stitching together a sojourn
unpacking the weight of what i carry
dear sojourners,
the scent beckons long before the dazzle of lemon-yellow blooms greet you on the path. flashing back to my youth, it is as if i’m amid a squall of preteen girls pulling out tutti-frutti lip gloss wands all at once, readying to shine their lips…overpowering once it surrounds you and yet you can’t help but be caught up in the enthusiasm and cheerfulness. Gorse’s scent has been likened to Vanilla and Coconut and perfumes the Scottish spring countryside with the same subtleness as the rollicking Skylarks and Chaffinches seeking mates flitting about the fields.
i look upward, anticipating hillwalking. the brilliant yellow i’ll be navigating on the trail is muted from a distance. the embroidered works, many of them of English countrysides, of my grandmother and mother come to mind. delicate stitching in an array of colors mimicking seasons and places, some visited. the far off blooms i see look like there had been an abundance of saffron skeins in the bargain bins at the craft shop. the embroiderer, in their enthusiasm, had decided on French Knots as the stitch to best reflect the texture of flowering Gorse against the subdued browns of yet-to-come-into-their-own-glory Heather, the variable greens of the fields, and to compliment the cream, ivory and black of Sheep and Lambs. it is a Landscape that quickens my heart with anticipatory joy. soon i’ll be meandering on “the way.’
and yet, a month after those first glances i struggle to find words to make sense of what happened between anticipation and what transpired between my internal Landscape and the one i longed to engage with. this post is an attempt. words stammer on the rough draft. i close the draft in frustration over the past week. “not ready,” part of me says. “but sharing a struggle is what you do,” says another. “don’t over analyze. just post something…it will be a start.”
so, a start: St Cuthbert’s Way was my third walk in the UK in six years (2019 and 2022 being the first two.) a path may have a beginning and an endpoint, but how i’ll navigate the path, well, that is a mystery. i am not an experienced hillwalker. sure, i walk a lot at home in the Pacific NW of the USA, but it is not the same experience as walking in England. Scotland. Wales. these paths are open access and for the public to wander as long as one respects the land owner—closing gates and not interfering with livestock (i show great restraint in not cuddling all the Lambs.) paths are sometimes rocky or narrow, usually uneven, weave between clumps of Grass and Heather, Gorse, over small Streams, cross roads and wander into small villages. occasionally you may need to cross a major road and dash for you life! castles, graveyards and their accompanying churches, stone walls, and even a standing stone might be in the offing as well as historic sights. St Cuthbert’s is “officially” 63 miles and is part of The Scottish Borders region, starting in Scotland and ending in England.
prepare as i might, lessons from previous walks (toe socks eliminate blisters!, gaiters help with mud) brought forward, there are always lessons i seem to need to, uh, fine tune with each visit. and one is the weight of what i carry…what i carry, a theme i am “carrying” into this year.
i started the walk april 25th with a friend, planning to complete the allotted 63 miles in six days (which we did.) the incident that hovered over my walk (and the rest of my time away) came that first day. a minor slip and fall on scree early on. a shifting of weight in my already heavy pack. my own inexperience—not having the wherewithal to stop and correct my load and adjust my straps. a few hours into a 15-mile day noticing increasing pain in my left knee and a feeling of “listing to the left.”
“june,” i finally called out to my friend, “something is off.” patiently she assesses the mess of me. corrects my pack. but the hours’ long strain on the left side of my body—it has taken a toll. the slip. the off-weight pack (“why do i carry so much?” i feel shame start to well up inside.) by the end of the day, each step is not the delightful engagement with the Land i had planned, but a painful step-by-step endurance. reaching our day’s end point is my only goal.
this self-guided walking holiday is organized by Northwest Walks. our accommodations are set ahead of time and our our luggage transported between stops. our “responsibility” is to follow the marked path, carrying our day-packs (or in my case, a pack readied for a global emergency???) and take in the beauty of our surroundings, noticing historical markers, (this was, after all St. Cuthbert’s Way. (for a nice summary of the walk, i will send you over to The Long Ways post, Who is Cuddy? 7 Days on St. Cuthbert’s Way, by Mike, who we traveled with for a day and shared some great meals and conversation on the path. Mike, BTW, does some very interesting work in the world, so dig a little deeper and see what mischief he gets into, if you are so inclined.)
at home and when i visit any Land, my desire is to listen to what that Land may wish to share with me. what stories the Beings of that Land may offer. breathe. place my feet on Land. pay attention. listen with my whole body. i’ve written several posts about the wisdom of other Beings and my heartache at our human species seeming unwillingness to pause and listen. to look less for answers to what ails our world and simply sitting with the questions with thoughtfulness and letting go of language. to allow for the uncomfortableness of being in the interstitial spaces. (okay, i just wrote these last sentences via intuition…so am going to let it be and trust it.)
