Grounding

My dog gifted me a daily practice of walking. Over the course of 5 short years we covered around 10,000 kilometers. I was so enamored with my direct environment that I learned to forage simply by immersion: I became aware of where the wild garlic grew most abundantly, where elderflower and St John's wort blossomed and where the juiciest berries ripened. I became beautifully in synch with the seasons. There were no days 'off'. I became weatherproof. Every day was a new adventure and we wove passion pathways like invisible webs across the Downs, along the river Ouse and above the tideline of the East Sussex coast. There are many studies which show that regular physical activity can reduce the risk of breast cancer recurrence by 20-30%. In the context of my own proposed chemotherapy conferring a benefit of just 5%, this is extraordinary. I have no muscle memory for exercise but for the first time in my life, walking my dog, I felt fully embodied and fit. 

For the past 3 years I have swum in cold water. A weekly practice which initially felt brutal and necessary to get me through a time of great emotional upheaval. Controlled pain defibrillated me through a series of life shocks: a divorce, the death of my beautiful step mum, home educating my children through gcses and A levels, my eldest leaving for university, a house sale and a new business. But nothing replaced the gentle regularity of those daily walks. 

Until now. A dear friend has offered me the opportunity to share her allotment: a magical, wooded space which backs onto a freshwater stream with a waterfall and a pool. Since January we have embedded ourselves into this new-to-us piece of land. Once a large, well maintained plot, it has recently been divided into four. We are stewarding our quarter, spending time observing what is there. Nature has gifted elderflower, hawthorn, buddleia and alkanet, while the previous caretaker bequeathed potatoes, strawberries, rhubarb, raspberries and apricots. We are experimenting with no-dig permaculture practices and companion planting. The entire allotment is organic and slug-pellet free, so gentle curiosity about what unfolds, without controlling, is our one year experiment. I am excited to grow wildflowers to garnish, brassicas and alliums to support my liver, herbs for tinctures and rainbow coloured vegetables for communal eating platters. And I am also practicing letting go of outcome, which feels healthy since we share our plot with hungry rabbits, slugs and birds who were the caretakers of this land way before we arrived. A friend who is well versed in permaculture tells me to grow with abundance so that there is enough for us all and I love this generous outlook.

In this green space there are delicious parallels with healing from cancer: 

• avoiding the combative and controlling narrative of battling against nature. 
• focusing attention on tending to the whole environment: watering and feeding what you want to grow rather than focusing on what you want to eradicate. 
• slowing down, breathing, being mindful and respectful to the bigger habitat in which we are immersed: recognising the power of consciously being a part of our body's feedback loop.

We have evolved to live within nature - getting outdoors, even for half an hour a day, is glorious for health. At this time of year particularly, grounding barefoot brings untold benefits, from reducing inflammation to improving cortisol levels: it brings the nervous system back to a parasympathetic dominant state where we are able to digest, absorb and experience more balanced hormones and improved immune function. Numerous studies show that connecting to the earth directly improves antioxidant status as we are bathed in electrons from the ground up. This optimally raises voltage to all body systems, regulating the heart, brain, and blood circulation whilst oxygenating on a cellular level. 

Beyond the tangible physical benefits, sharing outdoor space with an amazing friend means not only allowing the allotment to ground and connect us, but it improves our mental/emotional health. We are able to remind each other to be conscious when old-pattern mind-games threaten to overwhelm us. For me this sometimes plays out as a need to be productive and busy: to 'get it done' rather than slowing down and enjoying the journey.

For almost 5 months we have barrowed, weeded, planted and watered. I am using unfamiliar muscles and it feels like honest 'work'. I am returning to my body in a more gentle way than the exquisite but shocking self-imposed punishment of winter sea swimming. Stepping onto this plot of land feels like an act of growth and self-compassion - a new space to explore which offers something tangible in return for my care: negative ions AND vegetables!

As a bonus, we are building a community with our quadrant neighbours: sharing tools, information and advice. The warmer weather brings communal watering duties beyond the flimsy rope boundaries of our plots. In summer we will no doubt share gluts of courgettes, squashes, onions and potatoes. Autumn will be the season for seed sharing, and in winter, fires and more swimming in the newly refreshed stream. 

Within all of this is joy and meaning. Being reconnected with the soil feels like coming home to an ancestral part of being human. Stewarding the land reminds us of connection to our environment. Eating food which we have sown, grown and tended requires that we slow down and appreciate the journey. And of course that food, grown with conscious intent, is energetically medicinal in the best possible way: from 'farm' to fork within an hour of harvest, nothing could be fresher or more replete with natural healing compounds.