Why Transition needs a sense of wonder Its dusk. The family who arrived earlier in the day and pitched their tent next to ours have just asked us if wed like to join them for a short walk to see something magical. We walk in the near-darkness down a grassy track to a lane with hedgerows on either side, the sea away to our right and the lights of Plymouth giving the clouds ahead of us an apricot-coloured underbelly, until something catches our eye. Two dots of greenish light in the hedge. Glowworms. I struggle to remember the last time I saw a glowworm. A memory awakens that it was when I was a child, on a family holiday to Devon, when my parents took my sister and I out down a similar lane at dusk with a similar sense of reverence. As we approach the tiny lights, the group of about 10 of us, more than half of us under 12, fall into silence. The glowworms arent perturbed by our presence, they just keep glowing. Our guides were right about the magical. Nobody speaks, other than the odd wow. I find myself feeling delighted and thrilled and honoured to be standing there. I find that these two pinpricks of light are acting as a powerful kind of reminder. A reminder of amazing things Ive seen during my life when Ive seen nature at its most alive, its most unexpected, its most beautiful. I am reminded of the fireflies I saw (occasionally) when I lived in Italy, the closest thing to seeing fairies I could imagine. Watching the seal that comes up the River Dart to hunt for fish toss salmon into the air. The owl that flew past me in total silence as I stood hoeing in my garden in Ireland. The snow monkeys I saw in the forest in northern India, wise old men of the trees. The thirty minutes I spent spellbound by a river in Wiltshire watching a kingfisher fly in and out in search of fish, his dazzling turquoise feathers glinting in the sun. Moments that I recognise, as I stand in that quiet lane, that I experience less and less as more and more of my life is spent in front of a computer. I subsequently discuss it with Richard Louv, author of Last Child in the Woods, in an interview to be published here later this month. I tell him the story of our glowworm moment, and how magical it was and ask him, from his perspective, what it was that was happening in that moment. Wonder, he tells me. It is in those moments of wonder that we really connect to the world, that our senses are heightened, that our inquisitiveness and creativity are at their most vibrant. In Last Child in the Woods he quotes Rachel Carson as saying: Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. And what could be more useful for Transition groups in search of reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts than looking more deeply into the question of how Transition initiatives might weave that sense of wonder for the natural world into what they do. It brings to mind Wendell Berrys poem The Peace of Wild Things: When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my childrens lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. So our theme for this month is Making Space for Nature. We will be framing the month around five key questions. Might a separation from Nature be at the root of our problems? Is it possible to make a healthy culture without connection to Nature? What are the impacts of losing that connection? Why is contact with Nature essential to raising healthy children? And finally, what does making space for Nature bring to a Transition group? Well be talking to George Monbiot about his book Feral, to Richard Louv, to ecopsychologist Mary-Jayne Rust, to writer Caspar Walsh and to permaculture activist Pandora Thomas, and quite possibly a couple more too. We will also be hearing from some Transition initiatives about how they create space for nature in what they do and the impacts they see it having on people. Wed love to hear from you too if you have something youd like to add to that. For me, one of my ways of making space for nature is drawing. I dont tend to draw cities, roads, buildings. When I have time to draw, I tend to head with my pens, pencils and paper to the woods, the fields, the rivers. Vincent Van Gogh once said if you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere. He might also have said if you truly observe nature, you will find beauty everywhere. It is the process of sitting and really looking at whats in front of you, looking at the same tree for several hours, how the ligh... buff.ly/1qTL1…
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 10:05:08 +0000
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