Noticing: Blackthorn Blossom, Lines of Coke and a Thrush with a Penchant for Italian Opera. . .
The Barefoot Diaries: What Have I Learned?
Generally speaking I’m nae bad at pausing to notice the world around me. I ensure I get out of my own head and do it every day; even if just for a short while. In fact I find myself doing it more and more: ad hoc pauses to notice and reflect, peppered throughout the day. But the act of recording these brief barefoot ventures for a week, has taught me the importance of noticing. I’ve found that to notice and imbibe at least one thing each day, helps to improve my mindset.
To notice is to become aware
Noticing encourages me to be curious about those things going on around me and further afield; looking on as an outsider, a fieldworker; observing and gleaning titbits of information; engaging with what I see in a non-judgemental way. To notice, nurtures a sense of deeper understanding and patience with the world and those within it (something which I need to keep working on; especially the latter! 😆). It’s great to see a landscape and think how pretty, or see a flash of redbreast and note there’s a robin, but to access the next level is more profound. . . to notice, to really notice and think about what you see: the context, the time of year. . . Can you become what you notice? Even for a glimmer of time? It helps to put everything in perspective - not unlike visiting the seashore and gazing out on the horizon, as the waves gush in with elemental force, and draw back with the wheezing rattle of the shingle underfoot. The head clears and you can breathe that wee bit more deeply and easily.
In this day and age (see note below 😆) we are bombarded with information from all sides: some types factual, but frequently overwhelming; other types purporting to be truthful but without being in full possession of the facts; and yet more types fake and harmful, striving to hook you and drag you down into a wormhole of self doubt, fear and suspicion; attempting to isolate you from the benevolent influence of others and to control you subversively. . . unconsciously shifting your foundations stone by stone. . .
And of course, information from everywhere in between, on the great data spectrum.
An aside here. . . I was going to put this in a footnote then decided instead to welcome this explanation into the main body o the kirk, so to speak. I’ll proudly own my ignorance! 😄
In this day and age. . . This phrase always makes me chortle! Up until sometime in my university years I thought that the phrase was ‘In this Dane Age’. I had even subconsciously fabricated a believable etymology in my head: ‘a phrase used to indicate a return to a time when Danish rule was at its peak in Northern and Eastern Britain, and in the Northern and Western Isles. A time of productivity, trade and prosperity. A Great Dane Age. A time which, figuratively speaking, comes again and again, across the ages.’ 😂.
It was only when I was reading a book one day, and saw ‘in this day and age’ in print that realisation slowly dawned. . . something made me halt and reread the phrase. I read it again and again, silently mouthing the words, then whispering them, before venturing to say them aloud: ‘in-this-day-and-age’. At the same time, somewhere in the cosmos, a lightbulb brightly illuminated and my previously held beliefs were dissolved instantaneously.
And so. . . back to the bombardment of information!
Even when we are not being overwhelmed with information overload on platforms such as social media, we can still find ourselves passive recipients of news and notions, from all and sundry. Every day, we are told this, we are shown that; without having to seek out the information for ourselves.
We may hear on the radio that it’s the first day of meteorological spring, and that there’s rain forecast in the afternoon. When the rain doesn’t come we can be quick to blame the forecaster for ‘getting it wrong’; feeling irked that we didn’t hang out our washing on the line after all. Instead, should we not entertain the notion that weather patterns can suddenly change? An area of low pressure may veer off its predicted course, due to changes in winds and weather elsewhere on the continent. Alternatively, we could try to spy impending weather cues in our own locales; observing and engaging with the evidence we can see around us. Whilst we may not necessarily get it right every time, at least we are being proactive in participating within our environment, when we search for subtle clues and try to understand them.
Do we accept it’s spring because we are told it is? Or do we notice the gradual changes in the season’s cycles for ourselves? If we can engage with what we see and hear, and ponder and reflect upon it, the world around us will become more meaningful; we will feel far more connected to life, and as a result, we will care more for what we ken.
