January - May 2024: Gem in the Mud
“Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.”
My new YouTube channel handle, Gem in the Mud, feels exactly right: it’s fulfilling that I can bring together the arts and nature in my short films, plus I was excited to become a member of the Stealth Camping Alliance - a community within which I feel included, inspiring and visible.
I enjoyed a challenging overnighter in Claybury Woods - a little further away from home, and for the first time in a tent. My nerves dissipated when a fox came and sat near me for a long time, intent on sharing my food. I played mouth organ in bed (survived a freezing night with no sleeping bag), witnessed a plump of geese at dusk and felt privileged to hear the sounds of waterfowl pre-dawn. I felt freer and noticed that I look wholly happy in my camping selfies.
The ‘stealth’ cup of hot coffee I had inside a little derelict building on Fairlop Plain (an aircraft base during the Second World War), was welcome sustenance as I recovered from the worst bout of flu I’d had for 13 years.
Original music continues to flow out of me without my knowing where it comes from - such a blessing. Then I discovered people had been ignoring copyright and promoting my tunes as ringtones. Nevertheless I accomplished a yearlong goal of composing / improvising a piece of music a day which grounded me opulently in hope.
Back in Claybury Woods on an overnighter with a full hammock and tarp set-up, I felt cocooned as I listened to the rain drumming on the tarp despite human-like echoing voices and something with four legs rummaging around beneath me. The sunset was a stunning orange and I loved breathing in the crisp air and looking out onto the sides of trees. As the sun was coming up though, a man fast approached me, deafeningly chanting religious mantras. He literally scared me half to death and I was glad I’d taken the necessary precautions to enable me to escape him. I found a ‘Heat Machine’ tatty hat on my disorientated way out the forest which fit my head perfectly, and suspected that this terrifying experience would probably prevent me from overnighting again… but then I haven’t let an abusive man defeat me yet and nobody steals my joy.
It took over a week for my severe palpitations to subside and to get outside again, but a Chigwell Cemetery walk calmed and enchanted me: I saw a little girl blowing bubbles with a bubble gun next to the graves, then I kept a Mr Happy soft toy someone had discarded on Limes Farm estate.
Three white feathers floated down next to my camping chair between bright hedges that robins flitted in an out of during an early spring camp near the Dr. Barnardo’s memorial, Barkingside Cemetery. Faded fabric roses were scattered all around. I rescued a collection of Winnie-the-Pooh books from outside a house on Fencepiece Road (it was as if I was meant to read A. A. Milne’s poem, ‘Solitude’).
I felt ready for 14 days of solo walking and wild camping in and around Aberdeen, Scotland: the Caledonian Sleeper was booked and I’d researched and prepared for it to the very best of my ability. In the end though, I just couldn’t manage the weight of the pack and I was exhausted from new things I was trying to implement all at once - including the meditative art of dehydrating fruit and veg for lightweight meals. The Hainault stabbings where I live had just happened too, so I was on edge thanks to that.
Even though I was disappointed to have missed out this time, I’d sensibly decided to prioritize body safety and gave myself a big pat on the back for now being many steps closer to wilderness living. Each camping experience I get under my belt is a necessary lesson on the path to this end.
It’s difficult for me to ask for help: I wouldn’t know where to begin to explain what’s troubling me (Jan - the woman I’ve shared 17 years with has just been diagnosed with vascular dementia on top of all of the other ‘heavy loads’ I’ve been trying to carry alone since 2020). I simply can’t cope: at times I feel as if I’m in freefall; not caring either way if I live or die. Then comes the conviction that I must hold onto a solid sense of self (via my yoga and meditation practices and creativity) if I’m going to survive this hellish time. Part of me wishes I had a person I could trust (without an agenda) to look after me - but I don’t… Alan Watts’ book, ‘The Wisdom of Insecurity’ is aiding me to stay in the present moment (which is, in fact, all we have).
I’m so grateful to have my black cat, Buddy, firmly by my side.
The latest gifts from the garden - a jewel of old and new: my first spear of asparagus; single pink and white tulips from my allotment days; saffron yellow cactus flowers; Orange Eyes the kitten; forget-me-nots all over the place and purple pine cones growing on the Christmas tree that’s as old as Jan and I’s relationship.
I got my ‘Scottish’ violin out of the cupboard and played some tunes. The strings didn’t slip like they did the last time I played it, which I took to be a good omen. Also, I loved playing an accordion version of ‘La Javanaise’ by Serge Gainsbourg on a set of woodland steps: I sense my musical instruments calling me back to them.