If You Go Down To The Woods Today

 Weekends are for long walks. When I know I’ve got on everyone’s nerves it’s time to get my boots on and get into the woods, singing the teddy bear’s picnic song. 

The teddy bear’s picnic was the first record I owned. My parents had acquired a little junior Dansette record player from someone Dad worked with, whose children had grown up. It was a cream and pale blue box with a handle on it. It looked like the kind of suitcase that was popular at the time for overnight stays. However, when you opened it up it had a turntable, two chunky knobs, stabilising arm and the tone arm, complete with stylus. The wicker pattern on the side of the case was, in fact, the speaker. The lid was covered in a soft felt and there was an oval label that I’m sure said GPO. My first two records were Puff the Magic Dragon and the Teddy Bear’s Picnic and I played them on repeat, so that those lyrics have become part of my DNA. Now dragons live forever but not so little boys for every bear that ever there was, was gathered there for certain because.

Anyway, I was in need of some fresh air. 

“I’m going for a tramp in the woods.....I hope he gets away,” I laughed to myself, thinking of Edward de Bono’s lateral thinking book that was very popular in our house when I was a teenager. 

Before I left home to go to college, I would often get out on my bike and cycle through the ford to the stately home about four miles away, when I was in this kind of mood. Then, I literally would go for a tramp. There was a man (called Peter, I think) who lived under the railway bridge. He was friendly enough but very sad. His family had been killed in a house fire and he thought it was his fault. That’s what he told me, anyway. I expect he told different stories to other people because my English teacher used to tell us that he was Lord Lucan. 

I’ve got distracted. I was telling you about my walk in the woods.

I love this time of year. Who am I kidding. I love every time of year but right now the world is russet. The leaves are turning, berries are dark red and orange, conkers and acorns are smooth and brown and nutty. Rose hips remind me of the baby clinic and bring back a smell of formula and baby sick. (Whatever happened to rose hip syrup? It used to be an essential cold prevention.) There’s a damp musty smell and it’s the perfect time for mushroom spotting. I’m hopeless at identification and so would never attempt to eat any but there’s something hopeful about fungi in that they spend most of the year hiding underground and just pop out for a little look once a year (sometimes not even that often).

With the news being full of doom and gloom; leaks to the press about three tier lockdowns and a dread of heading into winter without being able to see anyone it was good to see that the mushrooms had coped.

 I walked on. My quiet spaces have become quiet again and the lockdown walkers have stopped. It was just me and the dog. We stopped concentrating on where we were walking but looked at the sky. There were dramatic clouds building on the horizon and the possibility of a good soaking was getting stronger by the second. I told the dog not to worry. You always get less wet in the woods.

We sang, “If you go down to the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise.” Suddenly, the was furious flapping at my feet and a big brown spotted bird flew up and away over the field.

“That was a red kite,” I told the dog, who had thought about chasing it for a millisecond.  “I can’t believe I nearly stepped on a red kite!”

“Let’s go fly a kite,” we sang as we headed home, sidestepping the raindrops that were the size of dinner plates. 

If you go down to the woods today, you might not get as big a surprise as I did but I’m certain it will make you feel better about every annoying thing that is happening in the world (and there are lots of those at the moment).