Awareness leads to care
It seems that with each year, I fall more in love with the world around me. I’ve become fiercely protective of the trees, plants and animals, rocks, earth and water. I love the feeling and scent of rain, whipping wind, bitingly cold snow crystals and yes, even the warmth of sun rays (in moderation of course!). I’m awestruck by the technicolour palette of dawn, day and dusk, the changing cloud formations, the wonder of the stars and planets scattered across the night sky, and of course the moon. . . That brilliant, beautiful satellite who governs the rhythms of life on Earth with her gravitational pull. In the early days of our solar system, she shielded Earth from destructive solar winds with her enveloping magnetic field; a field much much stronger than it is today (the Earth and moon were far closer and more intimate neighbours, back in the day). Woe betide anyone who messes with the moon. . . 🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑
It is because, with every year that passes, I seem to notice more and appreciate more. I have always loved the natural world, regarding it as a beautiful and necessary backdrop to my life. Countless times I would find myself wandering along the rivers, through the cemetery and amongst the trees; mostly, trying to work through complex young emotions or daydreaming; at one time practising and consolidating examples of Shakespearean grammar and rhetoric; and at other times finding inspiration for the various themes of a string quartet - trying to work out how they might seamlessly connect, and what the parts would sound like when played together as a whole. I have a favourite tree which I liked to orbit sunward and press my cheek to, and other trees which I admired and always looked out for on my rambles; but although I loved them, I didn’t really know them. However, now the natural world is more than just a backdrop; I’ve spent years being integrated within it, bit by bit, piece by piece; until becoming more fully immersed in this cyclical world of shifting seasons.
The thing is, I always was immersed. . . I just didn’t quite see it.
To see or not to see, that is the question
Or should that not be ‘to see or to see’?
There are several shades of meaning for the verb ‘to see’, but I’m concerned here with the primary definitions: to discern by use of the eyes; and to perceive mentally, to understand, to deduce (think of saying, “Ah, I see!” when realisation dawns).
It’s this second meaning of ‘see’ that I encourage myself (and would encourage everyone) to try consciously implementing; whether looking, listening, or using any of our senses to connect with the world around us.
The verb ‘to see’ has its etymological roots in Old English sēon: regarding the use of the eyes to look and behold. It too carries that same sense of deeper meaning; one of perception, understanding and experience.
Seeing: perception and understanding in practice
From noting the order our local trees species come into leaf and blossom, to recognising birdsong and calls; from looking up at the structure and design of the buildings around me, to watching shoppers in Tesco going about their business; looking, noticing and thinking about what I am seeing, is helping me to become more mindful and compassionate. It takes me out of my own head and into the world instead.
And to conclude. . . a few examples of seeing: some things I have noticed over the past few months.
Blackthorn
The blackthorn is probably one of my favourite plants. I can’t quite remember when I first truly noticed it, and I found it quite tricky to identify until. . . I learned on a tree ID course that it is the first hedgerow species to blossom in early spring. It is unusual in that it blooms before it leafs. In contrast, its sister species the hawthorn leafs before it blooms. A penny dropped. I recalled marvelling at an annual spectacle of frothing white flowers, flanking either side of the Inverurie bypass and dual carriageway. I would think the hedgerows were covered in snow and do a double take, realising I was looking at thousands upon thousands of tiny white flowers; starkly contrasting with the dark winter-bare wood of the hedge. Every year I would forget, until the same happened the following year. It was only when I discovered that this was the annual display of the blackthorn, that I began to fall in love with the plant and strived to get to know it in all its guises.
Now I actively look out for the first blackthorn exhibition to be staged each year, revelling in the plant’s time on centre stage, just as the other deciduous species are beginning to awaken. It has taken several false starts, with me misidentifying and becoming prematurely jubilant over the early blossoms of the ornamental cherry plum (a naturalised but non-native species in the UK). Still absolutely beautiful but not a blackthorn all the same. But now I think I’ve cracked it. . . at least when it’s apparelled in blossom. Post bloom, the blackthorn has a habit of retreating quietly into the green of the hedgerow, making it that wee bit harder to identify, but I’m slowly getting there, and finding out more about the plant, with each year that passes.
Everlog entry:
3rd April. . .
First blackthorn ❤️❤️❤️ in the rain!
