I prayed and waited for sleep to take over.
Finally dawn broke. I looked out the window. It was another beautiful morning. I made a decision. I would go for a walk in the woods. Alone.
I let myself back into the bedroom. I crawled past my sleeping husband. I found yesterday's jeans, my shoes - no socks - and coat.
I nodded good morning to the night porter and let myself out the front door. I crossed the boardwalk and into the first grove. I reassured myself with, "Rapists don't get up this early," and "Murderers wouldn't dump bodies during daylight hours."
I was so jittery, even the sound of my shoes squelching in the soft earth and wet leaves unnerved me. At every turn in the path I checked over my shoulder for strange men and rabid dogs. There were none but the hood of my jacket made me jump a few times. I re-traced my steps from the day before. I approached the part of the Island Walk that dipped downwards causing the growth around the path to look like a mouth. The mouth contained nothing but darkness. I kept going. Once inside it wasn't as dark as it first seemed.
What kind of trees were these? I eventually realised they were really old rhododendron bushes that had run amok. Kerry has the kind of soil Rhododendrons love and they grow rampantly there. I remembered a couple getting lost in a Rhododendron forest somewhere up the country and had to be rescued. That must have been embarrassing - telling your friends afterwards you were rescued from shrubbery. Their leaves only grew at the very top of the shrub above my head where they could catch the sun. Underneath was a mass of scrambled limbs, their branches bleached white like dead bones; creepy and perfect for an old witch hiding children or boiling rabbits in black pots over an open fire.
Occasionally, I emerged in the open to cross a wooden bridge spanning a water inlet. The sea water was so calm it barely moved. The water didn't ripple so much as heave as if there was a monster moving slowly beneath the surface. A flash of white swooped past me and screamed. My heart clenched but it was only a sea gull. I watched a grey heron, almost the same colour as the rocks around it, take off and land almost casually on another rock further down stream.
Maybe it was the endorphins but after an hour I started to relax and actually enjoy the walk. Nature was at peace with itself and so was I. All was well. I even imagined my six year old self going berserk with happiness in these woods chasing my brothers and sisters. I came across Bishops Walk; I didn't remember doing it the day before. This walk led to enchanting twists and turns in the path with uprooted oak trees that could definitely house colonies of fairy folk. A stream flowed by strong and true. It didn't need my help.
It was 9 o'clock when I got back and my husband was hungry for his breakfast. I got dressed properly and cleaned my muddy shoes. I told him about my walk. He looked at me surprised and said, "I thought you were afraid of the woods?" "Not anymore," I said.
This morning, I was mulling over my 'feel the fear and do it anyway' moment when the doorbell rang. I could see a small, round man through the stained glass window in the front door. 'Must be the postman,' I thought and got up to open the door.
"Do you want your trees cut?" said the man, handing me a card.
I looked at him blankly, "Excuse me?"
He nodded at the card in my hand, "I'm Pat the tree surgeon, do you want me to have a go at your hedges. I could do the whole lot for a 100 Euros."
I stared at him in wonder. In all the ten years I have lived in this house no one has ever come to my door asking to cut trees. Was this serendipity at work again?
"Are you alright, Missus?"
I agreed to let Pat loose in my garden and within minutes I could hear him revving up a chain saw. Ten minutes later, he reduced my shrubs to stumps.
Pat not only did my hedges, he cleaned the gutters and asked if I had Fairy Liquid to get the muck off his hands. While he washed his hands in the sink, I told him about my fear of trees.
"I've been working with trees all my life," said Pat, "and I can tell you, I've never found a body yet. Will I check back with you in the spring?"
"Do," I said, , "you never know what I might need then."
Pat dried his hands and made his move to leave.
"Remember," he said, "no matter what happens, Jesus loves you." And then he was gone.
I shared this serendipitous moment with my husband. "Fuck me," he said, "you let him into the house. He's seen where you keep the car keys, he has a chain saw and he knows where to hide your body!"
I didn't agree....... Jesus loves me.
My husband double checked the house alarm and hid the car keys.
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