discoverwildlife.com BBC WILDLIFE 17A
s this goes to press, who knows?
The most important conference
on earth will be over. The last
chance to save the planet (COP26,
in case you missed it) will be
behind us. The combined focus
and energy of all the world’s
conservation and environmental
sectors, along with scientists,
politicians, business leaders, lawmakers,
social justice campaigners, activists,
protestors, artists and more, will have all
been trained on this one event.
At the time of writing, of the 40
countries tracked by Climate Action
Tracker only one, the Gambia, has policies
compatible with the 1.5ºC goal. Hope is not
lost, but it is riding on a wing and a prayer.
So, as I weigh up the possible outcomes at
COP, I figure it’s either run away and see
out my days in a hedonistic haze, or go for a
walk. I opt for the healthier coping strategy
(for now).
Outside, autumn is almost done. The
reds of haw- and rowanberries are positively
popping, waiting expectantly for the winter
thrushes. Ivy flowers are still out in force,
as this last hurrah attracts bees, wasps and
hoverflies for a late season drink. The pale
green petals encircle the pinhead anthers
as they stand proud. Together, they make
the umbel flower clusters look like peony
fireworks, frozen at the height of their
exuberance. The walk is clearly working.
But by the time you read this, the ivy
flowers will have disappeared, the nectar
dried up. The pollinators all gone, and just
a few festivities left before the long, dark
stretch until the light returns once more.
It’s fair to say that winter is a bit of a test
for my tropical roots – and that’s before any
question of whether decisive action on the
climate crisis will finally match the rhetoric.
Of course, I remind myself, there are
seasonal wildlife spectacles to enjoy.
I know the winter migrants are back. The
odd December moth will be flapping about
in the dark (and that’s not to do these little
moths a disservice; evidently it is a winning
formula for winter-flying moths to wait for
the airwaves to clear of predatory bats
before they come out to
mate) but, even so, how to
stay hopeful?
Incredibly, here in
Britain, indigenous cultures
singled out this time of
year, in the bleak midwinter
between the autumn
equinox and the winter
solstice, as the start of
the New Year. The pagan
festival Samhain marks the time when the
veil between life and death was thought to be
at its thinnest. As winter set in it must havethe light receded and the cold wind blew,
perhaps for them the tree buds were a cue
to trust that life was already stirring, even
before spring came to urge any outward
signs of life to reappear.
As I think about the challenges ahead,
and regardless of the outcome at this year’s
COP, I’m going out looking for hope. Not
that warm, fuzzy hope, but the midwinter
metaphor, hidden in the trees, and pulsing
like a tiny embryo long before its presence
is ever felt.been easy to imagine life ebbing away, but
where to look for a pulse?
On the naked twigs and branches, hope
is already packaged up and
ready to go. The summer’s
work is already paid forward
to the coming year. Shielded
by protective scales, tree buds
hold, in perfect miniature,
next year’s embryonic leaves,
shoots and flowers. As winter
approached then, as it does now,
would the ancients have spotted
these tiny tree buds? I’ll bet my
last penny they did. Indigenous people were,
and still are, supreme observers of life and
the passing seasons; the first ecologists. AsWith thanks to Emily Hardistry, ecologist (and
elf!), for generously sharing her knowledge
of British indigenous culture. Find her via her
Instagram handle @wildingcreatureGILLIAN BURKE
Even in the darkness of midwinter,
there are reasons to be hopeful
A walk in nature can
be a helpful coping
strategy when life
feels bleakOPINION
On the naked
twigs and
branches, hope
is already
packaged up and
ready to goGillian
Burke
presents
Autumnwatch.
Catch up on iPlayer.VIC
TO
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