Dave Hughes meets Monica Wilde

David Hughes meets Monica Wilde

It’s a sunny afternoon, late summer, there’s a backing track of birdsong, and I am strolling towards a conversation with another titan of our modern herbology pantheon. This time, the big chief of Napier’s the Herbalist— Monica Wilde. To bring everyone up to speed, Monica is one of the best educators in medicinal plants out there. If there was a scouting movement for herbology, she’d be Pack Leader, her sleeve festooned with achievements. Master of Herbal Medicine badge? Check. Linnean Society Fellow badge? Check. Association of Foragers badge? Check. British Mycological Society badge? Check. Monica knows all the knots, and on the herbology camping trips she’d have her tent built and dinner foraged before most of us would even have our rucksacks off our backs. She also makes the best Kombucha I’ve ever tasted, though she’d be far too modest to admit it.

The setting for this month’s adventure is a meandering path dissecting the vibrant habitats Monica has encouraged in the gardens that surround her home, at Wychmoss in West Lothian. It’s one of the few places left in the central belt of Scotland where the hum of traffic can’t be heard. This was neither my first visit, nor my first successful arrival. It’s one of those locations that Google maps insists is fluid. But now I’m here, and I’m being treated to the guided tour. It’s an experience worth savouring, not least because whenever I've been a pupil of Monica’s I've come away with new knowledge, a new insight. It’s as if she hands you another little piece of the jigsaw every time you see her…

As I say, this wasn't my first visit to Wychmoss. Over a weekend, the previous summer, I and a few of my herbology student peers attended a mushroom cultivation course, led by Monica and the equally brilliant Matthew Rooney. That’s where many of the connections underlying the more esoteric gardening principles began to make sense to me. Obviously, I’d also taken the liberty to have a good rifle around the garden. So, while I had a sense of the place before I arrived, I hadn't quite tapped into the essence, nor the scope of what Monica is in the process of achieving here.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the fluffy seed heads of Rosebay Willowherb (Chamaenerion angustifolium) float by on the breeze, dancing their way past the quaking Aspen (Populus tremula) and Cherry trees (Prunus avium). As we walk the four acres, Monica talks me through the process of refining this previously quarried land, explaining how it’s been repurposed and encouraged to form the variety of microhabitats that comprise classic heathland. In creating this haven, space has been made for plants that wouldn't otherwise grow here; Eyebright (Euphrasia officinalis), Mouse-ear Hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum). They’re brought by animals, carried in on the wind, and granted permission here.

There’s low-key endeavour in the creation of this place. It’s hand-tooled and handcrafted and, while this may result in many a blistered finger, there’s a method in play when approaching a garden in this manner; one that vastly improves diversity. Monica jokes: The first year we cut this with a scythe... great for the waist action! But, there’s a reason. When you cut with a scythe, you’re not mashing the plants up as you would with a strimmer. Using the scythe allows the weaker plants and the wildflowers to come through, and

eventually out-compete the Hogweed, Docks and Nettles that you would usually see taking up residences

This kind of clever cultivation is evident right across the garden, although some wouldn’t even notice it is cultivated at all. As Monica says, it’s certainly not formal. You have to take opportunities to create new habitats when they arise; the aftermath of a felled tree, for example, can provide all the resources necessary for an excellent crop of fungi to flourish— if you inoculate the resulting timber pile soon enough. Might be this year, might be next…

Wychmoss is definitely a place where a longerterm vision is just starting to be realised. Yet there's a pervading sense of longevity here. Nothing seems rushed. I suspect one of the reasons is that Monica’s whole approach entails her observations of plants interacting with their landscape, and each other, over a decent span of time: When you’re in one place for a long time, you’ve the benefit of moving at the pace of the plants and the fungi. We cross a stream, round a bend, and see a flush of Watercress (Nasturtium officinale) cascading down a bank. Again, this is a reward of subtle and considered landscaping: I redirected the stream and shaped it, so when it goes around this corner it stays damp. The Mint and Watercress make their way onto the land, but the snails and beasties stay down in the water. Another habitat for plants that fill a particular ecological niche. Monica operates an opendoor policy, inviting plants to come, to take up residence, to make themselves heard. It’s a collection that curates itself: We don’t discriminate between weeds and non-weeds. Even some invasive species are proving to be the medicines we need today. Rabbits, however, are an entirely different matter. I am encouraged to close a gate behind me. The garden also plays host to experiments that service simple curiosity. I’m shown the recently constructed ‘mushroom lasagne bed’, composed of layered horse manure, wood chippings and cardboard inoculated with a mix of mycelia. Here, the Giant Puffball (Calvatia gigantea), Honey Fungus (Armillaria mellea) and King Stropharia (Stropharia rugosoannulata) will fight it out underground, until the champions reveal themselves in autumn.

