On naming, or knowing?

There’s knowing, and there’s knowing…
I was on a walk with a friend years ago. I saw a little weed in the grass. It had been tickling in my mind that I did not know its name, hence this exchange…

‘Do you know that flower?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘What an earth is it called? I can’t remember.’

‘Oh, I’ve never known its name. I just know it.’
It was my first indication that there are two sorts of knowing.

The labelling, pigeon holding, put it in its place knowing means that we can then forget about it; we’ve made it into an object; done and dusted.

Far more valuable is that accepting, understanding knowledge of the things that fill our landscape: the knowing that says they are living, changing, breathing entities, with whom we have a relationship. These are the small plants and insects whose colour or sound is part of the woven tapestry of our lives: the million small knowings, regardless of convenient names, that mean ‘I know this: we belong, we’re part of the same story.’

Every equinox we try to go to a nearby coast to a peninsula that is magical to us.

At the time when light and dark are equal we think of balance and harmony as we walk a mile and a half along this solid spit of earth, with the sea on either side. We feel centred and known in that place as this is a regular pilgrimage: we wonder if the land have been anticipating our arrival.

There is a Napoleonic fort at the sea end and there two tides – from the sea and the River Severn - meet in a perpetual small flurry and agitation in the still ocean. The feeling of knowing is intimate here – but it was deepened by some of the labelling, pigeonholing knowing from an archaeology day we attended last year.

Both sorts are vital.

Thanks to the NT for the pamphlet & map – find the Brean Down website here.

There are over 200 steps up steep cliff so the group was small, but we actually walked up the road with the hairpin bend carved out by the ‘poor damn Tommy’,[1] which was a much kinder route. We learnt about water control on the way, but it was when we reached the top that an imaginative Ranger took us on a Promenade Trail through history. What a treat! He painted a picture that helped us to understand how neolithic people might have lived, breathed and had their being here.

Having achieved the heights, the walker naturally turns to the left, the sea, the west. But our group turned to the right, the land and the east (approx to the number 46 on the right.) Take the walk with us now…

Here was flattish ground with lush short grass, ragwort, clover… plus clumps of bracken and gorse in large untidy circles, spaced out. These were the remains of iron age roundhouses: when the roofs fell in and everything composted down, that earth was enriched, supporting shrubs that now are markers of ancient habitations. It was a wonderful realisation.
Passing the only remaining indication of a huge earthwork - a powerful sign toward off intruders - we came to a temple from Roman times; late iron age. There are just a few foundation stones to indicate where it stood, and the doorway pointed approximately east, facing the distant Glastonbury Tor which we could see clearly. And this we were surprised by: as the Romans had different status temples and different templates for each, archaeologists knew exactly what the structure would’ve looked like.

Following the dips and curves of the broad back of the promontory, its grass a thin green skin over the earth, we came next to a viewpoint over the sea to the southern side. We’ve seen long ridges in the tide sand many times and thought they were part of all concrete structures to do with the defences of the second world war: not so. These were the remains of Iron Age fish traps, between which strong nets were strung that ensured a good supply of fish for the village (approx at ‘black point’ on the map above.) I’ve studied the story of Taliesin, who was put in a leather bag as a baby and thrown by Ceridwen into the sea, to be retrieved from a salmon weir. After years of looking out at that spot, this time I knew that I was looking at an ancient artefact that took me back into legend.

Onwards and literally upwards, the ground rose and we were walking over ridged ground: a Celtic field system.

Looking back from the trig point to the land. The bay of Weston-super-Mare is on the left, Brean Down beach on the right.

By the time we reached the trig point I understood the socio-historic coherence of the land in a way I never had before. We paused.

In my imagination, I could see my forebears resting, eating, living in the roundhouses. Every morning, walking off to their chores together – some perhaps on sentry duty at the earthwork and the most vulnerable part of the cliff face, some down the cliff into the sea to check the fish trap, with others off to work in the fields or round up the animals. To see the goats whose dwindling population still lives on Brean Down, and the footmarks of cattle, reminds one that places inhospitable to modern sensibilities held everything that a farming community needed for its sustenance and safety. It is a salutary thought.

On every trip we’ve taken so far we’ve gone right down to the end of the promontory and the sea which, edging round Wales and below Ireland, flows directly to America. Not this time. We sat on a huge stone on the edge of the high downs before the steep steep descent to the coast and just absorbed.

Stuart who made it down to the end; with Steep Holm in the distance.

We absorbed Time and The Weather – it was the perfect summer walking day, warm but with some cloud cover. We sank into The Place - sitting on a huge rock at the very end of the Mendips Hills chain: The circumstance – gazing into the immensity of the sea which flowed all around us: The environment - the stunted thorn trees, the brambles, the bracken, the birds foot trefoil and gorse which splashed the grass with patches of gold like the Sun come down to earth.

And we experienced an accepting and knowing: a feeling of at-home-ness.

Too often people think of science or archaeology’s explaining as ‘explaining away.’ Explaining away wonder, enchantment or delight in our world.

Not so: learning the facts of Iron Age life around the fort made for a more profound lived experience. It added to and enriched our already intimate, intuitive knowing.

We think the land appreciated us taking the time and trouble to get to know it in this different way: after all, isn’t that what we do to enhance and develop our relationships with all of our friends?

Equinox Blessings to all!

[1] From Dion Fortune’s ‘The Sea Priestess’. ‘Tommy’ is British slang for the put-upon foot soldier in the British Army.

Imbolc, anticipation and preparation