Walking Creatively: ‘Living in the wilderness, experiencing the
elements and exploring a sense of the spirit’ 27th-31st August 2009,
Wensleydale, in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales.
Staying in Marsett Barn for four nights in late summer seemed to more than
live up to the subtitle of the holiday – the barn is situated five minutes walk
from the hamlet of Marsett in the wilderness of Raydale. During the day we
heard the cry of the curlew and at night the roar of the wind and the vast
landscape gave me the space to restore my spirit, having journeyed from
London. Ten participants attended the holiday, five staying in the barn, two
camping in the pasture just outside and three retiring to the relative civilisation
of Askrigg for the nights.
The days followed roughly the same pattern - mornings spent exploring the
dale and the hills and connecting with the themes of earth, water and air –
activities included: shaping a clay ball in the palm of the hand while walking,
drawing the journey of water as it plunged down a waterfall and making a
series of sketches while looking back as we climbed up out of the valley floor.
Afternoons were free for us to allow our bodies and minds to do what they
needed to do (and time to look for kindling wood!). The evenings were spent
looking at the flames of the wood fire, taking part in gentle creative activities
and sharing stories. Staying in this simple, rustic yet homely barn seemed to
work some magic on our spirits – the combination of good, warm company,
making art in silence, eating delicious food and sharing and marking the
meandering of our inner worlds by gaslight felt like a cleansing, purifying
balm.
Here are some responses from the participants:
‘inclusive spirituality’, ‘encouragement to push myself’, ‘a time of informality
and honesty’, ‘gentle and firm leadership’, ‘supportive atmosphere’ and
‘organic adaptability’.
It was a great pleasure to be involved in a residential retreat – our first ASN
residential for many years. Many thanks my fellow travellers who were so
wonderfully open to being creative, supportive of each other and to the wild
call of the landscape. Also a big thank you goes to my co-leader Judy
Bromley Nicholls.
John Harley
At Stalling Busk church we spotted the watchful faces of five baby swallows
peeping out of their nest- surveying us and the landscape; the nest neatly
constructed under the overhang of the roof. That evening we sat in the half
light of the barn and wrote some stories. Maggie wrote this story:
Trust and Fly
The mother swallow built her nest in the porch of an old church. Day after day
she laboured with her mate using her own saliva to shape the mud into a cup
to hold her babies.
From her position atop one of the graves, the stone angel watched. Because
the angel had been made with such love and care she was magic. On
midsummer’s eve every year the angel came to life for 1 minute. She came
alive and took on the appearance of a beautiful, flame-haired woman with
wings. This was the only chance she had to fly all year, this one precious
minute.
After the baby swallows hatched, the angel loved watching the parent birds fly
in acrobatically to feed their young. Sometimes they landed briefly on the
nest, as they paused to pop an insect into a tiny beak, sometimes they slowed
their flight and just seemed to hang in the air momentarily as they filled the
tiny beaks. The stone angel loved the swallows and felt very protective of
them.
On midsummer’s eve there was a spectacular red sunset. The sun sank over
the horizon like a gigantic golden ball. The angel could hardly wait. In a few
short hours the church clock would strike midnight and she would fly. But this
particular midsummer’s eve something very strange happened. There was a
birthday party with fireworks in the garden of the house next to the church,
and one of the fireworks had thrown a spark which landed in the thatched roof
of the little church. The weather had been very hot and dry and the thatch
began to smoulder, until the spark grew into a small flame. This grew larger
and smoke began to encircle the tiny swallows’ nest as the fire burnt faster.
But none of the people at the party noticed what was happening.
The stone angel felt her stone heart quiver as she feared for the life of the tiny
swallows. The angel held her hands always in the prayer position. She
prayed that the baby swallows would not be hurt. She trusted that God would
somehow answer her prayer. The parent birds were getting frantic. Surely
the humans would notice very soon, before it was too late. Just then the
church clock struck 12 and the angel felt her stone body melt into movement.
She flew through the smoke to the nest and swiftly lifted the 5 babies out in
her hands. She flew them to the vacated swallows’ nest, made last summer,
in the neighbouring house just under the eaves, and placed them carefully
inside.
She flew back towards the grave – the one she blessed by standing over it but she didn’t quite make it in time. Some people spotted the fire and called
the fire brigade, who came and quickly doused the flames with water. The
thatch was damaged but the inside of the little church was intact. But the
church gardener could never understand how the stone angel had moved 2
graves along, and was covered in soot. Also he kept imagining that the angel
had a slight smile on her face which hadn’t been there before. But that
couldn’t be, could it? The baby swallows grew happily in their new nest, and
flew to South Africa that autumn. And that was their second big adventure.
Maggie Freake
August 2009