I dug in the earth today
I dug in the earth today. It was rich, dark, and damp. It smelt incredible.
I dug in the earth under a bright blue sky and low hanging sun.
I dug in the earth with a cold winter breeze blowing.
I planted three birches in the earth today. Tiny little saplings that will grow into shining silver trees.
A new and beloved friend has two small fields in Cornwall. They are covered by wild grass that is full of life and edged by hedgerows that house adders. They sit high up between the north and south coasts. Standing in them one can catch glimpses of the sea on each side or look out over old mining ruins on the bracken covered hills. They can only be reached by foot. They are powerful fields, full of women’s business. They are fields that feel loved and that seem to love in return.
Sonya has owned the fields for a year and has been slowly tending to them, planting a few trees and native wildflowers, talking to the Wildlife Trust about how to take the richness already there and feed it, how to make it healthier and more biodiverse. In her care these fields are going to become an incredible haven for wildlife and for us.
Today, as a birthday gift, Sonya gave me three silver birch samplings. A triumvirate of trees. A trinity of trees. A triad of trees. The threefold goddess. Maiden, Mother, Crone.
Sonya gave me three trees to represent Mum, Me, and Kim so that I could root my family into the earth of Cornwall. So that I could, literally and metaphorically, put down roots into this county from which I am building my new life.
As I come and go from Cornwall in my van, I will get to watch these birches go from sapling to tree, watch them create the air we breathe, watch them become homes to bird and beast. And one day, when I am no longer here to watch them, they will live on under the Cornish sky, looking out over these fields.
I collect trees, they forest my memory. The pine far too large for a London garden from which we created rustic bows. The damson tree at my grandfather’s from whose fruit he would make damson jam ice-cream. The willow growing over the river in which I learnt to swim. The fallen giant in my miniature valley on Hampstead Heath. The Hollow Tree worn smooth by hundreds of hands. The pale white ghost gums looking out over a burnt Australian desert. I have put my arms around them, sat against them, studied them. There is peace for me in these trees, each one holds a place in my heart, in my memory, and in my history.
I have dirt under my nails today and the sensation of new life in my heart. I have trees all my own to add to my forest. I dug in the earth today and planted three silver birches. They are one of the most exceptional gifts I have ever been given.