why do i keep going back to the UK and Ireland? it is my personal heritage. both my parents were English. on a cellular level it feels like home and a place of connections. my prior two visits i felt times of deep connection with Land and the Beings of Place. for several years now i’ve been exploring belonging, longing, and home…but that is another post.
as the pain on the left side of my body throbbed throughout the rest of the walk and was compounded by a growing pain in my right foot (compensation due to shifting weight to that side of my body), i found it difficult to listen deeply, or even superficially. yes, i took time to stop (i had to literally stop so i wouldn’t trip and hurt myself further!) and take in the beauty of Land. the symphony of Birdsong. calm trill of Stream and River. we had the most glorious weather. i have never been to England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland or Ireland when i didn’t get doused in torrential rain, so this was an unexpected delight. and there was the Gorse, always fragrant. always bright. cheering me on (though, also a warning to be careful, for it is a spiky plant.)
was there an option to not “complete” the walk? i didn’t consider it. i would get up in the morning, wrap my knees, pop pain relievers, and plod along, hoping for a better day. did i not want to disappoint my friend? myself? what did i think i would miss out on? these questions whirl around as i settle back home. what beliefs do i have around “just keep going, no matter what.”? and what about shame? at my third time around, “shouldn’t” i have already gotten this sorted? ah shame, such a lovely companion. and there is Grief stirring too.
i’d like to say i didn’t have expectations for the walk or the larger sojourn i was on…but i would be lying to myself and you. i “expected” this walk to be easier than the previous two. it really didn’t look that challenging. the Cheviot Hills may not be the Cascade Range of my homeland with peaked mountains, but, my the wind did blow and they have their own way of asking a person to test their metal and i was shown otherwise. hubris alongside shame. oof.
it wasn’t all discomfort. beside Lambs and Gorse, my friend and i met some kind and generous folks. other walkers on the path and locals. besides being with the Land and the Beings of place, that is one reason i keep coming back, to meet people and hear their stories. to expand my world.
i never did find a rhythm during my time away (three weeks total.) even prior to my leaving there was some unease that i pushed aside. i was trying something new with not planning my last two and half weeks! i was going to explore my “wildness.” and this i do not regret (it actually made it easier to pack up early and come home.)
perhaps my unease reflects these unsettled times. likely reflects these unsettled times. the static. the loss of deep connection with the Land i usually find. that my injury made me keenly aware of my own vulnerability. i know that i did have options that others don’t (those being uprooted from their homes, those in war zones, an extensive list) like rearranging my flight home knowing i had a home to come home to.
so this is not a post about feeling sorry for myself, which i don’t. i am sorting the mirco of my experience and seeing how, maybe, it might expand into something larger. or maybe not. maybe it stands alone in my own life. i am still feeling unsettled…
home now two weeks, i watch the birds, the Juncos, Song Sparrows, House Finches, argue over bathing times for my birdbath. yesterday i witnessed the male Finch attempt to woo the female, red breast feathers jutting out as he would leap over her. she looked unimpressed, but after a minute or so, they did fly off together. it is these small noticings i appreciate and honor. help ease my unease that as my body heals, there can be healing beyond my small microscopic view.
and, this is important: as i read back through my journal from when i was away the common thread was gratitude. grateful for how my body did hang in there. for my walking companion who was caring and patient. for my cousin and her husband (where i stayed after my walk and had some recuperation time) who generously cared for me. for the lemonade i was able to make out my lemons from visiting museums and a deeper dive into the history of place (that was interesting and yes to another post as this one is focused on the walk,) for the wisdom to finally realize i didn’t need to “tough it out” and the permission i gave myself to come home a week early.
so unease, unsettled, reflecting on internal beliefs, grief, shame, appreciating the beauty i witnessed and the gratitude i have alongside the pain i felt…was this the sojourn i desired? no. but then, the world is in flux. it is what i’ve been writing about for a while now. may i take this experience and expand my compassion for others, human and non-human beings.
for your reflection:
have you ever been on a journey, excursion, trip and had it go sideways? how did you cope? what did you take away from the experience?
how do you engage with the Land and Beings where you live? where you visit? is this a new concept for you? what stirs your curiosity about where you live and where you visit?
it has been way too long since i posted. i came home and promptly got sick—airplane/airport germs. rearranging my flight meant i was traveling about 30 hours with long layovers! i hope to get back on track with more timely posts. though i journal almost daily, it helps me to put my words out here, even if only a few folks read them.
anyway, i hope you are taking the gentlest care of your hearts. and i will do the same with mine.
in gratitude, anne
bonus photos of sheep, lambs, and cows just because i LOVE them!
Your story takes me back to the trail! It was such a pleasure to spend a few days with you and June on Cuddy’s Way! I especially liked the dinners we shared and the intense hilltop winds! I hope our paths cross again! 🥾🥾
Beautiful and delightfully soulful as always. Thank you.