Tag: nature connection

Life on wheels – why?

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A question I get asked regularly is why I’ve chosen to live in a van. The answer lies somewhere between choice and necessity. Mainly, this is a choice because I know of no other way that I could live with this relative freedom to park up in many natural, wild spaces and get the immersion in nature that I feel I need as a vital part of my life. In a smaller part, it’s necessity, because I haven’t found a way of earning enough money- that doesn’t feel destructive to the planet and that is also healthy for me- to buy a piece of land to live this low impact life in one place. In some ways this is the dream of rooting myself in the rhythm of one place, to get to know it intimately and it me. But the current (and numerous) obstacles to owning land in the UK make me think this is a dream that will not be realised. 

And right now that feels ok because I have found many ways of creating a connected and rich life while not being rooted in one place. Some of these practices are simple- sitting silently and observing, listening to the sounds of a place, walking barefoot. I also love to forage and I often remember places I stay because of something I foraged there; greens, berries, firewood. I now have a mental map of the places I’ve been, based on the things I’ve gathered there. 

I can’t say it’s easy living in this way. There is nothing particularly convenient about it. But I’ve discovered that I like to challenge myself with finding resourceful and low-impact ways of doing things. With limited space, everything has to earn its place, so I love to find multiple functions for one object; my cajon is also a table, a stool, and a laundry basket.

I’ve realised that modern ways of living, though seemingly convenient, actually have complexity behind them and a certain way of tethering and limiting us. I don’t have a fridge, so keeping food cool is obviously tricky. If I did have a fridge, I’d need a more sophisticated power set up and I’d probably have to spend time on sites charging up. That would mean more expense, more technology to maintain, more emissions. That could be limiting for me in terms of finances and freedom. My ways around it are to eat less foods that need refrigeration, or to use a stream or river to keep things cool. (Making ghee out of butter which lasts a couple of months unrefrigerated means I can have some little luxuries!) 

On the whole, not having a fridge is a sacrifice I’ve found to be worth making, and doesn’t feel at all limiting, if anything it feels more freeing. My diet could be considered to be basic, but I eat far less processed ‘convenience’ food and I think carefully about what I really need to eat. I also forage more, so possibly I get more varied microbes and micro-nutrients into my gut ecosystem than if I didn’t eat wild food (there’s currently a controlled study into wild foods and how they affect the human gut microbiome, The Wild Biome Project discussed on The Food Programme: Eating Wild on BBC Radio 4). In short, I feel healthier than when I do spend time in houses and around modern conveniences. 

Space to wonder

But, let me be clear, this isn’t an Instagram lifestyle. For one thing, I shit in a bucket. And my van is of an age where she constantly needs care and repair. It is challenging. Sometimes it’s really rubbish. When your van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and you’re precariously parked in a layby, or the rain is incessant and you have condensation on every surface, not to mention moss growing on your window sills, you just wish you had a cosy, dry home to go back to. And sometimes I just don’t want to have to move on, I want to be able to say, This is where I live. Here. 

But living in this way I feel like I’m learning every day. No two days are the same. Generally the people I meet when I’m travelling are friendly, kind and interested. When they’re on holiday or travelling, they seem to be more open and curious, and so am I. It’s as though people have stepped out of their normal lives for a while and there’s space. That’s what it feels like to live in this way; no plans or routines, space and time to wander and wonder. There’s a richness in this life that no money can buy. I’ve met some wonderful people who are now dear friends, and this is one reason I carry on doing it. 

There may or may not come a day when I feel that this isn’t the way I want to live and I’m not thriving anymore but right now, despite the challenges, this is how I want to move in the world. There’s a freedom, a rich simplicity that I haven’t found through living any other way, and so I’ll continue to stravaig through life. 

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The return

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For those who have read my previous journal posts, it may be clear that I enjoy foraging. Foraging has taken on many forms for me, and this continues to grow as I learn more and experience each turning season and visit new places. Foraging extends deeper than a way to fill my belly. Undoubtedly that’s part of it, but foraging has layers. We can forage in different ways- for new skills, for connection, for meaning. 

As someone who lives on the road, foraging is an act that offers me a way to connect with place. Moving around can sometimes feel unsettling, but by noticing the natural surroundings it can help me to feel grounded. To forage I have to use my knowledge and senses, and this means I’m present to the physical space I’m in. I need to interpret what I see. I need to know what type of trees are in the wood, where the water is flowing. I need to be curious and observant. This knowledge I’ve gathered has come largely through experience, from going out with my backpack and basket. 

There’s a sentiment which I believe is attributed to tribal hunter-gatherers, “I’m just taking my spears for a walk”, rather than saying explicitly that you’re off to go hunting. It’s a way of not having any expectations of what you might catch, and quite possibly it’s a way of not jinxing any potential good fortune and not being hubristic. This is a sentiment I like to extend to foraging. I try to carry this in my mind when I’m also carrying my foraging basket. Rather than having this idea that I’m going out to find a particular fungi, or I’ll hit the jackpot with a megaload of bilberries, I say to myself that I’m just taking my basket for a walk. I try to be open to what might appear in my path, and recently, this was something special.

