Our local woods at bluebell time.
When I asked my neighbour, shortly after we had moved to our new house in Sussex, if the local woods were safe to walk in, it was not the fact that I might be mugged that crossed her mind but the dangers of my treading on snakes as she looked down at my open-toed sandals.
I am used to walking at night through bustling urban streets but to stroll through an isolated wood is out of my comfort zone. The next day a rudimentary map of the woods dropped through my letter box. My neighbour explained that she was sorry that she couldn’t dog walk and show me the woods but time was a little tight as she was due to go on holiday that morning.
Walks with the dog in my life before Lewes mostly involved lifting Alfie into the back of the car [he’s a Lhasa Apso, so vertically challenged] then driving a short distance and finding a slot in the car park. After ensuring we were well within the park gates so that there was no chance that Alfie could backtrack and cause a major pile up on the busy road outside, we would then take a turn or two around the grass, avoiding the children’s play area, muddy puddles or Skate Park. This would all then be repeated, but in reverse order, whilst I tried to avoid his four wet paws and very muddy belly.
Now I feel as though all my birthdays have come at once. We can choose between walking in the woods or Alfie’s favourite - the fields, where he can charge off with the energy of a puppy, chasing the rabbits that have quickly become his main purpose in life. I on the other hand can saunter, delighting in the view of the green topped Downs in the distance whilst stroking the tall grasses that parade at hand height along the hedgerows. The only obstacles we have to negotiate are the stiles that come in a variety of shapes. Most are familiar but some are more ingenious, requiring sitting, climbing or rolling to get over. Often there is a small dog size hole cut in the wire to enable us to pass easily so that I don’t have to make a tunnel through the undergrowth for Alfie to squeeze through.
If we venture to the woods, I can easily pass the village store to post a letter, pick up dry cleaning or a home made cake without having to battle with the world and his wife to find a parking space whilst praying I don’t get a ticket. We have been treated to a rare glimpse of deer before it leaps into the undergrowth without the need for a visit to Richmond Park, watched the bluebells carpet the ground with their deep, velvety blue display and I smile as I see a horse and rider coming towards us instead of having to worry whether my purse or mobile is on show. Only once did I catch sight of a small, lazy adder sunning himself in the warmth of an early autumn morning; my little piggies were safely tucked away in my trainers.
A bag full of fir cones or fallen sticks for the fire is all I may bring home and after a quick hose down (Alfie not me) outside the back door, I can put the kettle on without touching his dirty belly once.
Teresa x
I am used to walking at night through bustling urban streets but to stroll through an isolated wood is out of my comfort zone. The next day a rudimentary map of the woods dropped through my letter box. My neighbour explained that she was sorry that she couldn’t dog walk and show me the woods but time was a little tight as she was due to go on holiday that morning.
Walks with the dog in my life before Lewes mostly involved lifting Alfie into the back of the car [he’s a Lhasa Apso, so vertically challenged] then driving a short distance and finding a slot in the car park. After ensuring we were well within the park gates so that there was no chance that Alfie could backtrack and cause a major pile up on the busy road outside, we would then take a turn or two around the grass, avoiding the children’s play area, muddy puddles or Skate Park. This would all then be repeated, but in reverse order, whilst I tried to avoid his four wet paws and very muddy belly.
Now I feel as though all my birthdays have come at once. We can choose between walking in the woods or Alfie’s favourite - the fields, where he can charge off with the energy of a puppy, chasing the rabbits that have quickly become his main purpose in life. I on the other hand can saunter, delighting in the view of the green topped Downs in the distance whilst stroking the tall grasses that parade at hand height along the hedgerows. The only obstacles we have to negotiate are the stiles that come in a variety of shapes. Most are familiar but some are more ingenious, requiring sitting, climbing or rolling to get over. Often there is a small dog size hole cut in the wire to enable us to pass easily so that I don’t have to make a tunnel through the undergrowth for Alfie to squeeze through.
If we venture to the woods, I can easily pass the village store to post a letter, pick up dry cleaning or a home made cake without having to battle with the world and his wife to find a parking space whilst praying I don’t get a ticket. We have been treated to a rare glimpse of deer before it leaps into the undergrowth without the need for a visit to Richmond Park, watched the bluebells carpet the ground with their deep, velvety blue display and I smile as I see a horse and rider coming towards us instead of having to worry whether my purse or mobile is on show. Only once did I catch sight of a small, lazy adder sunning himself in the warmth of an early autumn morning; my little piggies were safely tucked away in my trainers.
A bag full of fir cones or fallen sticks for the fire is all I may bring home and after a quick hose down (Alfie not me) outside the back door, I can put the kettle on without touching his dirty belly once.
Teresa x
