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Read in the woods on a rainy afternoon

27/7/2015

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One reason I find microadventures so appealing is that they encourage us to do everyday things in unusual places. I like the idea of taking habitual activities (walking, eating, sleeping) and framing them in new ways (walking the length of a river, eating foraged food, sleeping on top of a hill). By changing the context, these ordinary activities become rather more extraordinary.
Tarp in the woods
After a busy week of travelling, hosting visitors, going to barbecues and organising more travel and social excitement for the rest of the school holidays, Sunday was going to be a day of down time. It helped that the forecast was for heavy rain: perfect weather for curling up with a good book and a bottomless supply of tea.

But technology had other ideas. There were emails to write, blog posts to draft, Twitter feeds to read, photos to edit, cute cat videos to watch . . . I still hadn’t opened my book by lunch time. Something had to be done. It was time for a microadventure!

View of trees
We made a thermos of tea, packed our new tarp, got wrapped up in our raincoats and headed off to Battle Great Wood. It was tipping down and the carpark was almost empty. Good. The last thing I wanted was a wet dog coming to shake itself off under our tarp! We found a clearing a few metres off one of the paths that wends its way through the wood and hitched the tarp to a pine tree. We weren’t worried about being seen - there are no rules against picnicking in the woods! In no time we had a flying-V set up, a walking pole propping up the middle to give us lots of headroom and the picnic rug spread out underneath to keep us clean and dry. I kicked off my boots and opened my book. Straight away, an inquisitive greyhound sniffed us out, but a whistle from its owners sent it pelting off through the trees. They were the only people we saw in the woods all afternoon.

The rain pecked loudly at the tarp and the wind whooshing in the trees made the weather seem a lot more ferocious than it really was. We, on the other hand, were warm and sheltered. It was exactly the kind of contrast that makes snuggling up by the fire on a squally winter evening so appealing. In fact, it was so distractingly wonderful to be both outside in the rain and perfectly dry that I found it hard to concentrate on my book!
Walking the Woods and the Water - book
Walking the Woods and the Water: In Patrick Leigh Fermor’s footsteps from the Hook of Holland to the Golden Horn is Nick Hunt’s account of a walking journey through Western Europe. Fermor began his walk from the Netherlands to Istanbul in December 1933; Hunt began his in 2011. I wasn’t far into the book - Hunt was in Germany and it was Christmas. As I read, I reached the point where Hunt sleeps out for the first time, in a small tunnel in a castle wall, hidden beneath a four-star hotel. “The effect was alchemical,” he says. “When I stuck out my head in the light of dawn, having not only survived the night but slept soundly in my hole . . . somehow I belonged in a way that I hadn’t before. Sleeping out produced a sense of enhanced connection with the land, a feeling almost akin to ownership.”

I can relate to that. Walking does this to some extent - and walking the paths of East Sussex over the last few years has both threaded the countryside together in my mind and helped me stitch myself into the landscape. But sleeping in fields and woods, on hills and beaches, seems to open a conduit between self and place so they blur and breathe into each other. Perhaps it is the liminal nature of the experience that creates the possibility of an exchange: slipping between sleep and wakefulness, unsure where dreams begin and end; seeing dusk extend into night, then watching night and dawn creep together across the sky; being cocooned but also startlingly, immediately open to the elements; staying still in a way that’s not quite camping but not quite just resting (so it’s not quite illegal, but it’s also not quite legal).
Tea in the woods
View with book
Under the tarp with our books and cups of tea, boots off, listening to the tapping of rain around us, watching the trees soak into deeper, richer shades of wetness, I felt a stirring of that connectedness. Akin to ownership, yes, but not ownership in the exclusive, proprietorial sense. Rather, it’s a sense of belonging-to-ness that feels like it works in both directions.

The rain did not let up. It was still pouring an hour later, when we got wetter and grottier packing everything away than we did setting it all up. But that’s OK. Actually, it was more than OK, it was fantastic. The whole experience transformed a rainy afternoon of books and tea into something unexpected - something rather more extraordinary.