Taking shape at Wychmoss is a representation of the marginal space between civilisation and wilderness. Here is a collection of useful plants that continue to draw humans searching for food and medicine. Here, also, is a space that respects time, remembers commitment and, in so doing, opens us to understanding how plants are trying to communicate. A dawning moment for me was that plant chemistry is not what I thought it was. It isn't so much a science as a language, and if you’re being semantic about it ‘biosemiosis’ is probably a better descriptor. It's a language of signals, based on the belief that plants have a sentience, or are conscious enough to communicate. The question of plant sentience is hotly debated in scientific communities, and a new focus in the field of plant biology. The aim is to understand how plants process and use information from their surroundings to develop, prosper and reproduce optimally. It's referred to as ‘plant neurobiology’, but some favour ‘plant cognitive ecology’. To date, research suggests that plants have a biological response mechanism of over 3000 chemicals, which they can use to signal, communicate, and respond to stimuli within their surroundings. These systems include longdistance electrical signalling, hormonal response to environmental factors, and even mechanisms to initiate and communicate symbiotically with bacteria, fungi and neighbouring plants. Assuming plants are trying to communicate with us begs the question of how we tap into that and understand them. According to Monica: It’s up to us to reclaim our ability to communicate with plants.

By creating a living habitat that can interact with itself, Monica is offering a platform to plants. But it doesn't stop there. Communication is a two-way street, and there’s a level beyond simply noticing the plants around us. It would be coy of me to not discuss it simply because it plunges us headlong into the esoteric. If plants are doing their best to communicate with us right now, how do we make ourselves more receptive to them? By developing insight through meditation.

As a keen meditator, I relish any opportunity to explore the subject of inner space— particularly with someone as wise as Monica Wilde. I’d learned from her essays that her meditation practice had influenced her work with medicinal plants, and I was keen to pick her brains. What I was told is one of the most succinct and useful descriptions of the benefits of meditation I’ve ever heard. So, other than imploring you to undertake any tutelage that Monica Wilde offers, I’ll leave you to contemplate her wisdom: If you don’t take the time to meditate, you’re liable to become a victim of your own prejudice. We tend to be lazy; we learn things and then get into ruts about the way we think. It’s not deliberate laziness. From a neurological point of view, as we learn the brain tends to put information in ruts or traps— so we can recall them quicker. For instance, if you're learning the piano it's a really slow process. You have to practice, because the signal has to work out the path from the brain all the way down the arm, through the hand, down through the fingers, to the feel or touch of the key, and then relay that message back. But eventually, with enough repetition, it wears a groove and you can play. It’s much like the groove that something like shingles will cause in your body. When shingles bursts through for the first time it creates a motorway through the nervous system, herpes does the same thing with a cold sore. This is why they always occur in the same place; the virus tunnels, and bridges gaps, and carves paths that can be used again. In some ways, the mind is the same. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but by meditating and emptying the mind you become more receptive to new ways of thinking— and that is what keeps you able not to receive more knowledge, but to gain more wisdom. We live in an age of knowledge, but very little wisdom. You can go back to the philosophy of Lao Tzu, and he says: to gain knowledge you have to add, but to gain wisdom you have to subtract. And one of the things we don’t spend much time on is discernment. We used to be taught about the gift of discernment, and we were taught to weigh up information and make decisions. But more and more nowadays, we live in a world where there is a flood of information and many of us lack the ability to discriminate between good knowledge and superfluous chatter. Only by emptying your mind, creating the space, and being still can you really start to perceive some of the subtleties and the innate wisdoms of non-human organisms.

