Blog: Fruits of our fire by Siôn Tomos Owen

It was cold and wet…so many pieces on nature writing I’ve read begins with the negative juxtaposition of comparing modern home comforts to the natural world, this isn’t going to be that type of blog. Over the past few months from Autumn, slowly through Winter and now dripping into Spring, yes it was cold and wet, but it was also warm and green, damp and sweet, grey and forgettable, and through it all there was a small group, huddled, around the glow of a crackling fire.

The final stop on the Rhondda Fawr’s railway is Treherbert Railway Station, the only one of the two Rhondda valleys to have a railway by now, the Fach’s has been turned into a third of a bypass. As a boy I’d Mountain bike over “The Pixie Bridge” on my way up to climb “The Rocks”, an old quarry, or to scramble up “King Kong’s Arse”, a big crack of coal slag at the top of Treherbert basin.  Welcome to Our Woods, a community nature group have recently taken ownership of this whole area, mainly old forestry larch that were grown as props for Bute and Lady Margret colliery levels.  Over the years, it has been cut back and leafy native Ash, Birch, Elder and Oak are slowly reclaiming this grand green bowl.

I first met Martyn Broughton and the Woodland Therapy group in the sweltering fug of Summer in 2022. The Woodland Therapy group began as a 6-week project, a safe space, in nature, where people could meet around a fire to talk or listen to the wind, the birds, the water. Soup would be prepared and cooked in a cast iron cauldron over the fire, coffee in little metal cups and a short walk could be had to explore and discover some local fauna and flora.

Then, leaving no trace, the space would return to as it was, just a circle of logs in a small clearing in the trees…until the following week. That was two years ago. Like a smoldering fire, it was fed, and the group kept meeting. And just as the coal that this valley was famous for, if left for long enough, would become diamonds: this group sparkles in a post-industrial landscape.

Daisy in Welsh is Llygaid y Dydd, the eyes of the day, day/see – daisy. Seeing the day through fresh eyes is what I saw that first day around the fire up in the woods. This was a tonic, a remedy, barely a stone’s throw from the tracks that these days, rattle us out of the valley to work, benath a lush (in it’s original un-stereotypical sense) canopy, a group meet up one morning a week to appreciate it, to bask in it, to smell and taste it, to feel it once again, like we used to, remembering that nature is all around us, is worth fighting for, is worth saving..or as I’d find out over the coming months, is saving us, in more ways than one.

 When the birds sing in these trees each bird sings its own song, as does each member of the woodland therapy group. Some tweet from dawn till dusk, others have a chirp they may repeat, but occasionally, a bird we may not hear very often takes a breath…and sings.

There is no pressure to be here, there are no cons to pay like the local clubs that were once where people met to talk, fight or drink their troubles away, ironically the fire is close to the site of the huge Treherbert brewery but the only alcohol here is the sterilising gel, a hangover from Covid…

On one of my first visits I met a man walking up the path towards the group, he had an energetic dog on a lead and carried a plastic bag.

“Alright butt, you go up there with them don’t you?  What’s that all about then?” he asked.

“Well, it’s just a group of people who meet out in nature, they cook a soup on the fire and…talk.”

“Aye, I seen you all do that, I sit up here sometimes, see, with the dog.”

“You should come over, no harm in it if you’re up here anyway…”

“Nah, I just drink now, look.” he pulled out a four pack of strong lager from the plastic bag.  “I come up here, take pictures of my dog and drink, that’s what I do…” he trailed off.

“I’m sure you’ll be welcome…”

“I might…”

A couple of weeks later, he came to the group.

Welcome to Our Woods isn’t explicitly a mental health support group; it is far more to do with how nature itself can heal and provides the space to explore this. Each of us deals with mental health in a way which is unique to us. Some are helped by talking, having their problems heard, others by sitting around the fire, watching the flames; hearing them crackle. One or two find the preparation of the soup therapeutic, a few take a walk… others may take pictures of their dog with some lager, but they are all drawn to nature.

As part of the sessions a few people agreed to be case studies for the diary. They share their struggles, but also their hopes and dreams, and sometimes our conversations plant a seed of reflection. It was in one of the storytelling sessions where Richard realized something…

After a few weeks I found myself struggling a little, I was disheartened by a few things that weren’t going well with work and I didn’t feel up to speaking at the fire as I had been. I would use poems or stories as a form of mindfulness and the group would meditate on the words. Sometimes they would spark a conversation on our relationship with nature or with each other, how being in the group could settle the mind, how it can reset you.

But I had imposter syndrome.

I didn’t feel I was up to facilitating a part of the group that was meant to start a discussion on certain mental health issues when I was struggling with them myself. I’ve never been great at talking about my own issues.  Everyone deals with their own mental health in a different way.  I would sometimes use writing to deal with it. But on reflection while recalling some difficult periods, I realised I would feel the need to “get high”, not to use nature’s flora and fungi in other ways to explore a relaxed contented state, but by which I meant I needed to get up into the hills, into the woods, away from the stresses and anxieties of modern life, modern meaning what? Not outside, I suppose…

At school when I came home sad with something, I would bound through the ferns to get up on top of Cefn y Rhondda behind our cottage and meditate at the edge of the quarry.  When I worked in a factory in Taffs Well doing a job I hated, every dinnertime I’d angrily run up Y Garth mountain and shout when I reached the top.  While at university just taking my shoes off to put my feet in the cool grass was enough to quell my anxieties.  Everyone deals with their own mental health in a different way. That day, while I walked up to Cwm Saerbren, I decided to walk a little further into the woods before going to the fire, I walked past a couple on horseback, some dog walkers and decided to get into the riverbed, as it flowed, I felt…better.  Nothing happened, I didn’t do anything specific, I just stood under some trees and water trickled around my ankles.  It was enough.

I walked back towards the group who had set up a little further up into the woods than usual and was greeted enthusiastically by Martyn and the others, the same as every other week, and we sat around the fire, we talked, we ate soup and I felt better.

That morning, K, normally very quiet, smiling nervously and listening, spoke after I read out a poem inspired by the previous week’s creative writing and storytelling session and it completely changed how I was feeling.

“When I was in school something went wrong in my brain and I started speaking a language nobody spoke, I was in hospital for six months and started having mental health problems.”

Members of the group who were normally very vocal listened closely as she spoke.

“I struggled for years to get back to feeling myself but coming here has helped so much. Being out in the fresh air, hearing the poems and smelling the fire makes me feel better inside my head, enough to speak about it because I feel safe enough to talk about it now.”

At this point one of the other members walked over, sat next to her, held her hand and said,

“it’s brilliant that you feel like that.  You’re brave in saying it.”

K looked down at the hand on hers then back up at the group’s smiling faces, she smiled back.

“Thank you everyone.”

It was such an emotional moment, I was so touched by it, but it almost felt like K was joining the rest of them in opening up; a bird who had found their song. It was special.

This safe space out in the woods, these brief words, a gentle touch and a grateful smile.  There was something so special about its simplicity.

Special things happen out here in nature, they do every week, they always have.