I planned to go foraging on Sunday and, as never happens, I actually did what I said. We went to the field to collect a tonne of blackberries, rosehips, elderberrys and nettles. It was hard work. The kids abandoned me straight away and I was left with the babe strapped to my back, getting scratched and stumbling about in fox dens to get the goods. I couldn't even get a decent instagram picture because I didn't have enough hands, now that's a disaster. It felt like work and I thought about what this slow living lark is all about. Why not get some artisan jam at a farmer's market and enjoy the hunt of a good shopping trip. But then I started to get it.
It's simply another way to access silence. A sustained, simple task within natural surroundings brings a subtle, easily missed joy. Often our minds have no idea why we're doing what we're doing, but some part of us brings us back to this task or place and knows this is what we need. We are left a little calmer. Subliminally joyful in a way we can't even grasp with our thoughts.
Then came the processing, which took all day. More tiresome berry stripping, crushing, boiling and standing at a hot stove. The results though, fed my soul. A heart warming a big jug of delicious fresh nettle soup, a couple of jars of elderberry jam, blackberry jam tarts and eventually, probably after more foraging, some rose hip jelly. Two days of work for two days of food, slow living indeed.
You don't need to trapse round a field to capture this though. A simple bit of gardening or a pot of herbs on your windowsill can give you a hint of this mysterious pleasure. Ultimately it imparts wholesomeness, who doesn't need more of that. Feeding yourself for free from your own efforts feels like a good use of time. Bring on the hygge.