‘Til next time, kids… Image: Monica Wilde

The Grand Winter Raffle

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Roll up! Roll up! Buy a £5 raffle ticket and you could win one of these amazing prizes:

• A 50cl bottle of hand-crafted, small batch Secret Garden Christmas Gin (Cinnamon, Ginger and Cardamom) from The Old Curiosity • A hamper of Herbal Teas from Herbal Heritage • Either a fun hour of 1:1 Voice and Musical Exploration OR your own Online, At-Home Concert from Caro Overy • A copy of The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry (Penguin, 2018) from StAnza poetry • A copy of the Tales of the Taibhsear CD from Botanica Fabula • A gift basket of Organic Lavender Felted Soap, on a Hemu Wood Soap Dish, with a Lavender Shampoo Bar from Pins and Pumpkins • Fungi: An unframed A3 print on 170gsm recycled paper by Maddy Mould •Atropa belladona: An unframed A3 print on 170gsm recycled paper by Maddy Mould • Instruction for a Home-Made Lavender-Rose Heart-Compress from Dora Wagner • An in-person or virtual Guided Forest Walk with Nathalie Moriarty • A 50gm Skein of Handspun Portland Yarn, dyed with Dock Seeds. Rose beige colour from Elizabeth Oliver • A set of Maltese tile design Fridge Magnets from Ella Leith • A box of 8 Hand-Made Chocolate Truffles from Moon Time Chocolates • A 280g bottle of Sea Buckthorn Pink Bath Salts from Napiers the Herbalists • A Weleda Skin Food Gift Tin, including the multi award winning Skin Food, 100% organic cotton gift flannel and instructions for a glorious facial from Ann King •A Herbs of Scotland Poster, designed and drawn by Sandra Nussbaum, from Grass Roots Remedies • A Wild Bear’s Medicine Field Pharmacy 1:1 with Catherine Conway-Payne • A Set of 6 Greetings Cards, of the pieces featured in this issue, from Marianne Hazlewood • A Trio of Mint and Rosemary Handwash, Hand Lotion and Hand Sanitiser from A.S. Apothecary

Endings and Beginnings Nathalie Moriarty

A small gust of wind moves through the stand of Beech trees and a glitter of yellow, orange and brown gently falls to the ground. Another light breeze and some sparkling leaves seem to defy gravity, moving gently upwards and into the canopy of a much larger Sycamore. As I set my foot on the autumnal carpet, the leaves crunch and I feel such joy and delight, even with the cold air snapping at my cheeks. My gaze is drawn to the leaves on the ground; I see crystals of ice formed along their veins, each leaf a differently-coloured canvas. Amongst the Beech and Sycamore leaves, I see the spiky seed capsules, and thousands of tiny helicopters. As a child Sycamore keys fascinated me. My dad, who was a tall guy, would drop them from a height and I would delight in trying to catch all the little helicopters that whirled around me. Autumn was undoubtedly my favourite season. Pushing through leaf drifts as high as my waist and hearing the thousands of soft rustles the dry leaves made against each other. When a gust of wind ripped through the forest, I could hear the crowns groaning as they bent forwards and backwards together, resisting its force and, inevitably, after the wind passed, a whole array of colours would come dancing through the sky. I would be waiting for them, trying to calculate the infinite impossibilities of where the leaves might make contact with the ground. Trying to be there first, I’d jump up and catch them before they fell; moving my body quickly and concentrating intensely. It was my favourite game of the season and an activity that would fit well into an autumnal Forest Bathing session for the more active among us.

Forest Bathing is about immersing all our senses in the natural environment. It helps slow our minds and focus on the present. It also adapts well to different outdoor activities, and to different ages or abilities. The key to the activity is that it should enable you to notice details in the natural environment around you. You should be surrounded by trees, although it is not entirely necessary that these trees are in a forest. Studies on tree phytoncides have shown that those which have the greatest effect on our immune system are released by coniferous trees, particularly during warm summer days. Whilst this immune response to phytoncides may be much reduced on cold days, there are still benefits in paying attention to the patterns in nature, and to slowing down for meditative activities. Taylor (2016) has shown that viewing the fractal patterns in nature can reduce our stress levels by up to 60%. Furthermore, practising mindfulness in forest environments can improve our levels of calm and help us cope with symptoms of stress and anxiety (Li, 2018).