Rain in the woods from In Which I on Vimeo.


We spent lots of time with trees in July, as per the challenge, but this outing felt the most adventurous!

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Walk mapless in Hastings Country Park

21/7/2015

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When was the last time you went walking without a destination? The last time you left the map at home and found your way by following the paths that were most inviting - a cool green tunnel, a mysterious line of steps, the hint of a sea view, the promise of wildflowers?
In the hot June sun, mapless above the rooftops of Hastings Old Town, I’m faced with a decision: which way? Swallows dart overhead and the clouds bloom white and pale grey, like the sky from an old railway promo poster. I head for the top of East Hill, past the icecream truck and a small hollow filled with reeds and yellow flag irises, and find a west-facing bench to eat my lunch. Halfway through my baguette, I look up and see that Eastbourne has disappeared. By the time I’ve finished, Bexhill has vanished and a dark ribbon is moving across the sea towards me. Church bells carry on the wind, sounding an alarm. I hear the distant rumble of thunder.

I don my raincoat and set off to explore. It feels high and bleak, perhaps all the more so because it was in full sun only minutes before. The stormfront cuts across the sky, stretching out over the channel to a smudged horizon. A fat, sludgy raindrop hits me on the back of the head. I follow rabbit highways through fields towards the shelter of a young oak. The sound of the rain increases in volume and deepens in timbre from shishi-shishi-shishi on the grass to tosha-tosha-tosha as I approach the trees.

I find a bench and watch birds, unfazed by the weather, wheeling around of the cliffs on the other side of Ecclesbourne Glen. Lightning sparks. A monster crack of thunder makes the ground tremble underfoot. A boat races against the storm towards Hastings, white sails pale against the cloud. I’m glad I’m not on board.

And then, as quickly as it began, the storm abates, leaving the air fresh with petrichor - the smell of soil after rain. I head up to Rocklands Lane and further into Hastings Country Park. Here, the grass grows lumpy with dock and thistle, the latter festooned with cuckoo spit. Trails dive into the brambles, masked by nettles, buttercups and cleavers. I follow one into the scrub, ducking under an arch of blackthorn and ash, to find a hidden shelter. Another leads into a world of ferns and tiny waterfalls, submerged in shadow.

Wandering without aim, I follow a path awash with pink campions and emerge in another clifftop field. Redheaded sorrel waves in the wind and troupes of tall ribwort plantain, the seedheads in flower tutus, bend gracefully above the grass. Looking back towards Hastings, I see I’m on the other side of Ecclesbourne Glen: here are the gulls wheeling and the jackdaws flicking and diving on the wind. Beyond the safety fence, sea pinks cling to the cliff edge. I lie down for a moment to listen to the sea on the rocks far below. Half an hour later, I wake up.

I meander a little further east, but soon feel like it’s time to turn home. Cutting through the woods, I follow paths that could be human but might just as well be made by deer. At one point I find myself walking amid slow swirls of hawthorn petal confetti - May is over and her flowers are falling.

Back on East Hill, there’s a point at which it seems the grassy path could carry me straight into the sea. This is one of those invitations that can never live up to its promise, I think - a soft road onto a wide plain that shimmers green as mermaids. And yet, when it is time to leave, that is the path I take. What better way to go?
Hastings Old Town
Boat and distant rain
Path in the woods
Ribwort plantain
Sea pinks
Man and dogs

A shorter version of this article first appeared as "A mapless meander across the Firehills" in the Battle Observer, Friday 12 June 2015, page 60. I've been publishing a walk every month in the Battle Observer (and affiliate papers) since October 2014.

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Talk, once again, about tea

14/7/2015

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I think it’s time for a cuppa. I’ve addressed the two big milk-in-tea questions, I’ve discussed bitter tea and tea bags and now it’s time to talk about caffeine and cosies.

