Jean’s Bothy On Location

Geilston Gardens, 10th June 2023

I knew this was going to be a good day simply because when I woke up, the dread which usually accompanies any social activity I’ve hastily and rashly agreed to, was nowhere to be seen.The sun was up before me, and the air in my room already warm, but outside the surface of the sea was sliding away at right angles to the direction of the tide.  A good breeze then.

I may have been up in plenty of time, but there was the usual last minute whirlwind of gathering belongings, slathering sunscreen and scrabbling for keys before driving the few minutes it takes to get to Geilston Garden from Helensburgh.  The car windows don’t work so I had the air-con at full blast and it was a bit of a shock to open the door and feel the push of the warmth piling into the comparatively cool car.

Katrina and Lynne were already there, the contents of the van already spewed out onto the grass.  A slight lurch of the tummy at the thought of having to assemble this mass of mess into something more organised.  But then more people arrived and the workload lightened immediately.  Laughter dissipated any lingering anxiety, although it did feel early to be sticky with sweat already.

The first order of business was a mindfulness walk with Wendy.  Although I like to think that photography has elements of mindfulness incorporated, this was rather different.  I did not find it easy.  Standing in a semi-circle, shaking out any built-up tension in our bodies felt pleasant enough, but then Wendy invited us to turn our thoughts inwards and to consider what we were experiencing as we stood there.  Pain, mostly it turns out.  Having stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped being busy, I became acutely aware of which bits hurt.   Most of the time I deliberately blank this out or I wouldn’t function very well.  The more I acknowledged what hurt, the more the pain made itself felt and I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t be able to make the walk or take part in other activities scheduled for the day.   So anxiety too.  Anxiety and pain.  Not a great start it seemed, but then I turned my attention to the silky feeling of the air caressing my skin, the sounds of the shimmering leaves behind us, the slight prickles of long grass on hot shins, the smell of orange blossom, the sound of my fellow walkers breathing.  There was a peace to this which didn’t take the pain away, but which somehow made it seem like less of a problem than it had been a minute ago.  I feel pain.  I should acknowledge that.  But I also feel other things and they are all important.  It occurs to me that I’ve spent a lot of time trying to deny the pain so that I can function;in my photography I often seek to show the things we’d rather forget about because I think it’s important to see the whole picture.  Why not apply the same premise to myself?

We are walking now.  Very slowly.  It’s hard to do.  Holding a slow movement is more painful than blindly barging onwards.  Wendy invites us to fully experience the sensations of this walk and I find myself resenting my body for not being able to do this without hurting.  I itch to move faster. Additionally, there are forbidden photographic fruits taunting me at almost every step as light, shade, texture and form are inexorably observed but not captured and our walk continues un-photographed.

Wendy’s invitation to observe how we are feeling gives me a moment of indecision.  On the one hand, I don’t have to do this walk.  I could dip out of it at any moment, circle back and take the photographs I wanted.  And yet, I came here with a view to trying something new, to being open to new ideas in an effort to improve my mental health and wellbeing which, if I’m being entirely honest, are on pretty shaky ground right now.   So yes, Wendy, I’m feeling resentful, confused and sore, but also strangely hopeful and calm. Such a mix!  So unexpected.

There is a pause along the way.  Wendy talks to us of Forest Bathing, a familiar concept. We are to spend a few minutes in among the trees now, to be called back by the ringing of Wendy’s bowl.  I realise that I want to be alone and although there are less than a dozen of us it suddenly seems hard to find a space that nobody else is inhabiting.  After a few false starts I make it to the stream and breathe in wood and water.  Oh, but someone else wants to partake.  I notice that I’m annoyed, but also that I understand they have a need to be here too. We smile at each other and agree that it’s beautiful.  Keep breathing Kathryn, keep breathing.  They leave, and as soon as they do I guiltily reach for my camera to capture the green all around me.  I know I can’t revisit this scene in my mind and it’s suddenly really important to have a picture to act as a passport to this moment.

Wendy must have rung her bowl already for the entire group is gathered around her for the next part of our walk.  The irritation that had been pricking away at me so far seems to have slid away.  I can feel the heft of the earth feeding back to my feet as they roll along its surface; I can hear fallen branches breaking under the weight of my fellow walkers’ footwear; insects barely raise the sound levels as they go about their business; we move from shady patch to shady patch with dapples of light dancing around us until we reach the end of our walk.  Another quiet moment of reflection.  The pain which had felt threatening to begin with is still there but now just as something to be carried as I enjoyed my day, not something to stop me from doing it.

Roni hosts a session of Chair Yoga by the orchard.  No impressionist dance of light and dark, here we are fully exposed to the sun.  I am both glad of my jeans and wishing I’d worn something less restricting.  The substantial fabric at least protects my thighs from the sun-hot plastic folding chairs but I am not sure how much bending they will allow.  Roni has a lovely voice -quiet but compelling and she uses it to explain that yoga could just be about bending and stretching but that actually it is more about your mind and breaking habits.  We are all just one big walking habit, and we can choose to continue being that habit or we can ask ourselves if our habit is making us happy, fulfilled, healthier, engaged, calm.  Mine is most definitely not doing any of those things at the moment so I listen and attempt as much of the bending and stretching as I’m able.  Some of it feels good, really good.  But I find I’m more interested in the meditative aspect of what’s happening to me.

I have never officially meditated but, and this may be something to do with having Aphanstasia and/or SDAM (Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory - you can google them) I find it very easy to clear my mind and think of…nothing.  I don’t really have to try at all.  But I’ve never given that any attention.  It’s something I sometimes ‘wake up’ from with a start and feel guilty about because it was accidental and unproductive.  It has never occurred to me to do it on purpose and gain benefits.  I resolve to make it a conscious part of looking after my wellbeing.  And to learn more about meditative practice.

