Sarah Faulkner shares her account of how we marked the movement from Winter into Spring over a weekend of tree planting in community...
On an unusually bright Friday afternoon at the end of January we make our way from Abergavenny Station to High Cloud Farm in Monmouth, Wales. The lane leading to the farm is narrow, uneven, and flanked on both sides by hedgerows, obscuring our view until we arrive at the farmhouse. High Cloud sits on top of a rise in the rolling landscape, with fields and hedgerows sloping down to a brook on one side, and to a wooded valley on the other. Behind the house, the Black mountains punctuate the horizon.
This weekend, two groups of people will be brought together in this beautiful setting by St Ethelberga’s, the London based Centre for Reconciliation and Peace. Letters to the Earth is one of these groups, represented by a community of writers, theatre-makers and collaborators invited by co-founder Kay Michael as a thank you for their contributions to the project and to mark a threshold for new activity to come. The other group is Numinity, an organisation founded by Melissa Layton on an ethos of transformation through personal healing and collective growth. It is only the second time that Kay and Melissa have met. For most of us we are meeting for the first time, yet we all share the desire to engage directly with nature. We are here to plant hedgerows, a ‘doing’ that offers an opportunity to make connections with nature and with each other, whilst we take care of the land.
The highlight of our first evening together is meeting Dave, the farmer who has agreed to let nineteen people with little to no previous experience plant hedgerows on his 180-acre farm, just over the fence from High Cloud. Dave is a revelation, a Welsh farmer, horse breeder, bee enthusiast, and ex-city worker with strong ancestral ties to Wales and an equally strong commitment to conservation. He is clear about his role, telling us, “I’m very conscious of being the custodian, rather than the owner of the land”. He is, in fact, delighted to see us. Replacing lost hedgerows is high on Dave’s list of priorities, as they create wildlife corridors and provide food and shelter for birds throughout the year. He tells us that our task this weekend is to plant a hedgerow, and trees, that will connect a wooded valley with an ancient pond. For Dave, nature itself is a unique and treasured connection. He tells us the names of the mountains. He brings gifts, the first an extraordinary account of bee adaptation to a parasite, the second a promise of honey to take home. Later, with the help of a short film and some plant identification cards, we prepare to meet the challenges of the next two days. Before bed on that first night, we make our way down to the brook for a silent night walk, each alone with the surrounding landscape. It is the beginning of a connection with the magical character of this place on the weekend of Imbolc, a Celtic festival celebrating the turn of the year away from winter and toward spring.
As we assemble the next morning, the skies are grey and the temperature cool. There is an atmosphere of nervous anticipation as the reality of planting 1000 trees starts to sink in. What were we thinking? What if we mess it up? How cold and dirty are we going to get? As those with more confidence encourage those with less, we have begun our metamorphosis into a mutually supportive group with a shared goal. Dave appears, smiling and enthusiastic. The hours pass, and we find ourselves participants in an extraordinary day of learning, self-organisation, teamwork, sharing and laughter.
We set canes, dig holes, plant hawthorn, wild rose, dogwood, blackthorn, and oak trees. Every plant has a protective cover attached to ward off rabbits and deer. Beyond all expectation a hedgerow is completed, and progress made on another. Dave is astonished, and visibly pleased. With the winter daylight fading, and as we plant our first sentinel oak, we gather for a song, led by Melissa. It is ‘Te Nande’, an expression of love and unity sung by the Yawanawa people in Brazil. Here it feels like an acknowledgement of our growing connection with each other and this place. We don’t know the words or the melody, but everyone joins in. Trudging the short distance back to a hot shower, dinner, and an evening together, there is a tangible sense of achievement, pride, and community. We did it!
This weekend is all about connections. Everywhere you turn there are connections being made between people, between people and the land, the land and nature, nature and people. In the evening a restorative sound bath is led by Melissa, our bodies comfortable on cushions and mattresses and sofas, we are cradled in melody. Later, outside in the dark, the music continues around a fire. People share stories, poetry, songs. There is hawthorn and rose tea. On this night of Imbolc the land holds us in its embrace as we embrace each other.
On Sunday, we walk down to the brook and spend time with the waters, taking away the rubbish we find there, led by impassioned nature guardian Paul Powlesland. We race through the rest of the hedgerow planting and continue until we run out of plants. We finish under the branches of an ancient oak tree, then gather to share an acknowledgement to the land on which we stand, gifting the hedgerow to the future. Dave joins us, and at the end tells us that he has gained more than a hedgerow from the weekend. He brings the promised honey and tells us that in 48 hours, nineteen people arriving from various urban centres of the UK had done something amazing for the land.
In fact, the land did something amazing for us. Before we leave High Cloud, we reflect on the experience of the weekend. For many this is only the start, and plans for the future are already being made. Some have found a new relationship with nature, igniting the confidence to do more, from advocacy to the hands-on tasks of caretaking, repair, and renewal. Simple but powerful actions are celebrated. For those of us involved with Letters to the Earth our time at High Cloud has deepened the meaning of the work:
“Even if we're writing about the climate emergency, we're not actually connected to the climate because we're in offices or we're behind laptops or in rehearsal rooms. So you know, this long outside in winter, this long outside, away from the hustle and bustle, has such a profound effect on your body and your mind and the way you think.”
This was more than just a weekend of hedgerow planting. It was an experience that introduced a spiritual aspect to our relationship with nature, a gratitude for what we have, an acknowledgement of what we have lost, and a deeper understanding of what we stand to lose without a sustained effort to protect and rebuild the natural world before it is too late. New skills were learned, new commitments made, and before we said goodbye, new letters were written.
‘Dear Lady Hawthorn, we probably met many times before. I've most likely scrambled in your spiky branches, cutting my arms and grazing my knees, fetching lost footballs or finding ways to climb new trees. But Lady Hawthorne, this weekend was more than just about Dave and his bees. For me this weekend was about learning of your gentleness, your delicate roots and need for protection. I see now Lady Hawthorne the right, the vital role you play in our landscape, feeding our birds and providing safe passage for small mice who love to dangle and scramble across your delicate arms and leaves. I've learned of your sweet taste in tea and feel grateful for all the things you've taught our community’. Charlie, February 2025.
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