"Does green tea really have more caffeine than black tea or coffee? Where does it fall on the caffeine scale?" - Emily

The simple (and incomplete) answer is: no. A cup of green tea usually has less caffeine than a cup of black tea, and a cup of black tea has less caffeine than a cup of coffee. Generally speaking, the caffeine ladder from most to least per cup is: coffee > black tea > oolong and green tea > white tea. “Decaffeinated” black or green teas still contain some caffeine. Herbal and fruit infusions (i.e. not made with any tea) and alternatives like rooibos are naturally caffeine free.

But there are some caveats. First, just as tea flavour varies as a result of geography, climate, weather, picking time, grade of leaf and processing, so too does the caffeine content. Here are some interesting stats about caffeine in green tea. Second, if you’re really keen to track your intake, it’s more important to note the caffeine content of your brewed tea than the dry leaves - the content per cup will vary depending on the amount of tea you use and how long you brew it. Also, if your tea contains non-caffeinated ingredients (like flowers, herbs or rice)  your cup will contain less caffeine. Finally, if you’re reusing leaves (this is traditional for some teas) the caffeine content decreases with successive brews.

"Where do you stand on tea cosies? I feel they leave the tea too hot to drink." - Dr G

Where do I stand on tea cosies? In the kitchen, in the living room, the bathroom or the street, wherever there is a tea cosy to stand on, I will stand on it. (Sorry.)

Tea cosies can be delightful to look at - my mum made a few gorgeous patchwork tea cosies when I was a kid - and in some cases they serve a practical purpose. I don’t use them because: (1) I brew tea immediately before drinking it; (2) I don’t have any teapots large enough to warrant keeping warm; and (3) I pre-warm my pot and cups, so the tea retains its heat for longer.

But here is a situation in which a tea cosy could be handy. Let's say you make a four-mug pot of Assam tea for you and a friend (removing the leaves after a few minutes to stop it from overbrewing). You pour two mugs of tea and are left with a half-full pot of tea that you want to keep warm. Tea cosy time! If you have thought ahead, you may have already warmed up the cosy, either by putting it on the pot during the original steeping time (though Dr G finds this makes the tea too hot) or by placing the tea pot on top of the cover while brewing (this works fine with a traditional soft cosy, not so much with those insulated metal covers). Now you and your friend can admire the craftiness of your lovely tea cosy as it sits on the table between you.

"What tea are you drinking right now?" - Everyone, ever

I’ve just received two tea deliveries, so I have lots to choose from! I ordered my favourite Keemun and a Lapsang Souchong from Hazelmere Cafe and Bakery. They also sent me two free samples - a Darjeeling (which I am yet to try) and an Assam (which I have finished). The Assam is from Dinjan Estate and Hazelmere describes it as, “A malty and full-flavoured red tea with a neat tippy sized leaf. It has a briskness and strength (typical of Assams) that make it an ideal morning tea or partner for strong or fried foods.” I say it has a good colour while the aroma has faintly fruity undertones along with the malt. The flavour not quite as deep or rich as I expected from the description, but is has a refreshing mid-palate zestiness. Four out of five stars from me.

I also ordered three teas from Imperial Teas: Earl Grey Cream, Osmanthus Black Tea and Ceylon Montecristo. The smell of the Earl Grey Cream leaves is incredible - delicious and almost overwhelming. I’m looking forward to my next cup. Finally, a month or two ago I bought some expensive fruit tea at Borough Market: a sweet and sour cinnamon and hibiscus infusion from Organic Life. It is delicious (which it should be at ~50p per cup) and I’ve enjoyed it both hot and iced.
Green tea with rice
Genmai cha: green tea (contains caffeine) with rice and corn (no caffeine).
Frothy green tea
Traditionally prepared matcha. Matcha is usually higher in caffeine.
Jasmine pearls, teapot and cups
Jasmine pearls. You only need 2-4 in a mug and they can be reused.
Tea pot and brown cosy
Tea cosies: they're like bobble hats for your tea pots.
Quilted tea cosy
Alternatively: quilts for your tea pots.
Floral tea set
So . . . who's for tea?
Cup of tea on red placemat
A beautiful, red Assam tea. (Not mine!)