I was taking my basket for a walk in a deciduous woodland in the area of Newton Stewart, Dumfries and Galloway. Of course I had the hope that I might find some kind of fungi, but I wasn’t attached to the outcome. I realised I’d found myself on a deer trail. I could see the obvious signs of a slender path frequented by these beautiful creatures. Within a few heartbeats of this realisation I turned on the path and looked down at an antler on the ground. It was lying a few hoof steps away from a small shallow burn. I felt I was in deer territory and then like a sure sign the antler was there to confirm it. This was one of the unusual and unexpected gifts of taking my basket for a walk. I also happened to find some perfect hedgehog fungi, a small troop of chanterelles and I revisited a precious cluster of horn of plenty to find a couple of fresh ones. I returned with some dinner, and the antler. Even stranger, an hour or so later, in an obscure place in the woods, I met a person that I had met a few years earlier in Cumbria under very different circumstances. It was a serendipitous meeting; perhaps that antler acted like an antenna. 

I also have an interest in medicinal and therapeutic properties of plants and wild food. I have gathered and made my own tinctures from hawthorn, lemon balm, bilberry, goldenrod, to name a few. It may be that these tinctures have no physiological effect, but it isn’t just about the physical effect and the resulting tincture, it’s about the finding, the gathering, the creating. This is all part of the medicinal properties for me. I believe that this is why GPs are now prescribing walks in nature, because nature is medicine, and it’s where we’re from and where we have become disconnected from. It might sound woo woo or like I’m a tree hugger, but for me being “in nature”- foraging for food, medicine, meaning- is not only healing, it is vital to what makes me human and animal. I feel connected in a way I never will from going into a supermarket or pharmacy. 

On the rare occasion that I return from a walk with an empty basket, I have a calm mind and a satiated spirit. I cannot remember a time when I have returned without seeing or hearing something new; a bird call that I’ve never heard before, or a flower that has never bloomed before me until now. I may not have food for my belly but my soul is content. I return changed in some way. 

Following threads

Jointhedots2 Comments

This September it’s eight years since I left my job in higher education. I could never have planned the journey I’ve been on since leaving. I just knew in my bones that I had to leave, to move somewhere else, to move in different ways. 

Maybe I had some idea that I might travel in a van someday. I have a vivid memory of sleeping overnight in a VW polo when I was kid, with my parents and brother. I remember standing in a gateway to a field, the sunrise creeping through the hedge, and the golden light pouring over the grass. As well as a strong visual image, it’s a felt memory. I felt content, fulfilled somehow, like nothing else mattered except that moment. Perhaps as an adult I’ve always been trying to get back to that feeling. Perhaps we all are. I think that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing now, choosing to live in this way- stravaiging, wondering and wandering.

I could never have planned all the threads I would follow in the past few years. I’ve never had this idea of what I wanted to do or be in life, a 5-year plan. The threads have been, are, numerous and deep. Some are ancient- spinning on a drop spindle, developing a personal yoga practice, growing vegetables from seed and soil. I’ve realised that I’m quite musical, and I’ve learnt to play whistle and banjo. I never set out to do any of these things, but sometimes strange things present themselves to you, and you give it a try. I now have so many creative threads to follow that at times I lament not having more hands. I fantasise about being the Hindu goddess, Durga, with eight arms. I could knit, spin, play banjo and cook dinner all at the same time. Though that would probably end up being quite messy and confusing- imagine knitting spaghetti while boiling strands of yarn.

At times this journey has felt like an unschooling, a letting go of some of the unhelpful ways, the unhealthy habits. I’ve been choosing what I want to learn, and how I want to learn it, at my own pace, in my way. I’ve read a lot of books, thumbed through many field guides, done a few courses here and there. I’ve experienced life. I’ve found a community in nature, among the feathered and furred beings, the leafy ones, immersed in the salt tang of the sea, in the solitude of self. I’ve had deep relationships with the two-legged beings also, and wonderful and sometimes painful adventures. 

This journey has been led by something beyond the mind, deeper than rational thought and planning. I can’t say what this driving force is. Some might call it soul, or spirit, or following your heart. What it’s called doesn’t really matter, but I think what matters is that it feels right. Allowing my internal compass to guide me is about feeling more than thinking. 

And sometimes it’s all felt too much. I can be flattened by a sense of overwhelm, as though my searching has been frantic, rushed, incoherent. Like the threads I’m following are a tangled ball of wool, or more precisely many, many pieces of yarn from different balls of wool…argh! Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find the path, a clear direction and destination, a point on the map. 

I spoke to a friend about this occasional overwhelm and lack of direction, and she said without hesitation, with a strong conviction and as though it was the most normal thing in the world, “You’re a spider”. She didn’t need to explain it. It felt right. Yes, I’m spinning webs, there is no one path, no one thread; there are many and they are all relevant, all part of me and my journey. 

After that conversation it has felt easier to be me spinning my threads and weaving my web. It feels as though I’m creating something more flexible and resilient, multi-stranded and inherently connected. And as I keep realising in different ways it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. Keep spinning the threads, keep weaving the web. What threads are you spinning?

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