Amazingness

Harper Road, London, SE1

Wandering by this tree stump the other day, I was surprised to hear it singing softly to itself. I listened intently, and have jotted down what I remember of the words (sing along to a tune of your choice, or of the stump’s choice):

‘At first, I was afraid, I was petrified,
Kept thinking, I could never live without the rest of me,
They’d come ‘n chopped ‘n lopped, with growling saws ‘n big strong arms,
They thought I’d die; but they’d triggered me deep inside.

And now I’m back, from deep despair.
I’ve small shoots sprouting from my solid stump, I’ve grown myself new leaves.
Was it my roots? Were they too strong? A threat to pavements all around?
If I had known for just one second, could I have grown them differently?

It took all the strength I had not to wilt away,
My limbs hacked off, left cold, bare, leafless, hungry and exposed,
No chlorophyll to make my food, my butchered soul was faltering,
I used to cry; but now I hold my leaves up high.

I didn’t know it, ’til I needed it,
I’d such reserves of strength lying dormant, hidden deep within,
A little voice, it whispered “Hey! Your epicormic buds are here,
We’ve been saving up our growing, now it’s time that you need us.

Grow on now, grow, push through your bark, just don’t give up now
‘Cause you’re not beaten anymore,
Here we are to help you, let’s reach up for the sky.”
Did they think I’d rot? Did they think I’d give up and die?

Oh, no, not I, I will survive,
I know I can regrow my leaves, photosynthesise again,
I’ve got lots more life to live, I’ve got oxygen to give,
I’ve got will to live, to hope, to love, I will survive!

Hey Hey.’

Greendale Playing Fields, London, SE5

I feel so happy. I’ve found myself a new hangout. It might not be everyone’s idea of a delightful, contemplative and peaceful place to commune with nature; but for me, it’s close to idyllic. A secluded haven, tucked away behind my largest local supermarket.

Bursting through the gravelly asphalt, patches of vegetation are ripe for investigation. Fresh air drifts about, ready and waiting for deep inhalation. Space and time exist in which to think and dream. Birds, rustling leaves and distant football players merge to form a soundscape of nature and community.

Visual shelter on all sides is provided courtesy of overgrown undergrowth, attached to the chain-link fencing of what was once a tennis court. The painted white lines of the court are still faintly visible.

Perhaps it’s the gravelly floor and air of dereliction that make it appear uninviting. Admittedly, the gravel is a little spikey, but nothing a decent pair of trousers can’t handle. As for the air of dereliction – for me it signals the opening of new channels of communication between nature and the man-made constructions, resulting in the two interacting, intertwining, becoming reacquainted. I happily observe and enjoy their progress.

I wonder who else comes here. There must be others who love it in the same way I do. There’s the odd bit of broken glass lying around and one plastic bottle, but also a rusty chair. I wonder who, or what, I will find when I next visit.

I worry too. It’s the sort of place that a proactive council will happily regenerate, having misunderstood, disregarded, or possibly simply failed to notice its unconventional charm. It makes me think about some similar goings on over in the Lower Lee Valley…

Lothian Road, London, SW9

Inside this droopy flower head, Poppy is busy manufacturing a beautiful red flower.

It’s such a tiring business!

Camberwell Church Street, London, SE5

Oh my! What a time to discover a fear of heights!

Does anybody even know how I got here?

Crawford Road, London, SE5

Recently I discovered that there are people who climb up cliffs which are so extremely massive that they have to sleep hanging off the cliff-face in a tent. A terrifying prospect if ever I heard one, and one that requires some seriously specialist equipment.

Yet just around the corner from my home I find this humble snail, performing a similar trick all by itself, having been born fully equipped to tackle such a feat.

This snail has probably travelled up the tree to rest for a while. When its surrounding world is too hot or dry or windy, or if food supplies are low, a snail will often climb up and away from the heat of the earth, seal its entrance, stick itself tight, and enter a kind of dormancy called estivation.

Slime is the key. That white section by which this little snail is attached to its tree is truly amazing stuff. In fact it’s so important that a snail expends nearly one-third of its energy manufacturing it, and it doesn’t just use one blanket recipe for all its slime, but tailors the recipe depending on the occasion.