NB: All photos in this post are used free of charge under Creative Commons licensing. Click an image to be taken to the source and to find out about the specific license.

Do you have a pressing question about tea? Let me know and I shall endeavour to answer it. Do you use a tea cosy? Let us know if you have a preference - quilted, knitted, felted - and please share your cosy tips!

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Do the June microadventure round-up tango

8/7/2015

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History! That’s what June’s microadventure challenge was all about. Mags set the theme and we set about visiting places of historic interest.

Places of historic interest

Having chosen the theme, Mags went on a tour of historically interesting places in East Sussex.  Among them were the storybook-castle at Bodiam and the  Augustinian Priory at Michelham.

Danni's adventure was more macro than micro in June: she and Brianna undertook a cycle tour through Portugal. As you might expect, they visited many places of historic interest on the way. Check out Dani’s blog posts about the ride: Day 1, Day 2, Days 3-4, Days 5-8, Days 9-12 . . . final part coming soon, I hope!

As regular readers will already have seen, Dan and I visited Berwick church, tucked away at the foot of the South Downs. The interior is covered in paintings by artists of the Bloomsbury set: Duncan Grant, Vanessa Bell and Quentin Bell.

(As summer arrived in the UK, many of our usual microadventurers were so busy getting out and about that blogging this challenge fell by the wayside. That’s not necessarily a bad thing! Conversely, some of our Southern Hemispherean adventurers ran out of daylight hours to fit their exploring in. Alas.)

Other microadventures

Clare has been getting up to her geocaching shenanigans and going on days out with (and without) her kids. We even got to meet the family in Hastings! Like me and Mags, Clare also took part in #30DaysWild - you can read her wild posts here.

Cal slept out for the summer solstice as part of Alastair Humphreys' Year of Microadventure challenge. Cal says, "I walked the stretch from Farnham to Guildford, and found a handy field to sleep in just off the trail. Sunset was pretty damn good, and the rabbits and deer were unaware of my presence. Started walking again at around 5am, with everything still and quiet.  Hunting buzzard, swifts, many many many rabbits, silent villages, fox, sleeping horses and an empty path. Reached Guildford just as the rowing club were setting up on the river.  Lovely!"

Dan and I also slept out on the summer solstice. I didn’t make a separate post about it then and it seems a bit late now! We were at our neighbours’ midsummer garden party in the afternoon and evening, so we didn’t manage to set off into the woods until after 10pm. It was still light enough to see without a torch, and I managed to locate the likely-looking spot I’d found while out searching for tadpoles earlier in the month. It was underneath some pine trees, so we cleared the pine cones away, rolled out our bivvies and jumped into bed. I slept well, with the treesong like water running past. In the morning we woke with the sunrise. We set up the stove on a tree stump that had previously been used as a feeding post by a squirrel - the remnants of pinecones formed little piles on top! We made tea and breakfast (mmm, instant noodles for breakfast), packed up and got home around 7am.

Alastair has collated a round up post of some fantastic solstice microadventures!

July's microadventure theme: time with trees

This month’s microadventure challenge is: time with trees. As always, feel free to interpret this in your own way. Here are some ideas to get you started:
  • Join a community tree planting
  • Go for a walk in the woods/forest/bush
  • Climb a tree
  • Visit a botanic garden or other park
  • Learn to identify a species of tree
  • Create a tree-related artwork
  • Swing from a branch
  • Make a tree house or den
  • Take action to protect a special forest
  • Learn to whittle a spoon
  • Listen to the wind in different trees
Bodiam Castle
Bodiam Castle. Photo by Mags.
Ruined chapel
Ruined chapel. Photo by Danni.
Church interior
Berwick church. Photo by Jonathan.
White puffy clouds and greenery
Grantchester Meadows. Photo by Clare.
Field and camping gear
North Downs microadventure. Photo by Cal.
Tall pines and bivvy bags
Sleeping in the woods. Photo by Jonathan.
Person sitting in a tree and waving
Sitting in a tree. Photo by Dan.
I am looking forward to seeing trees from around the world! You don’t have to write a blog post to be included in the monthly round-up, by the way. You can send a picture and/or a few sentences - or just tweet!

