A Feeling of Space

A postscript to my last post about the restorative powers of landscape: you do not need imposing natural grandeur for it to be refreshing, sometimes the domesticated views of the Home Counties can work their magic just as well. The view does not even have to be of natural features, small picturesque villages can also lift the spirits.

Today I went for an meandering cycle ride, with the only plan being to loop around some nearby villages. In every case I found something pleasing, whether it was a pond, a green, a cricket pitch on the green, or just a churchyard. The heart of each village had open space, old buildings, a human scale and felt restful.

The picture comes from the churchyard in Flamstead, a village listed in the Domesday Book. All was quiet and it was hard to believe that only a short distance away was the M1, heavy with traffic. A neat contrast as one space invites you to wander and contemplate and is thus refreshing, whilst the other demands concentration and has constant pressure from people in all the other vehicles.

This started me wondering whether one of the key issues for mental recuperation , as well as the beauty of natural landscapes, is the feeling of space and not being crowded or rushed. Sometimes in urban areas one can be hemmed by all the other people, wrapped-up in their own worlds, not interacting but intruding. One can be deprived of clear sight lines and subconsciously this feels pressurised. In such circumstances it is difficult to clear the mind

Today I had no problem with crowds as it was on small lanes and it always surprises me how it takes only a short step away from the beaten track for crowds to disappear. I find this when I run. Around Ashridge the parking spaces can be full and there can be quite a few people on nearby paths, strolling, walking their dogs or just messing about but a short distance further in people melt away and you feel you have the woods to yourself. Selfishly I'm actually quite pleased that many people do not want to move far from their cars.

Running in Literature iv: Mohawk

I had an idea for a series of posts called 'Running in literature'. Whenever I found a novel running was significant, or a non-running book that made some point about running, I would note it and make some comment. Unfortunately the weakness in this is the random nature of my reading and a lack of effort in searching out running references. As a result the series is sparse. Nevertheless things sometimes crop up especially if I can stretch the criteria a little to include small descriptions of someone running.

He is a large man, and while his movements are efficient in the narrow space behind the familiar lunch counter, he's lost and sluggish in open spaces. H runs the first fifty yards to the base of Hospital Hill, but when he starts up the grade he slows like a swamp bound dinosaur. .. Harry imagines that he is still running, but only his crazy arm jerks suggest rapid motion. Otherwise he looks like a fat comedian doing an impression of an Olympic walker, all hips an elbows. He thinks of all those childhood dreams where he was pursued by something nameless and fearsome, his legs heavy and rooted like tree trunks.

From Mohawk by Richard Russo.

I like the small observation at the beginning that Harry could move efficiently, and was perfectly adapted, in his day to day work but was lost in open spaces. I like the insight that we become moulded by our every day activities and specialisation, which makes us efficient also confines our abilities in other circumstances. I also like the observation that running is about being in open spaces as this is at the heart of its attraction for me. I love open spaces, hearing the birds, feeling the wind seeing the green of the trees and dark of the water, and most of all being surrounded by the variety of life. It is this reimder of life that makes me feel most alive.