Pondering my own moments of calm and inner stillness in nature, as well as the turning of the seasonal wheel, I recall my family’s ritual visit to the cemetery on the 1st November. It was a very large, forested cemetery in Germany. It’ s a family tradition that allows me to reflect on the circle of life as it turns and, in a strange way, this reflection on the past can bring me peace. In honour of this family tradition, and to satisfy my never-ending urge to explore, I set off on my bicycle in search of inspiration. I found possibly one of the most peaceful and wooded cemeteries I have seen since my Glasgow lockdown explorations began. This is an old cemetery, left for so long that the trees have asserted their place among the tombstones, and it is hard to see who was there first. Trees can not only utterly transform a place, but also bestow a very special feeling that some may describe as magic. You feel that you are not alone, surrounded by these giant, sentient beings whose language you will never understand. And then there is something else— the wind as it gently moves through the branches, the dappled sunlight as it filters through the trees. It’s hard to name, or know what it is, but the feeling is overwhelming and powerful. Maybe it is something more, or maybe this is just the feeling of being fully absorbed in nature. If you have not yet had the time to experience it, then a bright sunny winter’s day is a brilliant time of year to do so. The feeling is, of course, heightened when you settle down in a cemetery, surrounded by old trees and old souls.

Dr Qing Li, the founder of Forest Bathing, calls this feeling our sixth sense— our ability to connect and commune with nature. While slowly wandering around this cemetery I felt utterly absorbed in its atmosphere, slowing down to observe which plants grew where. Was there any foraging to be had? It was the very last week of September, and the Brambles (Rubus fruticosus) grew over the tombstones. Here and there, bright orange Fox-and-Cubs (Pilosella aurantiaca) poked up from the old graves, and the low dappled sunshine made it feel very serene. It was the perfect place to sit, close my eyes, and focus on my senses. I tried some circular breathing techniques to help me to come into the space. Focussing on your breath, you count as you breathe in and out, trying to make the count for breathing out longer than the count for breathing in. Once my breathing had calmed my body, I was able to stop thinking about my breath, and focus on my senses: how the breeze felt as it passed over my skin; the sounds it made in the trees; the birdsong; the feeling of sunlight on my skin. If I felt my mind drifting, I would just switch to another sense. You can incorporate some grounding techniques into this as well— focussing on how you are meeting the ground, or reaching out to touch it with your hands. Imagine yourself anchoring into the ground, like the trees around you, with imaginary roots. To come out of the grounding, remember to retract your roots, and take within you the energy of the earth and trees.

As I reflect on the end of that strange summer of 2020, and the darkening of the coming season, I remind myself of my childhood love for this crisp time of year. I am grateful that 2020 has allowed me to slow down and spend time reflecting in nature. In the coming darkness, it will be more important than ever to soak up daylight when it’s there, and I hope that everyone will have some time to engage with their own traditions and to connect with the souls of the past, in one way or another. References Li, Qing, 2018. Into the Forest – How Trees Can Help You Find Health and Happiness. Penguin: UK. Taylor, R. (2016). ‘Fractals in Psychology and Art’, Research Group Blog, University of Oregon. Available at https://blogs.uoregon.edu/richardtaylor/2016/ 02/03/human-physiological-responses-tofractals-in-nature-and-art/ Images: Nathalie Moriarty

Your Attention, Please… Nathalie Moriarty

We often forget that we are a part of Nature, Nature is not something separate from of us. So, when we say we have lost our connection to nature, We have lost our connection to ourselves.

Andy Goldsworthy, in The Art of Forest Bathing, 2020.

Forest Bathing, or Shinrin-Yoku, is a mindful nature-connection practice, developed in Japan in the 1980s. It can be described as an immersive forest walk for relaxation, in which all senses are used to take in the forest environment. My own interest in Forest Bathing has gained momentum over the past few years, particularly through Branching Out— Scottish Forestry’s 12-week nature-on-prescription programme for people with moderate to severe and enduring mental health conditions. My involvement has particularly focussed on Glasgow’s refugee and asylum-seeking community, amongst whom debilitating PTSD, anxiety, and depression are the most common diagnoses. Although there is ample data out there, telling us that nature is good for people who struggle with their mental health, there is no better way to understand this than to see it in practice. I’ve seen many examples of people turning their lives around as a direct result of being supported by our programme. People often returned to their next session with more enthusiasm and a more positive outlook. They report being able to sleep better, feeling less anxious, losing weight, becoming fitter, and making friends. New friendships are often described as new family, particularly by those who have lost family members or had to leave family behind when fleeing violence in conflict zones. Two of the underlying theories that can explain why the natural environment is so beneficial in restoring stressed human systems are Attention Restoration Theory, and fractals in nature.