Delicate white petals clinging to my fingers and the door handle of the van. I can’t help gently kissing the plant! (Watch out for those thorns though!)
15th April. . .
Blackthorn at the height of bloom, frothing by the roadside. Intermingled with the young leaves of the neighbouring hawthorn. It’s moment in the limelight. . . a fleeting one, but oh so sweet.
16th April. . .
I just can’t get over the blackthorn blossom today. Effervescing amongst the roadside shrubs and trees. Cascading like frost or snow from bare dark branches. Flanked by the young green of hawthorn. Each tiny flower has the most fragile wee stamen in the centre. So delicate. So beautiful.
Living ghosts of the hedgerow. . .
As you can see, I’m pretty enthusiastic about blackthorn blossom and do like to repeat myself as a result! As the weeks pass I watch the rowan, the cherry and the lilac as they come into blossom; waiting for the turn of the hawthorn. Between blackthorn and hawthorn, I notice that the grass suddenly seems greener, and another annual phenomenon is underway. . .
Dandelion
At the beginning of May, the emerald green grass is studded with a mass of sun-yellow flowers - dandelions. Fields of what appears to be early rapeseed crop, are in actual fact dandelions, closely packed, open faces turned skywards, embracing the demure light of a Scottish spring. It seems to happen overnight. Yet a couple of weeks later, I notice a transformation is taking place. . .
Everlog entry: 14th May
A perfect sphere of weightless potential.
On our lawn, the first dandelion has gone to seed or should I say about to be dispersed. It’s just exquisite! You want to hold on to that perfect sphere but know that you can’t - it’s transient. . . ever changing. A fleeting moment of perfection as the seasons turn.
20th May
The parks are full of ghostly white seed orbs; tiny entities barely there, but en masse, a sea of pale flowers.
Then the cycle starts over again. . . flower - seed - dispersal. . . Something I’ve grown up witnessing time and time again. Only now do I find that I’m really paying attention to the actual timings of the dandy cycle.
Hawthorn
Everlog entry: 15th May
Cream soda frothy lofty hedgerows.
This particular hawthorn, shaped like a giant mushroom, is a favourite of mine. A fey portal if ever there was one! This species is the light to the blackthorn’s dark; it is the whitethorn, the May-tree. These jewels of the hedgerow are fitting bookends to Spring; the blackthorn emerging early in the season, in spite of the cold, the rain, the biting wind and late snow showers; the hawthorn providing a fitting finale to spring, coming into its power as Beltane subsides and the gateway to summer is opened. I look past the blossom to those distinctive lobed leaves. Reading up on the plant has revealed that the leaves, along with the flowers, provide medicine for the heart and circulatory system; closely mirroring the plant’s spiritual essence. . . dispensing a remedy for heartache and grief. Time to put the kettle on and brew up some fresh leaves to sip. . . savouring the almond-like fragrance. . . healing and protecting the heart 💚.
Ivy-clad ruins
Just last week, I was out running a new route for the first time; a pleasingly circular route on quiet tree-lined roads, close to the village of Rothienorman. The route was already well known to me, as it joined together sections of one of my favourite postie rounds. But on foot, it was a whole different experience. I didn’t even know how long it would be! A mile from the finish I was tackling a steep hill which I didn’t think I would ever summit, so decided to walk a little, eventually stopping to hydrate. As I swigged from my water bottle, I gazed around over the open land to my right (which had previously been wooded), and something caught my eye. . . At first I thought it was just a copse of trees, but when I turned and looked again, I saw a derelict mansion house, swathed in ivy, being reclaimed by burgeoning growth from within and without. I had never seen it before, or knew anything of its existence. My child’s heart leapt with excitement and curiosity. Why had I never noticed it before? The direction I travel in my postie van, means that it is always behind me. I would never have glimpsed it nestled in the valley, if I hadn’t been out of puff!
The funny thing is, that a little earlier, when passing the sign for ‘Cranna Lodge,’ I had been wondering to myself. . . Cranna Lodge (formerly known as East Lodge). . . what is it actually the lodge of? Lodges always have ‘big hooses,’ so where is the ‘big hoose??’
