Staying sane in the heart of the city
Having grown up in semi-rural Northumberland, I have long been accused of residing in scenic and ecologically diverse areas. I’m used to the presence of bustling nature reserves a stone’s throw from my front door and green-lined streets that echo with the song of sparrows; I’m used to having a garden complete with frogs, visiting squirrels, and overflowing bird feeders; and, above all, I am used to my daily life being totally intertwined with nature. Never once in my life have I taken this for granted, but such things have been the norm for a long time.
Six months ago now, I moved to the city: Newcastle Upon Tyne, to be precise. A city that, despite its merits, is like any other: full of traffic, concrete, artificial lighting, pubs, clubs, shops, bustling main streets and transport links – all the factors that have come to define human dominance over the earth. . The soundtrack of my days here is made up of anthropogenic sounds, as opposed to natural ones: the hum of engines, the screech of brakes, and the rumble of passing subways, where birdsong and leaf swaying. I can no longer sneak off and get lost in fields, wetlands or forests: a culture shock, to say the least, that has uprooted everything that was pleasantly familiar to me.
Like most cities, Newcastle poses a real challenge for those who live within its limits and who aspire to create a life built around nature. Here, the pace of life is more hectic, commutes are more tedious and less picturesque, quiet moments are few and far between, and nature, as a whole, seems muted, somewhat diminished by the myriad distractions that surround us. generates daily life. So much so that those seeking wilderness and harmony in nature are forced to adopt new habits, routes and trends to quench their craving for wildlife. Or you risk going completely insane.
Although I have lost touch with the wild spaces that I encountered on a daily basis before I moved, I have realized that wild nature exists in the city. Though scattered and defined by a new set of rules, far from the rolling hills, sprawling forests, and shimmering wetlands present elsewhere but here and alive nonetheless. Of these, our parks are the obvious candidate for adventure, although they are not the only ones. And nature, in its modern form, exists everywhere, ready to be snatched up and savored in the desolate space that separates railway lines from civilization; in flower beds cared for less than half of what they should; and on the overgrown and tangled grounds of offices, shops and public services. Wildland appears among the tombstones of the cemeteries, among the cobblestones, in the flower boxes, the gardens and the lonely trees at the edge of the road. Places that I would have ignored before and that now keep me sane during the time I spend living and working in the midst of this rough sea of man and his creations.
Perhaps we celebrate wildlife more when it is hidden or scarce? Perhaps we notice nature more when expectations are lowered by circumstances and ecological horror stories about the urban realm? Either way, I now find myself able to delight in the simplest of wild sights: in pioneer Dunnock nesting at the base of an overgrown Fuschia on the side of the road, in bumblebees visiting the ornamental flowers adjacent to my house ; and in the vibrant Oxford Ragwort flower heads that peek through cracked paving slabs and are home to countless vibrant Cinnabar caterpillars. Small pieces of natural beauty in the heart of the cold and gray city, snatched from my daily wanderings that now, after the initial shock, balm restlessness and longing.
Now, as wilderness in its traditional sense is denied me by daily life, I have been forced to rethink my definition of wilderness and alter the ways I seek it out. Here, I am to take a closer look and appreciate all of life, regardless of scarcity or greatness, and in doing so visit places I would have overlooked, ignorant, a few months ago. The forgotten places, the “wild” places, home to species that deserve respect and admiration for their resilience, if nothing else, for making a living despite the massive changes being imposed on the landscape here.
Staying healthy in the city is a matter of optimism and observation. And life here is not so bad when you alter the way you see nature. I could, if I wanted to, venture to the beautiful empty places I previously yearned for during moments of free time, but now, after all this, I’m not sure I want to. The intrepid charro thrush that nests in the grounds of the Newcastle Civic Center and the fox that prowls the streets of Heaton at night are just too entertaining.
Oh, and erecting some bird feeders certainly helps too…