You can read about people's previous adventures here: January (spend time on a hill), February (wildlife spotting), March (explore a waterway), April (matters relating to railways) and May (lunchtime adventures).

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Visit a place of historic interest (and go on some mapless walks)

3/7/2015

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June’s microadventure challenge was to visit a place of historic interest. We are spoilt for choice here, which made it all the more difficult to settle on a destination!
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View towards Firle Beacon from the old coach road near Berwick.
We live on the site of the Battle of Hastings (probably quite literally), our house is over 400 years old, our neighbour’s house has a 12th Century cellar and well, Battle Abbey is two minutes walk up the street - it’s impossible get out of bed without bumping into a place of historic interest! But in the end, we found something further afield . . .
(By the way, this post has a lengthy, meandering introduction. It’s a bit like those food blogs where you have to read through a three thousand word essay before you get to the recipe!)

Mapless rambling

I’ve been on a new kick this month: day-long, mapless walks.

My partner is working in Brighton, so I jump in the car with him in the morning, get him to drop me off somewhere, then start walking. He picks me up from wherever I happen to be on his way back from work. It’s been wonderful.

I set out with very little: a camera, a bottle of water, sunscreen, a notebook, my phone, a few things in my pockets (bank card, paw paw ointment and tissues) and perhaps a vague sense of where I might like to walk. The latter usually goes out the window - I’ll find an interesting looking footpath and go that way instead, or head towards a distant landmark, or I’ll just . . . get lost.

Getting voluntarily lost is a new experience for me. I’m map-obsessed and when I’m out walking with a map I’m confident I’m either on the right track, or how to get (back) on the right track.

Walking in moderately unfamiliar territory without a map means relying on signposts and waymarkers along the rights of way. Sometimes the waymarkers have faded to nothing. Sometimes the signposts are broken. Somethimes there's no marker at all. I’ve ending up wandering around fields of waist-high grass looking for exit points (so many grass seeds in my boots), jumping over a fence to escape a jostling herd of merely curious but nonetheless potentially dangerous steers, walking giant loops around farms because the paths seem to go in circles, going on epic diversions to find lunch, worrying about being cut off by rivers and wishing that a landowner would come to tell me I’m trespassing so they could put me back on a proper path!

That makes it sound stressful, but for the most part it’s just the opposite. Walking those big loops or having to backtrack doesn’t matter when you don’t have a destination: there’s never a “wrong way” to go. And every time I’ve been lost I’ve ended up finding an onward right of way. I quite like feeling the sweet wash of relief when I sight a proper finger post, or a circular yellow waymarker, or a sign showing a permissive path, or perhaps just a piece of yellow tape on a gate or post. 

Being destination-less also means finding places I would otherwise never go, because they’re not on the way to anywhere else: tiny streams; huge, shady chestnut trees; secluded fields where I might chance upon a flock of deer; beautiful houses with landscaped grounds; pastoral views and sweeping vistas; secret dens; pretty hamlets with summer gardens in full bloom; interesting churches…

Out on one of these mapless rambles this week, I found myself at Berwick Village Store buying a freshly made sandwich for lunch. The friendly people there suggested I visit Berwick Church. Berwick is in two parts: the newer village around the station and the older village, a mile or so down the road and across the highway, around the church. So I wandered off with sandwich in hand and, after scoffing my lunch (delicious) in the church yard, I went in to have a brief look. When my partner picked me up a few hours and several miles later, I suggested we head back to have a proper poke around. We figured this ticked the boxes for our monthly microadventure theme, too!