The morning proves to be quite a full-on programme with no break between the first three activities.  Having mindfully walked our way to the Orchard and worked our bodies and minds in the sun there, we are now due to make our way back to the ‘Welcome’ area with Nicky’s Herb Walk.  Nicky shares some of what is quite obviously a wealth of information that she has on edible plants and it is cheering to hear that there’s no such thing as a weed!  We learn about some of the various Ps to guide us, should we go foraging on our own - is the plant protected, or is it plentiful, poisonous, or perhaps just polluted?  There may have been more but by this time I am sidetracked by the information that there is something better than a dockleaf to quell the pain and itch of a nettle rash - the chewed up leaf of a lesser plantain!  Shortly after I find myself nibbling seeds that taste just like my favourite aniseed balls but without all the sugar!  It is an illuminating walk and whereas before I may have been tempted to lump together all summery hedgerow plants with clusters of white flowers atop their stems as Cow Parsley, I can now identify and eat Sweet Cicely seeds while avoiding Hemlock Water Dropwort which looks similar but will kill you.

A well deserved lunch break follows, all of us gladly reaching for the shade of the gazebo.  We are running a little late so while we eat I outline the plan for the Photography & Wellbeing Walk.  We’re taking ourselves out of the sun for a while to walk alongside the burn in the shade of the trees.  I talk about gratitude journals and the importance of self-awareness.  Is something you are doing for your own wellbeing not working for you?  Are you actually making yourself feel worse?  Just because an idea works for one person doesn’t mean it has to work for you.  I retell the story of how my friend’s lovely intentions in sending me a gratitude journal to complete, backfired until I could barely look at it without feeling guilty at my failure to do it ‘properly’.  And how I decided to take the idea of gratitude and turn it into something that worked for me.  I like to take photographs of things that spark a moment of joy or gratitude in me.  I like to keep those images where I can revisit them so that I can re-experience that spark.  But perhaps what I do won’t help you. You need to find your own way.

Still,  we now have a short period of time to walk around in beautiful gardens by running water on a glorious summer day, so I ask everyone to slow down a little, think about the sights in front of them and to record the things that give them pleasure.  It’s not an arduous task and our group sets off in search of that shade.  We admire light-glinted pine needles, prehistoric gunnara, rough and scaly bark here and smooth red bark there.  We walk in drifts and separate and rejoin; a gentle tide of people moving in more or less the same direction.  Conversations float back to me from ahead; words like flitting sparkles of light on the water beside me, longer snippets are slightly animated motes in an unexpected sunray,  but all quite muted in a way that reflects our lunch-drunk afternoon inertia.

As we leave the woody burn side behind and emerge onto the path that takes us behind the walled gardens alongside the water, then over first one and then another bridge, I turn my camera to my companions.  I’m not lurking behind these flowers to hide what I’m doing but to frame you in the context of where we are and what we are doing.  I ask Ann who is resplendent in green to stand in a bower of leaves, slightly sidelit.  We refer to her as a green goddess and I capture her laughter as the rest of the group catch up.  Carole spies a fish and asks if I can catch it with my camera where her phone has failed.  The image on the back of my screen doesn’t look hopeful but I am confident that a little bit of photoshop magic will bring him out of hiding.  We admire the plants, some of which, thanks to Nicky, we can now name.  “It’s like a painting by Monet” I say, and Callum agrees that there is a definite impressionist feel to the garden.  To the whole day, I think to myself.

There should have been an art or crochet session on next, and I had really wanted to do the watercolour painting, but by now my body and mind are telling me that I need to take a step back.  I remain in the gazebo talking to the one or two others who have also elected to partake of ‘nothing much’ for  a short period.  There is what Graham would probably call ‘wittering’ and I call ‘nattering’ which are very much the same thing.  Idle discourse about not a lot but very pleasant with it.  The best kind on a hot day, I think.  Just what is needed to set us up for our Creative Writing Group.

Ann has attended the art class and as we approach she is now busy re-arranging that same space for writing.  We are to consider the idea of a Summer Afternoon which is easy given the very summery, very afternoony circumstances!  I write largely on my tummy on the grass, moving occasionally to get more comfortable.  I write about visiting other people’s gardens and the things that appealed or which left me cold.  I write about being a small child on a hot day hiding under a picnic blanket listening, almost mindfully, to the sound of a distant plane.  Some write poetry, some write lots and some do not quite finish in time.  In each case I close my eyes and listen and feel myself transported to someone else’s world for just a glimpse.  It’s quite wonderful what words can do.

And then, just like that it is time to finish.  Wendy invites us to indulge in a final piece of mindful work and we all express our delight and our thanks to Katrina and to the leaders of the activities we’ve so enjoyed.  Our shady gazebos, chairs and leftover sandwiches are gathered together, haphazardly put back in a van and suddenly I’m driving home.  It’s warm.  The sun is shining.  I feel tired and sore and somehow elated.  This day has been a slice of time that was just for me.  I felt challenged at times, annoyed at my limitations one moment and then accepting of them, enriched, transported and valued. It’s not often we get to spend a day out of our normal busy routines to concentrate on ourselves, to acknowledge how we are, to learn new skills or to embrace new ideas.  It was a privilege to take part and I hope it won’t be too long before we can do it again.

Many thanks to the Friends of Geilston Garden for looking after us so well, to the Terrace Coffee Shop for supplying the wonderful lunch, to Katrina Sayer, Development Manager for Enable at Jean’s Bothy, to Wendy, Nicky, Roni, John, Dee and Ann for their time and skills and to whoever it was that sorted that weather!