Stone Stories, Trees and Earth Travellers
Part Two: Stone People, The King and I, Beech Scribes, Two Indian Gentlemen, Bring On The White Horses, and Travel Magic.
Dear Hearts
Stone stories, and Earth Travellers’ journeys into the Otherworld, Horse Magic and more in this weeks Wild Wisdom letter home to you all, but first the King and I. An audience granted in the forest…
I don’t know how I knew the Oak was there, but I just did. Driving down the track, me in the passenger seat and looking up at the overarching green rising either side and meeting above our heads. It was a very quick stop for a bite to eat off the main road. No time for reaching out to trees to make their acquaintance. Yet there they were, a huge old Oak hidden among young Beeches in the darker forest. Set back from the track and a fair distance away behind a fence how many people have driven past with no notion of them being there I wonder
Sometimes I just get a compulsion to look in a certain direction. As we passed this tree I turned to look left. Simon, ever patient had to pull over so I could get out and walk back. There, a way beyond the fence hidden among Beech, stood Oak as they had done for many centuries, clearly tended to by Beech as a King with his courtiers. So, there we are, the king and I.
The trees around are pretty young. I surmise that Oak has survived this long by virtue of having grown crooked. There is a lot to be said for growing your own way. Grow in regimented order and you will get used for planks! We’re not meant for harvesting we’re meant to grow in a rebellious glorious disorder. Dis the order I say! I have a similar story with a gnarly old Oak friend who lives near where I grow up. I will share with you one day. I have a whole series of photographs and videos throughout the seasons and stories to go. Which is totally what you would expect from a tree nerd like me! #specialinterest #audhd No doubt some of you are bristling at the text speak. No matter, it’s good to confound peoples’ expectations sometimes. Besides, what is life without a sense of humour?
The sign says ‘Surveyed Oak’. I assumed in as monitored, accounted for, listed, enumerated, logged on a list, (forgive the pun) and so on and so forth. How boring. Why on earth did they just not create a sign that said ‘A King and his Courtiers’? Once more I feel a bristling from some of you. “But that’s not correct” I can almost hear “that’s anthropomorphism”’. Hmm …. Is it? Is it really? Well then, you and I must beg to differ.
I’ve had this calling many times before, like with Toad for those of you that remember.
It’s surprising what you can pick up in a short amount of time if you are open to wonder and curiosity. The two groves of Beech at Avebury in Part 1 scribing earth and air with their roots and branches witnesses to the Stones, and now here witness to this great Oak. Beech is known for having a fine wood grain and was used for writing tablets. So here it seems they are gathered round taking notes from their king ready to pass messages around the forest.
In fact, Beech could be said to be the scribers of storytellers. The cataloguers of oratory soundscapes. Ok I’m going off on a tangent because I’ve been working on my tree oracle deck. Through Beech ancient stories ring out once more.
I’m jumping ahead of myself. Where were we last we met?
Ah, yes…
First the obligatory photo me on the ‘tourist trail’ just because…
So, that night having met the Stone People I sat by Fire and watched Great Bear come into focus.
Some bread and cheese for tea while sat in the smoke with the good company of two splendid people and really what else is there to ask for?
My friend Simon crawled in to his tent and I into Bertie Bingo and I had what was a rare comfortable uninterrupted nights’ sleep for the first time in a long time. Waking up in the morning on the field edged with Reeds and Willows waving gently in the slight breeze. It is darker today with billowing clouds above us.
Simon wants to take me to the Ridgeway and I want to see the White Horses of yesterday closer to. Setting off we call in briefly to see the crop circle museum. We don’t go upstairs, I will do that next time. It is a tradition seemingly stretching back generations. It seems like we drive a loop the loop because it seems that we end up passing through Avebury more than once. It gives me the opportunity to take some snapshots of one of the avenues of Stones. I am reminded of my visit to Carnac in Brittany, France many years ago. Bella of course runs to the nearest stone and sits down the minute she is let out of Bertie. All she wants to do is sit at the feet of the Stone People, like I said last time, a whole lot wiser than we are.
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F29a940c3-fb47-4732-b9f6-5156ed6293ab_1030x1436.jpeg)
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb5904b82-51d2-465a-ae92-4d445047bdd2_1284x1697.jpeg)
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffb709648-9928-4397-bafd-bdd26d485dc6_1284x1700.jpeg)
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe4a0caab-885e-42fc-a612-9c76798efb35_1284x955.jpeg)
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F212a30d4-45ad-42e8-9cef-ac900a2b2f57_1284x1714.jpeg)
![Standing stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9a91ada1-b90c-41a3-8f56-aa9112102e79_1284x956.jpeg)
It is the briefest of stops, yet still I encounter an older lady who for some reason reminds me of my dearly departed friend Anna who had a deep and magical connection to the realm of goddess work. “Well known” as she was described by the Times in the “The goddess world”. The lady is making a fuss of Bella sharing that she lost her own little dog just a couple of weeks before. We stand sharing a few happy moments with Bella before returning to the road once more. There is something in the air. It is not quite crackling, but there is a sense of the fullness of magic to be sure.