Berwick church - St Michael and All Angels

From the car park (no parking on Sundays, congregation only) a handpainted sign points to the church - up a curving, walled footpath, lined with multicoloured hollyhocks, purple mallow and other pretty flowers. You enter the churchyard through an arched gate and climb the path to the church itself.

The first unusual thing you might notice is that the windows are single panes of glass, so you can see into the church and right through to the other side. The windows were damaged by bombing in WWII and replaced with plate glass because many people considered it likely the area would be bombed again.

Once inside, the most obviously remarkable thing about the church is revealed: the walls and various panels are covered in paintings - not relics of ancient artwork, but relatively modern pieces. Apparently, in the 1940s, the Bishop of the area decided to experiment with bringing back the older tradition of murals inside churches, and Berwick was considered “a suitable case for an experiment because to all intents and purposes it is a modern church.”

Duncan Grant was the chief artist, while Vanessa Bell and Quentin Bell also contributed. The trio’s main claim to fame for many people will be that Vanessa was Virginia Woolf’s sister. Duncan and Vanessa moved to Charleston Farmhouse, a few miles away from the church along the foot of the Downs, which became the country house of the Bloomsbury Group. (We've never been to Charleston - an outing for another time!)

The paintings contain an odd mishmash of people (the holy family and other figures were modelled by the Bloomsbury set and local residents), styles (there were three painters at work, after all) and clothes (period costume, traditional swirling robes, 20th Century military uniforms).

But the scenes are held together by the constant presence of the South Downs and the fruits of this landscape: Firle Beacon shares centre stage with the holy family in “The Nativity”; a stylised chalk pit echoes the circle of Jesus’ halo in “The Supper at Emmaus”; the instantly recognisable downland slopes mark the division between earth and heaven in “Christ in Glory”. If you glance out of the clear south aisle windows, you may glimpse the same hills through the trees that border the church yard.

Once you tear yourself away from the colourful paintings, there are other interesting things to notice. Not least is a squat Saxon font that huddles into the wall at the back of the church - the wall is 12th Century, but the font is older still. The marks in the stone nearby are thought to have been made by people sharpening arrows on the wall during the 14th Century, when archery practice was made compulsory on Sunday after church. 

Back outside, you can stroll around the churchyard, stopping to admire a sculptural bird bath by Sarah Walton or stepping out through the back gate to the old chalk coach road that skirts the foot of the South Downs. The slopes rise steeply beyond fields of corn, wheat and barley.

Earlier in the day I was up on Firle Beacon, admiring the view of the sea to the south and the beautiful, sweeping vista across the Levels, the chequered fields, the swelling rise of the Downs to the west, and the wooded line of the High Weald marking the northern horizon. I could trace where I’d walked during my mapless rambles: back to Berwick, to Arlington Reservoir, the spire of Arlington Church, the tiled roofs of Hailsham and Horsebridge - and then, further away, the dome of the big observatory at Herstmonceux and a white speck that might be the windmill at Windmill Hill.

Somewhere even more distant, tucked away in the hills, is Battle - with its significant history and our little house.
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The River Cuckmere (probably, I was lost!), near Horsebridge.
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It could almost be Australia, near Ponts Green.
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Dog rose, looking a bit like a soft boiled egg.
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A young rabbit, near Arlington Reservoir.
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Old farm equipment: Gascoignes Pig Scale.
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The pretty village of Dallington, on the way to nowhere in particular.
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Hollyhocks on the path to Berwick church.
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"The Pulpit" by Duncan Grant, Angelica Bell and Vanessa Bell.
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"Christ in Glory" and "The Seasons" by Duncan Grant.
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"The Supper at Emmaus" by Quentin Bell.
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Pipe organ details, Berwick church.
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Footpath through a field, somewhere near Arlington.
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The view from Firle Beacon (unfortunately for you, including the red feet of a person who had been walking for the better part of seven hours by this point).

