A friend told me how she regularly takes her young children to the woods and they have a great time running through puddles and playing Hide n' Seek. The very thought of Woods makes my blood run cold. 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 alongside such a dark, brooding presence. The sound of the wind blowing through trees is such a lonely sound and there is the fear of one of them falling on top of you, or your house or car.
August 2017, 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.
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 act like children and 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 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 should be tall and straight with green leaves on top. We were surrounded by a tangle of pale, thin, smooth boughs that looked like the gnarled, bony fingers of my granny.
Every so often our path crossed a tiny stream struggling to make its 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 to 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 are 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 shone too. It wasn't so dark after all. I opened the window to breath in the sea air. It was so still the only sound you could hear was the sea gently lapping against the rocks.
I longed to go outside but I was afraid; 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. And then 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 kept telling myself, "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. Their leaves only grew at the very top of the shrub above my head where they could catch the sun. Underneath was a mess 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 at peace with itself and so was I. All was well, I felt well. I came across Bishops Walk, we didn't do that one yesterday. 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 Hubbie wanted 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, as I mulled over my 'feel the fear and do it anyway' moment, 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 a 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. Was this serendipity at work again?
"Are you alright, Missus?"
His name is Pat. He did my hedges, cleaned the gutters and asked if I had Fairy Liquid to wash his hands.
I told Pat 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 six months?"
"Do," I said, "you never know what I might need then."
Pat opened the front door. "Remember," he said, "no matter what happens, Jesus loves you." And then he was gone.
In less than ten minutes with a chainsaw, Pat the surgeon decimated my bushes. They probably needed it.
August 2017, 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.
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 act like children and 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 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 should be tall and straight with green leaves on top. We were surrounded by a tangle of pale, thin, smooth boughs that looked like the gnarled, bony fingers of my granny.
Every so often our path crossed a tiny stream struggling to make its 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 to 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 are 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 shone too. It wasn't so dark after all. I opened the window to breath in the sea air. It was so still the only sound you could hear was the sea gently lapping against the rocks.
I longed to go outside but I was afraid; 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. And then 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 kept telling myself, "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. Their leaves only grew at the very top of the shrub above my head where they could catch the sun. Underneath was a mess 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 at peace with itself and so was I. All was well, I felt well. I came across Bishops Walk, we didn't do that one yesterday. 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 Hubbie wanted 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, as I mulled over my 'feel the fear and do it anyway' moment, 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 a 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. Was this serendipity at work again?
"Are you alright, Missus?"
His name is Pat. He did my hedges, cleaned the gutters and asked if I had Fairy Liquid to wash his hands.
I told Pat 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 six months?"
"Do," I said, "you never know what I might need then."
Pat opened the front door. "Remember," he said, "no matter what happens, Jesus loves you." And then he was gone.
In less than ten minutes with a chainsaw, Pat the surgeon decimated my bushes. They probably needed it.
No comments:
Post a Comment