Weaving an Ivy Basket


My ruralness and wildness was starkly clear to me last week. I had a free day and decided to spend some time in the only large stretch of semi-natural space in cycling distance of my urban home. Entering the wooded riverside I started to recognise my own frustration at the sanitised nature of the ‘nature’ I was in. The path was not only set for me but it was tarmaced. There were enough people around that it was hard to forget my humanness so I strayed off the path, feeling like some sort of petty criminal for doing so.

I walked a few metres and realised that I was trapped, this strip of wood only exists as a thin sliver on steep slopes which couldn’t be built on. Either side are tall, aggressive fences which keep nature and civilisation in their separate cages. But I carried on, I wanted a…

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