![Standing Stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F43bd0b2f-097a-4fde-83d1-0520313981cc_4032x3024.jpeg)
![Standing Stones](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1ecba7f7-432d-4de9-ab37-59c6be95f78f_4032x3024.jpeg)
We’re in the land of ancestors, a meeting point of tribes and thresholds to the Other World. No wonder Anna came to mind. All the while the rolling landscape has had me in mind of a goddess lying down. Anna and her goddesses … oh how I miss her.
This journey I’m on came about because of a calling to get another gong that arose out of nowhere and because my dear friend Dawn had left me a modest amount of money in her will. So, the strange thing was that I went onto Ebay and this gong popped up at a ridiculously cheap starting price. So, I put my max bid in at the very last minute and, somehow escaping all attention, unbelievably this gong went for a song … to me. Thirty eight inches across, handmade in bronze. Dawn, for those of you that don’t know, is the reason why I, with my volunteer run not for profit project Ancient and Sacred Trees, are custodian alongside her widower of Wild Spirit Woods the living legacy she left behind. Wild Spirit Woods is this community’s on the ground home.
You couldn’t miss Dawn with her leopard print leggings and bright orange top to match her hair. Loud, bright and vivacious she’d have the attention of a few hundred people the minute she walked in anywhere. It was always a mystery to me quite how we came to be such good friends but we did. Let me explain. Dawn knew everyone in our neck of the woods and a huge number of folks from elsewhere too. She starred in Channel 4s’ Secret Millionaire TV series here in the UK. By the time she died she had given just about everything away. She asked, actually she insisted, I be her funeral celebrant and we held her funeral in the tipi at Wild Spirit Woods and she is buried under an Oak there. Of all the people she could have asked yet it was me she chose. I was humbled by that, I still am.
So, there I was, being driven by my friend because of my injured leg, feeling like all the stars had aligned to gift me this gong. It was Dawns’ angel birthday this week and her joyful mischief abounds.
We’re in a gentle rolling landscape dotted with villages that has avoided the heavy industrialisation and vast housing estates of elsewhere. Above it all the Ridgeway with its white horses watching over … from meeting the Stone People we are sent to the Land itself up on the ridge drawn by the White Horses …
![Chalk horses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff40587a2-7004-4ab7-ae31-1631baad0404_1284x961.jpeg)
![Chalk horses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F3f8767dc-017e-455a-95cb-95710b1a0f1c_1284x956.jpeg)
We go up at Hackpen hill where one is carved into the hillside by the toad up. I know we’re onto a good thing as I see a white Horse standing on the back of The White Horse! There’s magic afoot and no mistaking. We continue the hill climb up in Bertie to the top and parking on the ridge we get out and a Skylark sings. The White Horse is hidden by trees. We turn away along the trackway heading north.
![Ridgeway with trees and hotses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F11896a55-794d-494e-aad6-eae6ce15fa7f_1284x959.jpeg)
![Ridgeway with trees and hotses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F79ced63a-b689-4c1f-a52a-cbbf386b93fe_1284x1706.jpeg)
![Ridgeway with trees and hotses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F35908ba4-900e-4a11-b0ac-868826ee0ea6_1284x1692.jpeg)
![Ridgeway with trees and hotses](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4935a39b-8d44-4c6a-b28f-ee5cb8cb70c0_1284x953.jpeg)
I first noticed the geology of the place when we got out of Bertie Bingo (my Citroen Berlingo) at Avebury. The bright light bouncing back up at me under my hat from the ground, all chalky and dusty. ( I always wear hats because I have very light sensitive eyes, courtesy of being audhd). We walk (or in my case hobble) the ancient trackway past a copse of Beech and Sycamore. I want so much to sit on the ground again and instinct has me turn in to a field. Here the stony ground is all broken chalk and flints, yet still the crops grow. There’s a narrow path worn between the wheat stalks and I am drawn to the ridge edge. My leg and foot are hurting so much yet I need to reach the place that feels right. We walk through another gate and I have found my spot. All is quiet. Immediately lying down with my face to the ground and I’m … gone. I feel myself sinking into the ground, my bones called to the earths’ bones. I am fragments of flint scattered across a vast terrain. There is a rhythmic pulse to the Land. It undulates and I undulate with it. I am all at sea rising and falling, going deeper each time as I descend in to the earth. Below the roots of the common crops I hear the song the nearest standing stone is tuned into. I am looking out at a world populated with pebbles, stars in the nether-light …
Thank you Dear Hearts for reading. This letter is dedicated to you dear Erika Rado for your love of horses, and to you Simon Bamford, ‘Bamfy The Legend’ for having the patience of a saint, driving me hither and thither, keep rockin and rollin.
For those of you helping raise funds for tree protection and planting as well as supporting me, we delve further in with more writing, pictures and film, and also meet two Indian gentleman, go on a brief foray into travel magic and Bring On the White Horses below ...
Meanwhile I hope you have ALL enjoyed reading thus far. I aim for every letter that reaches you to have something worth your while to open, read and enjoy. Thank you so much for all your messages, I aim to reply to every single one.
Yours In Service, Blessings and Wild Wishes
Amanda Claire x
Simon clears his throat in that kind of a way when you want to get someone’s attention.
“Oh, I thought you had fallen asleep”.
Five or ten minutes at most and there was I, thinking I’d likely been on the brink of sleep for at least an hour. This is what trips to Fairy Land do. Time passes differently there. The edge of the Otherworld the Ridge is a liminal place at once of air and earth
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