Space to Grow


Being outside more connects you with the reality of the seasons. On Friday I was hit by this in a very physical way, cycling back from Grow Wilder in a steady cold rain that froze my face, made me curse that I hadn’t packed my big winter gloves or my waterproof trousers. As I gritted my teeth and pedalled on grimly, I was definitely questioning my life choices, thinking wistfully of a nice warm car. All the precious glimpses of early spring I’d been spotting during the week; bulbs blooming, blossom flushing along leafless branches, tight packed buds everywhere, seemed very far away at that point. But I am also reminded that the seasons are contextual, where my damp experience of February contrasted with my husband’s week in Montreal for work. Images shared to the family WhatsApp showed snow all around, here was the deep cold winter of fairy tales, temperatures well below zero, between -15 and -20℃. Back home in Bristol, thawing out by the heater and sharing a cup of tea with my daughter helped restore my equilibrium.

I was at Grow Wilder for the introductory day of their Grow Leader course, described as “a 19-week journey in agroecological skills, personal growth and community leadership”. This urban nature reserve is now stewarded by Avon Wildlife Trust, but despite the land being home to fertile agricultural soil, there is a long history of struggle by local people to protect it from development. For me the place sums up the reality of nature connectedness in cities. The beautifully tended six acre site is packed with trees and plants and feels full of life, but the oceanic roar of the M32 is ever present in the background. Research shows that time spent in ‘natural’ environments is good for our wellbeing, but does this lead us to see ‘nature’ as something separate from the human world, a pleasant place to visit, where we can have a green-tinged wellbeing experience? The fact is, this construction of nature and humanity as separate worlds is ridiculous, we humans are part of nature, however much technology we develop and however clever we believe ourselves to be.

As I arrived on site on Friday morning I was having serious ‘first day at school’ vibes. The first time any group meets there is excitement, anticipation, but also apprehension. So many new people, so much information to process, the inevitable ‘tell me about yourself’ questions. How does anyone answer that?! But by lunchtime the excitement was winning out, I felt I’d made the right choice, I felt fizzy with all the possibilities, and new things to learn. In the classroom our course leader Rosa took us through some of the history of the site, and the structure of the course, which is a 50/50 mix of taught classroom sessions (although still with plenty of outdoor time) and practical work days where skills are practised and embedded. Throughout the day we explored the site, which is also home to a wildflower nursery staffed by volunteers and Sims Hill Shared Harvest, a veg box co-op. In the afternoon we pruned fruit bushes, and I was reminded that I do know some of this stuff, but I’m not confident in my knowledge. We took up secateurs and loppers and removed the ‘three Ds”: dead, diseased and damaged wood, we were encouraged to really look at the plant, see the difference between older darker wood and lighter new shoots.

I am glad I chose the February to June course (it also runs August to December). I am looking forward to my Fridays with this interesting group of people in this fertile growing place. It feels like opportune timing, to see this site emerge from winter hibernation and new life unfurl. I choose to be hopeful.

The week ahead is the February half term holiday, which means rest and recuperation (good) but also a break from routine (sometimes tricky). I enjoyed watching the first episode of Small Prophets on iPlayer recently, written by Mackenzie Crook, who also wrote The Detectorists which I loved. I identified with the overgrown garden in a cul-de-sac of neatness, with a next door neighbour waging chemical warfare on slugs and ants.

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