Return to my Trees – a three hundred mile walk through Welsh forests

 Dod yn ôl fy nghoed...

        To return to my trees.

What on earth is that Welsh phrase supposed to mean? Unsurprisingly, knowing the poetic and lyrical nature of the Welsh nation, it doesn't just mean 'nipping into the woods'. It's a phrase used when someone needs to clear their head, to think again.

Matthew Yeomans, a Cardiff author of Rough Guides translates it as 'to return to a balanced state of mind...' 

Something that has been medically proved to occur when we walk in amongst trees; our blood pressure reduces and so does our anxiety levels. We return from our walk feeling de-stressed and ready for life.

the mythic map

Yeoman, who has been a traveller all his writing life, didn't have to travel far geographically to write this fourth book. Having travelled the world, he decided towalk through the ancient and modern forests of Wales, losing himself in their stories––their natural word, their history, mythology and legends, especially those which appear between the covers of the Mabinogion, the ancient tales of Wales. While Yeoman  explored the paths, he also explored the religions, culture, arts and music of Wales, as well as the industrial past and present of his home nation. 

Yeoman started in the Welsh Marches, at Wentwood,striding across the south of the country, to the Black Mountains. Then he worked northwards, past the Devil's Bridge, through Snowdonia and Llangollen and onwards to the north-eastern border,  stopping at Chirk. 

Such a grand idea: linking the forests throughout a modern country, walking those (often unmarked) paths, talking to the local people and learning about the land. 300 miles is a massive journey, and Yeoman is still walking, often with other people who want to encourage us all to walk.

Recently, I walked just a few miles of Yeoman's Mythic Map, over the Bwlch Mountain near Maesteg, walking with my son and my dog. I love walking with others because that's when the most intimate and interesting chats happen, when you're looking ahead at the path and the trees, listening to the brook and the birds, you can open your heart. 

But walking along introduces a new dimension––not only bringing down stress and puts our lives into perspective––it allows me reach the most creative parts of my mind. When I walk alone, my books, stories, characters and settings accompany me and grow clearer and more real as I progress along my route. Many writers walk to invent their stories. Dickens apparently wrote most mornings and walked every afternoon. I think his characters and their scenarios walked with him, ready for their creation by pen the following
morning.

The writer’s greatest fear is the blank page or screen. Being stuck for something to write is terrifying for a writer, and is a major reason why many would-be writers never take the plunge. But most of our writing is done before we even touch the keyboard or pen. For this, we visit a strange place in our heads – our imagination, where we go though a process of deep listening. When you have the chance to attend to the many voices of your self, letting them settle in your head before writing them down, you unlock something that you didn’t previously know was there. Walking alone allows this.

I've used walking as inspiration for years. It doesn't matter if the surrounds are urban or rural, but naturally it's nicer if there are trees. The most important thing is that I am on my own. When i walk alone, I chatter to my characters, and they chatter back. t. I've walked my way though, scene-building, description, interior monologue and action. I've listen to dialogue develop and worked out my plots. Holding it in your head is the hard part––I've been known to race back on the home stretch, my hands itching for the keyboard––so always take a notebook and pen. 

Kitchen Table Writers has already approached this idea of walking through stories, in this blogpost

On Radio 6, Matthew Yeomans explained how this walk emerged out of the cabin fever of Covid. 'I had to get out…I didn't  know much about trees, but I heard that the Welsh Government had announced a plan to create a national forest of Wales.' 

In his wonderful, inspiring book, he walks to link just some of the woodlands and forests of Wales, seeking an answer to the question; when and how did we humans lose our connection with nature – and how do we find it again? Helpfully, the walk has grown, turning into a book, a mythic map, and a Welsh playlist plus a list of podcasts all of which can be downloaded.

They are matchless,

My trees in winter. 

While I watch telly and eat carbs, 

Put the fire on, the heating up, 

They stand naked to the battle;

Steady for storm, ready for gale. 

Winter trees communicate in semaphore

Black flags against the half-day’s light.

They are gallows for bats,

Rigging for gulls,

Blue cages for robins 

Steeples for stormcocks.

In the cold sun, 

The oaks glow emerald with moss;

Planes strike piebald patterns;

Birch trunks shimmer like a high moon. 

I pull on gloves, hat, scarves,

Brave the cold to watch 

As they wait secure, 

Dreaming sap dreams,

Expectant for spring.                                                 (Trees in Winter by Nina Milton)

Not everyone lives near a forest. But I'm sure you can find some trees to enjoy. So go and enjoy them. Return to them, to clear your head, find a better perspective, solve you problems and, even, perhaps, write a book. You may return to a balanced state of mind. You may even  return to a balanced state of soul.