A couple of years ago, I saw a murder. It happened in the middle of Hackney one sunny afternoon, and it was horrible. An ice cream van man and I watched on in open mouthed horror as a coot drowned another in the canal; from that day on, I’ve thought of them as being really evil little birds. There was a struggle and flutter of wings but the murderer kept his hold on his victim until all movement ceased and an eery silence followed.
Today, I saw a bunch of very sweet coot chicks bobbing along after their parents - just down from the family of signets - and the memory of that killing came back to me. Was I watching a flock of baby killers paddling around? Was I staring into the eyes of next year’s summer slayer? Were these ducks born with an innate desire to take rivals out?
Nature is often beautiful and frequently disturbing. Like our beloved cats who often used to bring us the top halves of mice - entrails smudged into the carpet. Or animals that commit infanticide (like gerbils?). That’s why I refuse to watch David Attenborough (aside from his excruciatingly annoying voice).
I’m telling you all of this because it’s May - a magic month. In the Catholic calendar, it’s Mary’s month, so called because now is when life springs to action. It’s when the grass is emerald green, the irises and buttercups are sun yellow and rose buds start to burst open. Everywhere, things are blooming. It’s no less than Mary deserves IMO - she did birth the Messiah etc. I always associate May with the colour pink because that’s Mary’s colour (at least in the advent wreath) and it was also my sister’s favourite. She was born in May and I always thought it meant something that she came into the world surrounded by beauty while I was born one wet and stormy night in November. Having known a load of scorpios and libras, however, I’ve concluded that babies born in the autumn tend to have sunny dispositions because they’re more conscious of the world by the time spring comes.
Anyway, in celebration of Mary and May, here is another local, bonkers nature story.
My husband and I spend a lot of the time in the marshes. One hot late May day, we were walking down the main path that runs from Hackney to Walthamstow when, for the first time, we saw a very small trail off to our right. With nothing to do and no where to go, we took it and wandered into the most amazing network of trails - hedged in by rose bushes and hawthorns. After about five minutes, we met an old, wisened man - we called him Gandalf - standing randomly next to a tree.
‘You’re going to see a lot of flesh!’ he said as we passed by. As I say, it was a hot day and I think I was just in shorts and a sports bra - and Gandalf was barefoot and in shorts, so fair. We’d seen a lot of flesh that day in way, given Hackney is full of runners who take their tops off in 14’C. Anyway, we kept walking and fell into a picturesque glade… packed with naked men, some of whom were having sex. On the right, a row of dudes were practising perineum sunning but most of bodies were in the middle. For a moment, I think we were in freeze mode - everyone has a right to enjoy a little al fresco action but I don’t necessarily want to be caught watching it.
Suffice to say, I’ve not been down that path since - until this week. Walking back from the gym and thinking about Mary’s month, I decided to revisit that glade. I may not have an orgy ticket but Goddamn it, I will not be put off from exploring cool trails and glades just because there’s a vague chance one will be on.
It’s exceedingly beautiful down there. Through manmade action, nature or Waltham Forest council, there are lots of little grass-made alcoves surrounded by roses, and huge, ancient trees that offer shade and privacy. You can’t see or hear traffic or voices. There were a few men hanging around but as it was 4pm, I assume they were early for their assignations and they seemed fine about me wandering around.
As I walked back towards the parts of the marshes that are more family-friendly, I thought about how quickly you release stupid thoughts when you’re absolutely wrapped in nature and how exciting it can be to explore and find new areas of beauty. I was definitely pissed off about something when I left my flat and couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. My mind had been green-washed. That’s what May does - nature takes over and offers you a show far more exciting and weird than any Netflix drama. It puts all the other shit on hold until the sun dries everything out and we start to care again.