After returning home, it wasn’t long before I was online, searching for the mystery mansion house. Was it Cranna House, tucked away in Cranna Woods, close to Cranna farm. . .? I inserted ‘big house beside Rothienorman’ in a search engine, and lo and behold discovered that it is the forlorn yet enigmatic remains of Rothie House. . .
purchased by the Leslie family in 1724
towers and turrets added in in 1862
owned by Reginald Crawford-Leslie around 1912; remaining within his family until after the Second World War
the final owner: Henry Nigel Crawford, the last Laird of Rothie (aha! Crawford = Crawford Place in Rothienorman 🧐)
sold in 1951 due to exorbitant death duties, stripped by land agents and the roof removed. . .
Now it sits silently above the village; almost forgotten and entirely neglected. If the trees in Cranna Wood had not been felled, if I had not stopped to have a drink, the ruined mansion house would have remained hidden; and I would have remained blissfully ignorant of its bewitching presence. . . its blank gaze. . .
Shoppers in Tesco
Have you ever stopped to watch people shopping in a supermarket?
Sometimes, after a hard day’s postie work, Rob and I get a snack in the Tesco cafe before doing our shopping. As the cafe is on a first floor mezzanine, you get a superb view of over half the store; aisle upon aisle of people moving around, pushing trolleys, carrying baskets, scrutinising the shelves, pondering, standing up for a news1 with fellow shoppers. . .
Quite often we’ll spy some of our colleagues popping in for some things after work, as our delivery office is somewhat conveniently adjacent to Tesco. They are easy to spot amongst the shoppers; standing out in Royal Mail red and hi-vis. I’ve been known to look down over the mezzanine railings and call their names (my voice ‘carries,’ according to Rob, so I don’t even need to shout) for the sheer joy of watching them pivot this way and that, their faces a picture of perplexity as they try to ascertain where the disembodied voice is coming from, before eventually looking aloft! 😄
I once remember drawing Rob’s attention to an aisle which had almost been taken over by a regiment of Coca-Cola. Lines and lines of plastic bottles and packs of cans, organised by rank and standing tall for inspection in their immaculate rows - giving ‘lines of coke’ a whole new, but chillingly relevant, meaning. . . All easily accessible, winking saucily at passing thirsty customers with the promise of something fizzy, sweet and quenching. . . I said to Rob, “Imagine these were row upon row of ‘illegal’ drugs, all ready for customers to pluck off the shelves? Thats what they are - drugs! Tesco are selling drugs in plain sight!” I proclaimed dramatically. Hooking the customer, reeling them in; playing a leading role in addicting the nation. . . to sucrose - that ‘oh so sweet’ but heinously destructive substance. . .
I then proceeded to go off on one about how a poverty stricken community in Mexico had become so dependent on Coca-Cola, that even babies were being weaned and raised on this form of liquid sugar.2 I couldn’t remember all the details so I went and looked it up. . . to discover that diabetes and other related health problems were rife in these small impoverished communities. Then of course that led me on to the evils of certain large corporations: enslaving the masses with their bright, alluring advertisements and slogans, promising pleasure and satisfaction; exploiting natural resources in poor countries. . . the list goes on. . . All from what I had noticed whilst gazing down upon the well-stocked aisles of Tesco!
However, the most surprising thing I have noticed from my lofty perch, is generally how mindful people are as they wend their way up, down and along the aisles. There are always a few customers on their phones, chatting incessantly, device glued to the ear, as they pluck items from the shelves and place them distractedly in their trolleys, but for the most part, people are really really mindful! They are caught up in the moment as they search for particular products. . . wheeling their trolleys slowly down an aisle, scanning the shelves from top to bottom, pausing. . . then moving forward again an inch at a time, then finally coming to a halt. Pondering. . . wondering. . . then taking an item off the shelf to examine closely before putting it back in its place. . . then selecting another. Feeling for the firm yet yielding quality of the perfect avocado, weighing courgettes, checking the ‘use by’ dates on packets of salad leaves. . . The potential for mindful activity is endless. . . Even purposeful, hurried shoppers are focused on the task in hand as they march determinedly down each aisle. In this day and age (‘Dane Age’) of digital distraction (ha ha ha, there I go again 😂), it is refreshing to see so many people practising mindfulness. . . even without being fully aware that they are!
