My first memory of Forest Bathing!
Our memories are never exact & that’s a fact. They’re coloured by the emotions of then & now; and what we want to remember. Perhaps I only walked with my father once or twice to the five acre wood or perhaps it was a more regular event - I don’t know. All I can share are my memories. Leaving Mum, grandparents & sisters behind, I walked beside Dad, independently, silently, admiring my wellies! Down the lane, across the road, Dad climbed over the gate & I clambered through the lower bars. (That was what I now know as a blacksmith’s gate - lower bars close together to prevent lambs skipping through & the space widening as you looked from the ground up, the frame secured by a diagonal bar). Anyway back to our walk, we continued up the field towards the wood with Dad stopping every so often to look around, checking the cattle who took no notice of us, taking a look at the neighbours’ fields; & pointing out flowers like gorse or blackberry, which were buzz...
