Rewild & Slow
Day 20: Sarah Layton
What is wellbeing anyway?
It’s a grey day outside and I wake feeling as though I really don’t want to get out of bed.
I stay for a while - it’s Friday and I’ve got no actual going out commitments or plans today. But I know that I can’t feel good for long staying in bed when I’m not asleep - especially in the morning.
So, somewhat reluctantly, I get up and go downstairs where I have a lovely reunion with Milly - she stretches luxuriously in her basket and turns slowly exposing her long tummy. 'Tickle please,’ she says. I tickle and stroke and a sense of wellbeing - that word - washes through me. What is that feeling? For me it’s spacious and warm, happy and relaxed. And just now it came as I stroked my dog. I pick her up and quite quickly she climbs my shoulder and looks through the window - it’s time for the garden.
So we wander out. It’s cold and a bit foggy. I’m not wearing a coat. And yet it feels nice - a relief after being inside. To the un-knowing eye there isn’t much to look at out here - it is late January after all. But I know and set off to enjoy, after popping back inside to pick up my camera.
By the stream I find the snowdrops I knew were waiting for me. They’ve grown - in the last week - from tiny little tight white buds to these lovely open flowers. I love snowdrops with their dainty faces. I gently lift one towards me, then another. They are so modest, snowdrops, that you have to lift their chins to see the full delicacy that’s there. Another rush of wellbeing - happiness.
I crouch down, remove the lens cap from my camera, look around to see where Milly is. She has her nose in a clump of something and is happily engaged. I come back to my snowdrops, aim and click. I can’t see what I’m taking - they are so low on the ground I would have to lay on my tummy to look through the viewfinder - I have done that recently but today I don’t want to.
It doesn’t matter - I love taking photos this way - they have an immediacy and unexpected quality I can’t get when I’m looking through the lens. It can be frustrating too and this morning it takes a while to get the shot I’m after. Eventually I do however and at that moment I notice how quiet my mind is - absorbed in the world of snowdrops - and a sense of satisfaction passes through me.
I head in search of hellebores. I have several and they are one of my happiest plants. Very easy to grow in a spot that doesn’t get too hot in summer, they are reliable and early and a joy. I’m looking for the Orientalis ones - which disappear in autumn, except for some raggedy old leaves, and reappear now as bright white, pink, or deep red buds full of promise.
I’ve brought my secateurs and I snip off the blackened foliage. This tidy makes a huge difference to the appearance of the whole plant and the buds, which were somewhat hidden, seem to straighten and puff out as if to draw more attention to themselves. Hellebores are another modest flower and I lift the chin of one I find on another clump - deep purple this time. She has the prettiest freckles and stamen and enough flowers for me to cut a few for a vase.
Back inside Milly retreats to her basket by the Aga and I cut the stems and stand them in boiling water for 30 seconds to seal them and make them last. They are very pretty and, as I pop them where I will see them easily, I notice that sensation of wellbeing again - a kind of spaciousness.
I’m sitting at my laptop writing this in the kitchen now. I haven’t made it to my lovely studio in the garden this morning - the Aga behind my back is too much of a draw. Maybe I will get there later - I love my studio as it is lighter than where I’m sitting now and surrounded by green. As I consider the idea of going there I notice Nigel laughing in the other room. He’s on the phone working at home as it’s Friday today. And that’s part of why I didn’t, instinctively, go the studio - it’s nice to hear him happily engaged nearby.
I love this feeling of home. I’ve lit a candle, my garden spoils are on the window-sill, the dog is asleep in her basket by my feet and all feels well. So - ah - wellbeing - that word again. For me, this morning, it has been created by a variety of slow mindful activity; that potter in the garden and creative moment capturing, choosing and arranging flowers; the connection with Milly and Nigel; the lit candle on the table in front of me; the prospect of a phone chat with a client who has become a friend; and this - my writing.
The feeling of wellbeing encompasses me as I write, and I realise afresh (as I know this and yet it still feels like new information when I recognise it in the moment), that it’s also in the process of conscious appreciation; that action of noticing my good fortune, and this lovely moment. It’s now that I feel it most deeply - in this moment of gratitude.
I have been present this morning - slow and in contact with nature - and and that’s what’s created this warm mindful feeling. And I love it.