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I have been out walking a couple of times this year. Not just a dog walk, in a rush or out of obligation, but a proper hike, planned and prepared for. I have a tricky knee and in order for us to be fit enough to tackle some longer walks later in the year when we have some holiday, I am trying to build up my stamina and the muscles that support and strengthen the knee joint.
This weekend's walk was only twenty minutes drive away. The sun shone and reflected in the mere that gathers in the marshy places each winter. It was busy with water birds, locals and visitors. The highlight of this walk, according to the guidebook, was the largest church in the county. It must have been built for a much larger village than the one it serves today. Either that or it was built by a family whose reputation or devotion required such an imposing place. Made of flint, set on a small hill and very beautiful, it was interesting to stop and gaze at it and wonder at all that it had seen.
However, earlier in the walk we had stumbled across the complete opposite act of devotion and the impact it made on me was more profound and is still echoing inside me. Walking along footpaths and field edges, we saw very few people on our walk, but as we walked a boundary between two fields and with the river a meandering silent line of trees just beyond, we came across a tree stump incorporated into the hedge that marked the field edge. It was about 1.2 metres high and must have been an impressive tree in its prime. On the flat top of the tree stump there was a pile of stones. At first I thought it was a cairn - a collection of stones that people place when they have scaled a high hill or a mountain or attained a far-flung point. But this was just a hedgerow between two fields, and when I looked closer I could see that most of the stones were flint, clearly chosen for their colours or their shapes. Tucked between the stones there were other offerings or gifts or foundthings - feathers, some pretty grasses, now dried out and brown, a spoon, a collection of acorns. Clearly this collection had been curated, these things chosen for this purpose or donated by someone who happened to have them and who was moved to add to the... shrine?
I have seen clootie trees at Avebury, where people bring a piece of ribbon or material to tie to specific trees as an offering for health or luck and I have watched people drop coins into fountains and wells and pools. I have done so myself. It is an old compulsion and something that we do almost without thought, but it is an act of devotion none the less - one lost in time quite often.
I have no idea who would have come to a muddy path in East Anglia and chosen a flint with a pretty pattern, or donated a shiny lost thing or tucked a special feather into the pile on that tree trunk. I don't know if it was the tree or the bend in the river or the hedge or nothing at all that marked this place as special, but the chime it rang inside me is still not quiet.
The church was impressive as a building, as a piece of workmanship, as a symbol. The tree trunk was something you might walk by without even noticing, but I know which one moved me most and made me reflect.
This weekend's walk was only twenty minutes drive away. The sun shone and reflected in the mere that gathers in the marshy places each winter. It was busy with water birds, locals and visitors. The highlight of this walk, according to the guidebook, was the largest church in the county. It must have been built for a much larger village than the one it serves today. Either that or it was built by a family whose reputation or devotion required such an imposing place. Made of flint, set on a small hill and very beautiful, it was interesting to stop and gaze at it and wonder at all that it had seen.
However, earlier in the walk we had stumbled across the complete opposite act of devotion and the impact it made on me was more profound and is still echoing inside me. Walking along footpaths and field edges, we saw very few people on our walk, but as we walked a boundary between two fields and with the river a meandering silent line of trees just beyond, we came across a tree stump incorporated into the hedge that marked the field edge. It was about 1.2 metres high and must have been an impressive tree in its prime. On the flat top of the tree stump there was a pile of stones. At first I thought it was a cairn - a collection of stones that people place when they have scaled a high hill or a mountain or attained a far-flung point. But this was just a hedgerow between two fields, and when I looked closer I could see that most of the stones were flint, clearly chosen for their colours or their shapes. Tucked between the stones there were other offerings or gifts or foundthings - feathers, some pretty grasses, now dried out and brown, a spoon, a collection of acorns. Clearly this collection had been curated, these things chosen for this purpose or donated by someone who happened to have them and who was moved to add to the... shrine?
I have seen clootie trees at Avebury, where people bring a piece of ribbon or material to tie to specific trees as an offering for health or luck and I have watched people drop coins into fountains and wells and pools. I have done so myself. It is an old compulsion and something that we do almost without thought, but it is an act of devotion none the less - one lost in time quite often.
I have no idea who would have come to a muddy path in East Anglia and chosen a flint with a pretty pattern, or donated a shiny lost thing or tucked a special feather into the pile on that tree trunk. I don't know if it was the tree or the bend in the river or the hedge or nothing at all that marked this place as special, but the chime it rang inside me is still not quiet.
The church was impressive as a building, as a piece of workmanship, as a symbol. The tree trunk was something you might walk by without even noticing, but I know which one moved me most and made me reflect.