By: Blonde Two
I am seriously considering rewilding myself.
I am not a conservation expert or a hill farmer, so while interested, I am quite happy to leave the countryside rewilding debate up to those who are.
I do think however, that I would benefit from a bit of rewilding myself.
I remember a time (and this is the selective glow of memory now) when my life involved wandering barefoot around the garden with a baby on my hip and an older one toddling along behind. It would seem to this woman that at times when I was at my most bodily useful, my default state was growing my hair and vegetables at equal rates.
The most ‘wilded’ time that I can remember was at the sweet age of sixteen. O Levels complete, I was sent to stay with my Guernsey Aunty (I must have been a worry because I was sent to stay with my New Zealand Aunty after my A Levels). My memories of the Guernsey trip include a ferry strike and ringing poor Mum from Weymouth to tell her that I was, “Fine and in a pub with a man.” Nothing wild happened there but later in the trip (and I may have got times muddled up now) I spent a blissful few weeks camping on Herm during which I ate cake and cucumber, and wore only knickers (I think there were knickers) and what can only be described as a table cloth.
No doubt the wearing of a table cloth would be less than acceptable now. But maybe I could give it a go. It would look great, I am sure, with a pair of walking boots and a rucksack.
So how else could you rewild a Blonde? Information from Rewilding Britain suggests that my ecosystem might be ‘broken’; probiotic yoghurt doesn’t float my boat but I could possibly live on lichen and purple moor grass. Apparently rewilding requires my communities to ‘thrive’; most of my community have left home but they seem to be doing well and enjoying a bit of rewilding themselves (one in hammocks, another in a caravan). I also need to ‘prevent flooding’ (something that I understand can become tricky as you get older) and ‘store carbon’ (I preferred Pot Noodles to coal when I was pregnant).
I think I am forming a plan here. It involves Dartmoor, faded clothing and my bivvy bag. See you soon, I am off to find my inner wolf and grow my body hair!