Reflections from Caroline Hukins on her recent creative writing day retreat at Hazel Hill Wood.
‘Words in the Wood’ was something of an experiment both for myself and for Hazel Hill Wood. Would it work to offer creative writing, outside, in November? Would people come? Would they engage? Or would the potential discomfort and cold be a barrier? As a counsellor and therapeutic writing practitioner, I loved
the idea of it, and I wanted to try.
I imagined a crisp, clear autumn day, the warmth of the fire,
the sound of lively chatter… but would it in reality mean fingers too numb to write, a fire un-lightable because of the wet, a group too shivery to enjoy themselves?
In the end, eight brave souls attended, admirably willing to write and share their work together, largely outside, on a brisk November day.
We began with a mindfulness walk with Ruth from Corsham Counselling. Very slow, sensuous, grounding. We focused on breath, movement, and took time to notice our surroundings through all our senses. We observed the rich autumnal shades, the song of a
mistle thrush, wind rustling through leaves, distant sounds of the modern world, the mulching of our own footsteps. We smiled at being gently invited to focus on our sense of smell just as
we passed the composting toilet.
As we slowed, and gave attention to our natural world noticings, we noticed our language changed too. When we all wrote, around the Heartwood fire a few minutes later, our words were more languorous, sensuous; details precisely observed and captured. And our attitudes also slowed. Hurry receded, appreciation advanced.
“I noticed just how many leaves are on the ground. It’s autumn and a mattress is now all around. In my garden, this is bothersome and needs attention. Here it is a blanket, preparing for a winter by covering the ground, warming and feeding the earth.”
(more at Creative Writing in the Woods — Still Waters)
The environment was inspiring. So much rich stimulus was available to us, moving through the forest, or sitting around an open fire in the crisp winter sun. Writing in nature sometimes generated unexpected themes. The wisdom of trees made itself felt for all of us, whether helping to explore grief and loss, or gently shifting perceptions of self. One participant was astonished to find “the tree gave me a poem”. It really did feel as if the words had come from a source outside herself.
My writing prompts were well received, and people found it helpful to have a direction and focus for their writing, though nothing was compulsory or pressured. It was astonishing what could be produced, or discovered, in less than ten minutes. At times deep and reflective, at others, playful and childlike, the writing seemed to take us where we needed to go.
I think we all felt that unique connection with other people that comes from sharing an experience outside the norm. Scribbling rhymes astride a damp log. Dashing for shelter as the rain intensified. Sharing not-quite-fairy-stories under a makeshift shelter around a blazing fire. Surprising ourselves with our own creativity and enjoying the words and the humour of others.
“I just got all my anger out through an overflowing porridge pot!”
So yes, it worked! Admittedly, there were some cold feet, and a read-around that was rather halting due to rain-smudged paper. But it didn’t matter. The stimulation and inspiration from the natural world far outweighed any inconvenience and personal discomfort. As a facilitator, a day of constant weather changes adds another dimension of concern, but the group readily entered into the spirit.
Antonia ran from one location to another, trying to anticipate where
the weather might push us next, keeping fires stoked in all the right places. The quest to find shelter, warmth and inspiration meant a lot of relocating, thinking on my feet, corralling group members out from under canopies and hedgerows… but the drama became part of the magic. And it fuelled our words.
In haiku:
Come to Hazel Hill
The magic is infectious
No matter the weather
When sun emerges
On an autumn afternoon
My heart warms fastest
A satisfying ending (or beginning?)
As we concluded, all the things I’d worried about in the morning were forgotten. The wood, as always, had done its job, and most worries pale to insignificance in this rich environment. As we concluded our final round together, the mood was of new friends, warmth, relief, a rediscovery of, or perhaps reacquaintance with, our creative selves.
“I feel calm. Like I’ve opened a new chapter and given myself time to be me – which is exactly what I came for.”
Photographs by Caroline Hukins