And so, even a trip to the supermarket can yield much to notice and truly see.
And finally. . . an operatic thrush?
Ironically, this final example of seeing is actually about something I heard; but it is still about noticing and making connections. As you may have gleaned from some of my other posts, I am enthralled by birdsong, and am highly entertained by the song thrush and his DJ set; so much so that, whilst out walking in the woods, I have been known to burst into a fit of the giggles at some of the sound samples it repeats. The bird is brilliant! Put it this way, I would be tempted to visit any night club with DJ Thrush operating the decks and mixer 😂. This vocally talented bird sings a short phrase, which it then repeats, sometimes several times, before moving onto the next one. This results in a series of sound bites including whistles, trills, scratchy utterances and melodic phrases, all repeated; an avian DJ sampling from a wide range of sources; snatches of sound, cut and paste together like music concrète.
One day recently I heard a thrush nearby. . . “Here we go,” I thought, “I wonder what joyous sounds it will bring today?” It kept repeating a particular phrase. . . da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da. . . and at this point I expected it to conclude. . . ‘da da da!’ but it never quite got there. This thrush seemed to be sampling the main theme from the finale of the William Tell Overture by Rossini! 🤣 It kept returning to this same popular phrase, again and again throughout the day.
Over the following couple of days, I would hear Mr. Thrush’s ‘Short excerpt from William Tell’ regularly punctuating many other snatches of melody, until another familiar snippet was added to the growing repertoire. . . “Figaro, Figaro, Figaro. . .” trilled the bird, with a flourish of virtuosity. Well, he didn’t literally sing ‘Figaro,’ but did a damned good impression of a leading baritone performing the fiendishly difficult, ostentatious aria from. . . was it the Barber of Seville? 🧐 🎵. I think it was the Barber of Seville. Wait a minute. . . that’s a Rossini opera isn’t it? Of course at this point, I had to go and look it up. . . Sure enough it was the aria, ‘Largo al factotum’ from Rossini’s Barber of Seville.
“Ha!”, I mused with amusement, “Our thrush has a penchant for Italian opera! More specifically, it’s a fan of Rossini!” I couldn’t quite believe that both repeated phrases, from the same bird, sounded like excerpts from Rossini operas! What were the chances of that? 😂
And that is how, not only hearing but noticing the song of a thrush, led me to learn more about the great Italian composer Gioachino Rossini!
Concluding thoughts
So, whenever you have seen or heard something which piques your interest, or you’re just curious to find out more, use books, use apps, make use of search engines to look things up (always weighing up the trustworthiness of the source), and above all, discuss what you have seen and heard - what you have perceived - with others. You don’t have to be standing outside, barefoot in the early hours of the morning to notice things (although it’s really nice to do this 😊). Whether you are standing fully shod in your driveway or on the pavement outside your home; or perhaps ascending slowly on an escalator in the supermarket, trapped from moving forward by the trolley in front of you; maybe you’re waiting for a bus or train; or stretching your legs in your local woodland; take this opportunity to ditch the screen, look up, look down, look around; get outside of your own head and notice. You may learn something, and might just return to your day, with a fresh perspective and a calmer mind ☺️.
If you have any ‘noticings’ you’d like to share, please do! Just leave a comment below 🤗.
Paul Daniel the English National Opera with Michael Spyres.
The Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra with Myung-Whun Chung.
‘Having a chat.’ Rob always laughs when I use the phrase ‘I stood up for a news with so and so (or as I would say, sic an sic).’ He always feigns puzzlement and queries, “Why? Were you sitting down before?” 😄
I'm looking forward to next spring now to see if I can spot these Blackthorns in bloom! I know what you mean about noticing things and giving them more of your attention. We should all be more aware of our surroundings, seeing how a lot of them change from one week to the next! Lines of Coke? 😅 You're both right though. Add salt to this and you have lots of big companies taking full advantage of lots of addictions!
Italian Opera, Blackthorn, and Coke. What could be a better find this morning? I appreciate this. Hope you're well this week, Sandra. Cheers, -Thalia