From Fairs and Trees to really Trying

On Sunday Jonny and I went for a jaunt up to the Spring Fair in Birmingham. I hadn’t been for years and, as ever, it was big, busy, and full of things — some of them genuinely lovely — and I came away clearer than expected, though not necessarily about what I actually wanted from the experience.

What I did come away with, however, was a firmer sense of what I don’t want. While there were products I admired for their craft and care, others left me cold, as I find myself increasingly drawn to objects from nature, things that have been pre-loved, and those created with simplicity. There’s a process this thinking is moving through, and a reason for wanting to seek inspiration from lovely people across the country, but that reason can’t yet quite make itself clear, so I won’t say much more than that for now.

We’re very fortunate to be able to get time away from the pub these days and often spend it in a small place near the allotment. It’s the sort of place where people know and look out for one another, and where good ideas have a habit of turning into action. Last summer someone in the community — one of the founders of Middle Ground Growers, who supply local veg boxes from a regenerative farm in Weston — had an idea for a community orchard nearby. On the return journey from Birmingham, we got the news that it’s been given the go-ahead, with a community planting day planned for late March, around the time of Jonny’s 60th birthday. One of the things that struck me as we made our way back to Bath was a space marked for a mulberry tree sitting in the corner of the plan.

While my Dad was living with MND, we had plenty of time to talk about his wishes for his remains, and one of these was that part of them be laid to rest beneath a mulberry tree. I’ve no idea why, but it’s one of those requests that sat with me — simple enough in theory, but in practice not easy to follow. The house he left to his grandchildren, our kids, has the tiniest of gardens, and while they’re very lucky to have a garden at all, planting a slow-growing but substantial tree such as a mulberry never felt practical. The thought of it being grubbed up or chopped down in the future, along with what lay beneath it, felt unbearable — but inevitable. So when I saw the plan, the answer to a question I hadn’t quite known I needed to ask suddenly presented itself.

A quick chat and everything was agreed, and now a beautiful King James mulberry is winging its way from Kent. We’ll plant it on the 16th of April, one year on from my dad’s passing, and I’ve got to say — while the past year has been rough at times, that feels pretty good. Rooted, shared, a living thing in a place that will be cared for collectively.

In the spirit of taking a better look at the health of both mind and body, I mentioned in my last post a somewhat faltering start back to the gym. The injury has thankfully resolved itself thanks to the help of a few lovely ladies with healing hands, and last week I even went so far as to attempt a rings and levers class. Five minutes in, surrounded by people who looked effortlessly strong, I wondered what on earth I was doing there but then I got onto the rings. Of course, the first time all I managed to do was spin clean over but I landed back on my feet and it felt great. The second time, I pulled myself straight up, feet to the sky, body as straight as I could get it, and held it — briefly, imperfectly, but unmistakably up. I was, I’ll admit, pretty chuffed.

There’s a long way to go before I can move with anything like control or grace, but that’s not really the point. The point is showing up, trying, and staying curious about what’s still possible — even when it’s uncomfortable, even when you wobble — because if you keep at it, the universe has a wonderful way of showing you all sorts of things.

Some of them you didn't even know you needed.