This snail has used slime to climb the tree. It is currently using slime to stick to the tree and to seal its entrance. It uses slime to keep itself moist on an ongoing basis. At other times in its life it will use slime for courting, mating and egg production, and possibly for healing, depending on any accidents that might befall it.

So, lets imagine a future accident does befall it. One dark night it’s making its way across the pavement, when squish! Disaster! Luckily the offending human was not only not wearing headphones, but possessed a pair of sensitive ears which picked up on the beginnings of a crunch, at which point their foot recoiled, leaving our snail with a cracked shell but untouched insides.

Can a snail survive such a thing?

Amazingly, yes! The slime it produces at such times is packed with antioxidants and other regenerative substances. In fact, for these reasons, snail slime is becoming a popular ingredient in anti-ageing creams.

And now for something more practical. If you happen to experience an event like the one described above, and would like to help the snail you’ve accidentally damaged on its road to recovery, here are some tips on how to go about rescuing it.

Grove Lane, London, SE5

I found this fella chomping happily away today. 
Apparently this railing is a pretty tasty treat, albeit a little bit crunchy.

Camberwell Road, London, SE5

I always glance up at these windows when I pass by, as we almost ended up living behind them. Happily though, the landlord turned out to be rather disagreeable, so we searched further and found a much friendlier home.

I still wonder who might have ended up living there, but I never see any sign of life inside. Instead, on this particular glance, my heart leapt with excitement at the sight of what was making its home on the outside.

How lovely to wake up one morning and find your windowsill has sprouted such statuesque yellow-flowered beauties all of its own accord! I hope there actually is someone living there who can enjoy them up close.

Vernon Road, London, E11

April showers have really made a comeback this year. It’s so incredibly wet. Just when I think, ‘Surely there can’t be any more rain up there’, along comes another glorious downpour.

I find the force and energy of it really exciting, but the resultant cold and wet shoes, socks, trousers etc, not quite so much fun. Luckily I’ve discovered the joyful combo of a large colourful umbrella and a pair of wellington boots.

Inside these items I feel invincible! And much more able to happily experience any cloudburst…the battering noise as raindrops land on my umbrella, the bouncing as they hit puddles and pavement, the changing angle of rainfall as the wind blusters, the freshness in the air, the ability to safely splish-splash through puddles…

…and, last but definitely not least, the discovery of such delightful things as Zebra Tree.

Lowth Road, London, SE5

Ah! Wonderful Spring! My absolute favourite.

As the days get longer and warmer, where there were bare tree trunks and bare branches, now there are beautiful blossoms, fresh green shoots, buds building up to burst with joy; everything full of new life and potential.

And then there are those noisy birds in the mornings…

But oh, how I love listening to them chirping their little hearts out! They make waking up so much more enjoyable. So full of the joys of spring, chatty and excitable, the juvenile males are out there, learning song skills from their fathers.

Bird song development actually proceeds in a similar way to human language development. First off, the young birds listen to the older birds around them singing. They then start producing quiet and very varied vocalisations, akin to baby humans babbling.

During the next stage they get louder and more confident. They practice using their voice to produce sounds; they experiment, listen and refine, rehearse, and eventually learn the particular songs of their species. In most cases, their potential repertoire of sounds is much greater (and their song more varied) during this stage than it is when they mature, because when they mature, their song becomes fixed (crystallised).

In the same way, human infants up to the age of five have the ability and potential to produce a far greater range of sounds than they will have just a few years later – which sounds remain in their repertoire depends on the language(s) they are surrounded by, and thus listen to, learn to vocalise, and communicate with.

As gorgeous and delightful as birdsong sounds to me, it sounds even better to those birds involved. By experimenting with recording bird songs, and then slowing down the playback, researchers have discovered that, for example, when the human ear hears three distinct notes, the bird has actually produced five.

The reason we miss out on these extra ones, is that birds can sing their different notes in such quick succession, that human auditory perception cannot distinguish each separate note as being separate. In fact, some birds can hear up to ten separate notes during the time that we would only be able to distinguish one!

Endwell Road, London, SE4

Time to get out of this rubbish dump, methinks.