I'll be posting the July microadventure round-up soon, but if you're a keen bean you can peek through my archives and read about other microadventures and other walks!

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Make room for nature with #30DaysWild

1/7/2015

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In June, the Wildlife Trusts ran a hugely popular campaign called #30DaysWild, encouraging people to "make room for nature" by engaging with the wild world around them every day.
30 Days Wild calendar

When I signed up, they sent a wall calendar with squares just begging to be filled with sketches and doodles. Here's what I got up to . . .
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1. A cup of tea in a field. I took my mug of tea out into the field behind our house and enjoyed the view - starting off simple, because I was feeling a bit poorly.

2. A walk in the rain. I had just bought a new raincoat and I wanted to try it out. The hood is massive!

3. An encounter with a curious robin. I went to the immaculately kept Almonry Gardens and did an awareness meditation. Hearing a rustle at my feet, I opened my eyes to find a robin peering up at me as if to say, "What are you doing?!"
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4. Reading in a wildflower meadow. A properly sunny day to do whatever I felt like. I took my copy of Roger Deakin's Wildwood out into the field across the stream and spent a pleasant hour reading, identifying flowers and watching clouds.

5. Watching a thunderstorm. I went to Hastings Country Park to do a walk for my monthly column in the Battle Observer. I was treated to a magnificent storm, with thunder that shook the cliffs! Look out for the article, coming soon to this very blog.

6. A dip in the river. Shortie wetsuits were on special at Mountain Warehouse for £20 - and they fit me! We went exploring and discovered a secret dipping hole in the river. It isn't deep or big enough to swim properly, but it is a lovely spot.
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7. A picnic with friends and neighbours. A friend and I organised a casual get together inspired by the Eden Project's Big Lunch. About two dozen people showed up over the afternoon and we introduced several locals to an open space they didn't even know existed.

8. Finding foxgloves in the woods. (Not hollyhocks, silly!) We're lucky to have Battle Great Wood just down the road from us. I spent quite a bit of time there in June!

9. Dinner in the garden. We have a little courtyard for a garden and doing this challenge kick-started our summer-dinners-in-the-garden for the year.
10. A tadpole extravaganza. I'd noticed some tadpoles in a pool in Battle Great Wood, so I went back with my camera to take some photos and videos. Wow! The pond was writhing with them!

11. Counting wildflowers in the churchyard. Species, I hasten to add, rather than individual flowers. I found twelve varieties including clover, ribwort plantain, buttercups and the ones depicted here that I can't name.

12. A walk around an iron age hill fort. My partner dropped me off just outside Brighton and I spent a wonderful couple of hours exploring this hill fort, the downland, the golf course, the wooded valley and the allotments before heading into town to do a bit of work at a cafe.
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13. Save a spider. This is my usual MO, especially when living in a country where the spiders are small and unlikely to kill you! I feel terrible if I don't notice them in the shower and they drown or get washed down the plug hole.

14. Bird spotting. We went down to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve with our friend from India and spent a while in the different hides discussing Indian and Australian wildlife, watching terns squabble with black headed gulls, laughing at the plovers scooting across the shingle, spotting well-camouflaged chicks and admiring the wading birds - avocets and redshanks amongst others.

15. Defending my chips from herring gulls. Almost ironic after the previous day's outing. As I said on Twitter, this was more the "exciting" definition of wild. I ended up yelling, "Take the chip!" and running away.
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16. An all-day, mapless ramble. This is quickly becoming one of my favourite things to do with a day off! My partner drops me somewhere on his way to work in the morning, I walk all day, then he picks me up on his way home from wherever I happen to be. I've seen lots of wildlife and found some great spots. (Imagine that rabbit thing is a very cute baby bunny, please.)

17. A big, shiny, blue bee (in Paris). We went to Paris for a day trip! We met some friends there who were visiting from Australia and they whisked us around to some fab spots. We spotted what I think was a carpenter bee in the community garden at Jardin Villemin.

