In this era of Covid our Christmas task with the volunteers was always going to be a little different this year. No feasting around the bonfire but still I came away feeling my cup of happiness was brim full from a day of fresh air and banter However, I thought I would include a snippet of my new book, tentatively entitled, The Volunteers, as an ode to Christmas past. The whole book is still to be edited, so things might change, but I hope you enjoy reading this little preview.
Stripped of it’s vegetation the woodland revealed an ethereal beauty and for one moment, looking out over the scene, I felt a link with the ancestors. With the people who had lived in the woods and stood at the door of a hut on a dark night as winter crept its fingers towards them. For one moment I felt the long dark of winter before electric lights. When it was still possible to wonder at a star filled sky.
It was this that put your feet back on the earth. This rhythm of life. This true connection with who we had been in the past and naturally still were. Not an outsider to nature as the people jogging and dog walking on the main path through the woods were but a working part of the woods and the seasons. Here, here was work to be proud of and which made your soul ring.
The memory of this past is written into us, All of us. You as well. We are part of the mycelium that dwells beneath the forest floor and burst into fungi in the autumn. We are the trees, created from carbon just like us. We are air and bird and sky and fire and dirt and death beneath the canopy. We are the running deer and the yellow eyes of the wolves that once roamed. Dust to dust, come from the earth, back to the earth. Divorce yourself from nature, don’t embrace it and you are turning your back on yourself.
Dig your hands in the soil, swim in a river, work up a sweat while felling a tree for a fire to create a feast with your friends and you are alive again. I could at this point quote you a myriad of research papers that will tell you the truth of this but I urge you to just get out there and find the truth of it for yourself.
So we feasted, as our ancestors had done, to celebrate the turning of the year, the return of the light, the half way point of bonfire season. Baked potato and butter speckled with wood ash. Dollops of chilli. Mince pies, hot apple punch, marshmallows crisped on the outside with hot gooey centres.
Afterwards the tables were cleared and there were competitions. Guess the baby. Guess the teenager. Fantastic photos of each volunteer with quiffs and pixie cuts and unimaginable beards which we had to put a name to.
Then there was Bevan’s quiz. Fiendishly tricky questions full of news items, literature and classical music. Always competitive, I teamed up with Bruno and Ruben, who between them knew everything, and won.
Cards were swapped, written surreptitiously during working time while The Boss wasn’t looking. Each one needed a personal message. Jim, thanks for your support, Ruben, I enjoyed our chats. Val, your cakes are a lifesaver, Bella, continue to sparkle.
And finally I gave a speech, remembering the year passed, our achievements, and thanked them for their support.
It was nothing really, A Christmas bash in the woods, but it was fun and free for everyone.
The light mellowed as the afternoon wore on, becoming honeyed like the golden ends of the logs freshly cut and stacked high along the path. And then as the light faded, we watched the embers and talked of nothing with an ease bought on by fresh air, exercise and the long knowing of each other.
