Connection


After a slightly stressful start to the day involving a chemistry exam and a disappearing taxi, I really needed to retreat into the calm of one of my favourite places in Bristol’s city centre, the central library. I wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or alarmed by the damp handwritten notice on the gate which read: “Apologies. Due to a power outage, the library is closed until further notice”. Comforted because of its’ handwritten temporary-looking nature, as that should mean a brief closure, but then alarmed at the vagueness of “until further notice”. With the omnicrisis raging around us, a beleaguered prime minister, conflicts in various parts of the world, and as Radio 4 cheerily informed me this morning, an outbreak of Ebola in the Democratic Republic of Congo, a little bit of certainty would be very welcome right now.

As I urged on the little cab icon on my phone screen this morning, casting up prayers to various traffic gods, one thing became very clear, independence is a myth. We all rely on other people, and thank goodness for that rhizomatic network made up of women you’ve known since first meeting in a grubby community hall, exhausted with babies on laps. A phone call, a request and a speedy offer of help. Disaster averted. One teenager delivered in plenty of time to wrestle with covalent bonds.

I cast my mind back over the week, trying to bring forth a rare plant or bird sighting to amaze you with. But I am jangled and have nothing sparkling to share. All that comes to mind are nettles, called stingers in the Bristol vernacular. The warmth in April followed by more recent rain has boosted growth everywhere, the undergrowth has junglified. A practical lesson in identification at Forest School was sparked by a painful experience for one preschooler. We crouched and reminded the children how to spot the serrated zig zag edge of the leaves, the hairy stems. At this age the lesson is simple, don’t touch, don’t get stung. Some of the children offered the suggestion that dock leaves can help, and I was slightly embarrassed at this point to realise that I’d never been sure what a dock leaf actually looks like, although I’ve been stung plenty of times. Speaking to a colleague afterwards, she said they’d found there wasn’t much dock growing nearby, but that plantain makes a good substitute, which is more abundant on that site. I resolved to consult my Culpepper’s Herbal later, always an entertaining read.

There is so much that is out of our control, it can be tempting to sink under the weight of all the things that are wrong. But instead I seek out the collective where I can, at places like Grow Wilder, and with Bristol Commons who are campaigning to buy the building where The Orchard Choir rehearses, who I have sung with for the last four years. And with my network of tired middle-aged women, who are nevertheless holding so many important things together. Connection is resistance.

I enjoyed reading Finding Albion by Zakia Sewell last week which explores the renewed interest in folklore and the complicated notion of English identity. Lots to think about and a really good read. I also listened to an episode of R4's Food Programme which investigated government plans to improve food security by encouraging more UK grown fruit and veg.

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