Although I’m not a big believer in astrology, I’ve always been struck by the fact that my husband who is an Aries (the ram) prefers mountains to forests and I, an earthy Taurus (the bull), am more drawn to forests. Mountains are magnificent, of course, but to my mind forests are equally awe-inspiring. It’s just that their beauty is of a quiet, more mysterious kind. Unlike mountains, which are all Oi! Look at me! they keep their magnificence to themselves; to those that are willing to slow their pace and enter with humility, as one who enters a church. That’s not to say that forests are necessarily safe – they’re not – but to really get to know a forest one has to go into it wide-eyed, like a child. That is, open to its magic. I think that’s why some of my most cherished childhood memories involve being in a forest.
A suburban kid, I relished the chance to escape our semi-detached house to play in the nearby woods with friends. Mushroom picking in Windsor Great Park with my knowledgeable-about-all-things-fungi mum and dad was another highlight. Picnics in forests (and then cider-drinking as a teen) were fun times too. Food and drink always tastes better when consumed amongst trees, right?
Years later, when I taught science to secondary school students, one of the topics I most enjoyed teaching was photosynthesis. I was struck by how miraculous every plant is, capable as it is of creating its own food from nothing more than water, carbon dioxide and light. I’m not sure my London-based pupils shared my enthusiasm (some not even knowing what a daffodil was), still, maybe some of them picked up on my sense of wonder. And if each plant is a miracle, what does that make a forest?
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