Attention Restoration Theory, developed by Kaplan and Kaplan (1989), posits that directed (focused) attention can only be sustained for a limited time, after which attention fatigue sets in. The theory describes how this attention fatigue can be overcome through the restorative effect of the natural environment. This involves a four-step cognitive process. The first of these— similar to the practice of mindfulness —is to clear the head, letting thoughts pass through without paying attention to them. The second stage is mental fatigue recovery. The third is engaging in low level stimulation activity, and the final stage is reflection. Attention Restoration Theory states that these processes can be carried out in natural environments, which allow the participant:  To be away from their usual thoughts and processes, by being physically present in another location.  To experience soft fascination; that is to pay attention to something without effort, something that can consume and fascinate— such as a beautiful landscape. Or, alternatively, to experience a low-level stimulating activity that allows reflection and introspection— like walking.  To feel comfortable and safe in the environment. The space should be relatively familiar, holding no unexpected features that might confuse or make one feel out of place.  To experience a sense of enjoyment at being in such a place. Intrinsic personal preference should determine the choice of location as, just like engaging in a familiar activity, this increases the sense of enjoyment. (Kaplan and Kaplan 1989; Ackerman 2018).

Fractals, first described in 1975, by the mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, go some way to explaining why a natural setting is more relaxing than an urban environment. The mathematical law of fractals demonstrates that nature is, in fact, composed of repeating patterns. These fractal patterns are seen in leaf veins, the ordering of size in the branches of trees, the shapes of ferns, or the swirls of pinecones. The key to a fractal is that the same pattern is repeated throughout the scale of the object, right down to the molecular level. Fractals are very rarely found in man-made environments, which are dominated by angular straight lines, although they have been applied to computer design where, for instance, mountain chains can be ‘built’ using a repeat of the same triangle at different scale. It is known that we use tracking eye movements and short fixation periods as our eyes trace across a scene. Studies carried out comparing natural scenes with high fractal density, and urban scenes with low fractal density, reveal far fewer fixation periods when viewing natural scenes (Hagerhall, Purcell & Taylor, 2004; Marek, Petružálek & Šefara, 2019). Fewer periods of fixation indicate less effort in the processing of visual information. As a consequence of this reduced effort, our brains are more able to relax. The hypothesis is that we evolved viewing fractal patterns in natural settings, and our current lack of exposure contributes to an imbalance in our cognitive processing (Williams, 2017). As I continue my training as a Forest Therapy Guide, I look forward to learning more and to sharing insights from this exciting and emerging field.

References and useful resources: Ackerman, C. E. (2018) ‘What is Kaplan’s Attention Restoration Theory?’, online at https://positivepsychology.com/attentionrestoration-theory. Accessed 07.02.20 Forest Therapy Institute (2020) The Art of Forest Bathing: A Handbook for the Forest Bathing Guide. The Forest Therapy Institute: 6th Edition Hagerhall, C.M.; Taylor, R. & Purcell, T. (2004) ‘Fractal Dimension of Landscape Silhouette Outlines as a Predictor of Landscape Preference’, in Journal of Environmental Psychology, 24:247-255 Kaplan, R. & Kaplan, S. (1989) The Experience of Nature: A Psychological Perspective. Cambridge University Press, New York Marek, F.; Petružálek, J. & Šefara, D. (2019) ‘Eye movements in viewing urban images and natural images in diverse vegetation periods’ , in Urban Forestry & Urban Greening, 46: 126477 Williams, F. (2017) The Nature Fix. Norton & Company, New York

For more information on Forest Bathing in Europe: www.europeanforesttherapyinstitute.com Images: Nathalie Moriarty