‘You’ll never guess what I’ve just seen?’ My husband came rushing into the room upon his return from walking our dogs, ‘Someone has decorated all the trees in the car park!’ Last Saturday was a lovely day with clear winter-blue skies and blinding-bright sunshine, so I decided to take a walk down to the Canolfan at the bottom of the hill and go and have a look for myself.
The winter sun lit up the dozens of balls and decorations which had been daintily dangled from each branch-tip low enough to reach with a small ladder, or wound around the trunks of the trees which grow across the middle of the car park. It utterly transformed a rather grey and utilitarian space into something festive and magical. I could hardly believe my eyes! I wandered around from tree to tree – at least seven were bedecked, as were some of the lower shrubs and bushes. The sheer random unexpectedness of it all makes it doubly special – I simply stared, grinning… then got out my camera… then began to gather the rubbish.
Wind is often responsible for redistributing old empty wrappers and plastic bottles – but the human inhabitants must also take some responsibility too – some of the items I pulled out had been forcibly and securely stuffed down between stems where they couldn’t possibly have got to themselves. It is a habit of mine to pick up litter whenever I am out . So, what is it to me?
Well, in this particular instance, this council car park is a part of my village and the space I live in, the space I call ‘home’. Some dear soul(s) had elected to take it upon themselves to decorate this space and make something joyful of it. I deeply appreciate that. The least I could do was to tidy it up of all the rubbish. In the end, my husband had to bring some black bags to stuff it all into.
The whole decorating of trees in the depths of Midwinter possibly stems from customs and rituals to do with the sacrifice of animals and and the adornment of trees with steaming entrails for the benefit of the woodland deities and starving wildlife in harsh weather conditions. It reaches back into the dim mists of our human prehistory. The observation of activities similar to those long-ago actions brings us deep ancestral satisfaction and a sense of rightness.
This whole uplifting and inspiring experience reminded me of an incident which occurred around twelve years ago (documented in my first book, ‘Merry Midwinter’). My son, then in his early twenties, was stayinging at my childhood home, the cottage of Drybones in Lancashire. It was mid December and he had taken his dog out for his morning walk. On the way across a fallow field which was rapidly re-colonising with birch and oak saplings, he suddenly spotted a wispy little tree covered in sparkly baubles and garlands. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes and thought that it must be the result of something he had eaten! Unusually, he had gone out without his phone, so he hotfooted it back across the fields and through the woods to retrieve it – he felt that if he didn’t have photographic evidence no one would ever believe him.
The sun was so bright that these siver decorations don’t show up very well, but they are very pretty.
Just as he got back to the tree, a lady appeared carrying a bag and proceeded to begin hanging more baubles. As she and my son got talking, she told him that, choosing a different tree every year, it was something which had become one of her own festive traditions. When asked why she did it, she replied that it was a seasonal surprise to cheer other walkers on their way. Amazed that something so delicate and vulnerable should be left unattended and survive in an area where vandalism and thoughtlessness was in daily evidence, the woman commented that she had never noticed any loss or damage to the trees.
The memories of our ancient rituals and traditions run extremely deep and cannot be denied.
Nor can the heart warming effects of spontaneous actions and selfless service to one’s community.
Happy decorating!