18. Unintentionally following a kestrel. I was out on another mapless walk and this kestrel kept landing on wires, poles and trees along the lane. I think I probably annoyed it!
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19. Cleaned and filled the bird feeder. According to Springwatch, cleaning the feeder is one of those things you're meant to do every week or two, but which I hadn't done for a two months (since we bought the feeder). Whoops.

20. Moth trapping. This was the most eye-opening activity I did all month! Here's my blog post about all those amazing moths!

21. Wild camping in the woods. We're doing Alastair Humphreys' microadventure challenge this year. I'd found a promising spot while out looking for tadpoles, so we slept there for the summer solstice. You can read about some of our other microadventures here.
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22. Make a bee hydration station. I'd managed a wild thing every day, but I felt like I hadn't done very much for the wild world around me. This was fun. I used pretty pebbles collected from walks and beach outings and the water made all the colours extra bright. I'm still replenishing the water every day. Better go and do that now, as it's going to be a hot one . . . OK, done!

23. Foraged sorrel in a wrap. I love popping into the field to pick a few leaves, or bringing home a tasty treat when I've been on a walk. Sorrel is delicious anyway, but the tanginess went well with our Mexican-spiced sweet potato wraps. Yum.

24. Sucking nectar from honeysuckle. My primary school had a fence absolutely covered in honeysuckle and we used to do this all the time. If you try it, you need to bite off the very back tip of the flower. Choosing the ones with lots of nectar is totally a skill and not at all down to chance.
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25. A fox on the footpath. Wow! It popped out of the grass and flowers not ten metres in front of me, then disappeared between the foxgloves on the other side. I couldn't see if the fox was wearing foxgloves as gloves, though.

26. Watching clouds until they disappear. Cloudbusting! A very relaxing way to spend half an hour - or five minutes, if that's all you have. It can be quite a meditative practice, focussing on just one cloud as it is now, and now, and now, until it's gone.

27. Wild swimming in a deep river. A relaxing hour spent by and in the refreshing River Rother, floating on the current, watching birds and clouds and dragonflies overhead, making way for kayakers from the nearby boating station . . . Brilliant. We chanced upon two of my partner's former colleagues and their family who were also out to find a swimming spot, which was a nice bonus.
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28. Spotted a yellow wagtail. We were out on a walk (coming soon to the Battle Observer and thereafter to my blog - watch this space) when a flash of yellow sped across the field and into a young oak tree. A yellow wagtail!

29. A mapless ramble on the South Downs. Another glorious, meandering day. If you know this end of the South Downs you might be able to identify some of the things in my sketch.

30. A cup of tea in a field. Ending #30DaysWild as I began it - only this time with my partner and a whole thermos of tea, watching the shadows lengthen across the golden hillsides. Beautiful.

So, that was my wild month! I had a fantastic time getting out into nature, doing activities I wouldn't usually do, or paying closer attention to the things I do regularly. I also enjoyed chatting to people on Twitter and seeing what they were getting up to. I was chuffed that people seemed to like my sketches - especially as I thought I'd taken the easy way out by not blogging! 

From a charity perspective, I'm interested to find out whether the Wildlife Trusts think this has been a successful campaign and why. Obviously, #30DaysWild has been extremely popular: it's captured the interest and imagination of many people around the country. I'm pretty sure it's achieved the aim of getting more people out into nature and getting people out into nature more. I wonder how many have (or will) become members of a Wildlife Trust as a result? How many people did something for wildlife during the month, rather than just doing activities they enjoyed (I felt guilty of this myself)? How many will follow their new or renewed interest in nature into political action or campaigning? I eagerly await the impact report, because I am a nerd.

I also hope lots of great photos continue to come in on Twitter via @30DaysWild and #StayWild!
30 Days Wild calendar

Did you blog about #30DaysWild? There's a huge list of bloggers on the website, but if you'd like to share your favourite posts/activities in the comments here, I'd love to read them - and I'm sure other readers would, too!

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