The power of curiosity

A quiet Sunday connecting with the nature

Hello, I’m Molly and I write about my slow and simple life in the Scottish Highlands. Subscribe for free to enjoy occasional posts from me. Or, better yet, join our slow community of kindred spirits to unlock ALL my content, including exclusive writing, videos and resources, to help you live the life you REALLY crave. We’d love you to join us for a cuppa…

It was the perfect Sunday morning.

After completing my early morning chores, I returned to bed with a cup of tea and opened up

Emma Gannon

’s Sunday scroll and started making my way through the articles. Recently I’ve had the fantasy of being someone who reads the New York Post or Sunday Times on a Sunday morning. It adds a bit of romance to my weekend that I very much enjoy.

I was startled by the dawn light seeping through our loft window. The mornings are getting lighter so much earlier now. It feels like spring is hurrying forwards and its energy is infectious. We may not have a full dawn chorus yet, but there is certainly the beginnings of a duet between our local robin and blackbird. A taster of the full orchestra to come.

Although I welcome the light, part of me struggles to let go of these dark mornings that bring me so much peace. Winter mornings allow me to focus on myself and do what I enjoy, before anyone else wakes up. I never feel like I should be anywhere else when its pitch black before 9am. Its a slower existence that I miss, but more than anything, I enjoy the variety that comes with the seasons. Its a privilege to watch the gradual shifts and minuscule miracles that happen every day in nature. And today, I couldn’t wait to get out and embrace it.

With my car currently levitating in the drive (in the process of being fixed by my partner, who is, handily, a trained mechanic) Skye and I didn’t have much choice but to stick to our local trails. I was secretly relieved as if the car had been functioning, I’d have felt pressure to go further afield to make the most of this clear Sunday. As it was, we could take our time and explore the nature on our doorstep that we are so fond of.

This year, I’ve started keeping a nature diary. Its a simple practise where I record a few sentences about my daily interactions with nature, but its already having a powerful impact on my life. I will be talking about this more in my March tea time for my members, but one of the benefits of this practise is that I’ve really started to notice and question the natural world around me.

On observing my local trees, I realise that they can’t all be of the same species. Winter tree’s are difficult to identify and I’d gotten into the habit of mistakenly classifying them all as birch. However, on closer inspection, I noted that one tree had bright green, scaly looking buds emerging from the tip of the branches, whereas the other has produced brown/purple catkins and what looks like miniature pine cones (it turns out, this latter tree was an Alder).

As I observe these trees, I feel the familiar tug of failure. I worked as a conservationist and have two degrees in biological sciences, surely I should be able to identify my local trees?

I felt immense pressure to correctly identify wildlife all through my 20’s. I remember meeting my new colleagues within the National Trust for the first time, where we were taking a stroll around the gardens of a local property. Within moments, they started reeling off a list of birds that they had identified from their calls, something I’ve always struggled with. I felt my shoulders tighten and kept my eyes down. Trying to disappear. Desperate not to reveal my clearly inferior knowledge.

I never felt I quite lived up to the role of a conservationist.

But now, my life was different. I no longer held a title that would prompt people to ask me their obscure bird questions (which, to my credit, I often knew the answer to, or at least could present a plausible explanation!)

Now I was just a woman on a walk, enjoying nature at my own pace. I didn’t need to know every species by name to enjoy being amongst them. In fact, I enjoyed the air of mystery and the opportunity this presented to learn about my local area. Just because I can.

Its like Melissa Harrison says in her book, The stubborn light of things -

For me, taxonomy is less about the ability to categorise and more about separating one thing from another. The world is richer for knowing there are more things in it, rather than just for being able to label them correctly.

Keeping my nature diary prompted me to choose curiosity as my February word of the month. I wanted to channel my inner child and ask questions, not to pass an exam or show off in front of colleagues, but because I was genuinely interested in the answer. And it mattered not if this knowledge faded over time. It would just provide me with the pleasure of learning all over again.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve learnt to identify a great tit call, uncovered that kingfishers nest in tunnels and treecreepers have very small territories (some remaining loyal to one tree!). I was delighted to discover that the green dye from alder flowers were thought to colour the clothes of fairies and that snowdrops are both a symbol of hope and conversely a sign of impending death!

And this is just the start. With more learning comes more questions. Its a marvellous never-ending cycle that has added an immense amount of joy into my life.

I feel like a child again and its wonderful.

I hope this has perhaps inspired your own curiosity and please do consider joining our wonderful community if you would like to learn more about my nature diary practise (or slow living generally).

We’d love to have you :)

You can also find more of my nature writing HERE.

Until next week,

Molly xx