Growing up in semi-rural Northumberland, I have long been used to living in ecologically diverse and scenic areas. I am used to the presence of bustling nature reserves just a stone’s throw from my front door and green-lined streets that resonate with the sparrow in the trees; I am used to having a garden, complete with frogs, visiting squirrels, and stocked bird feeders; and above all, I am used to my daily life being totally intertwined with nature. Never, not once in my life, have I taken this for granted, but those things have been the norm for a long time.
Six months ago, I moved to the city: Newcastle Upon Tyne, to be precise. A city that, despite its merits, is like any other: with traffic, concrete, artificial lighting, pubs, discos, shops, bustling streets and transport links, all the factors that have come to define human dominion over the earth. . . The soundtrack of my days here was made up of anthropogenic sounds, as opposed to natural ones: the hum of engines, the screeching of brakes and the roar of meters passing where before the singing of birds and the swaying of leaves. I can no longer cut and lose myself in fields, wetlands or forests: a culture shock, to say the least, that has uprooted everything with which I have become pleasantly familiar.
Like most cities, Newcastle poses a real challenge for those who live within reach and seek to create a life based on nature. Here, the pace of life is more hectic, commuting is more tedious and less scenic, moments of tranquility are few and far between, and nature as a whole seems muted, somewhat diminished by the myriad distractions caused. for daily life. So much so that those who seek wild nature and harmony in nature are forced to adopt new habits, routes and trends to satisfy their desire for wildlife. Or you risk going completely insane.
Although I have lost contact with the wild spaces that I encountered on a daily basis before my move, I have realized that the wild nature exists in the city. Though scattered and defined by a new set of rules, far from the rolling hills, sprawling forests, and glistening wetlands present elsewhere, but here and alive nonetheless. Of these, our parks are the obvious candidate for adventure, although they are not alone. And the desert, in its modern form, exists everywhere, ready to be snatched up and savored in the desolate space that separates the railroad tracks from civilization; in flower beds they tended less than half of what they should; and in the tangled and overgrown grounds of offices, shops and public services. Wild land present between the tombstones of the cemeteries, between the cobblestones, in planters, gardens and lonely trees on the side of the road. Places that I would have previously ignored and that now keep me sane during the time I spent living and working in the midst of this churning sea of men and their creations.
Perhaps we celebrate wildlife more when it is hidden or rare? Perhaps we notice nature more when expectations are diminished by circumstances and ecological horror stories about the urban environment? Either way, I now find myself able to feast upon the simplest of wild sights: at pioneer Dunnock nesting at the base of a weedy roadside Fuschia, at bumblebees visiting ornamental flowers adjacent to my home; and in the vibrant flowers of Oxford Ragwort poking through cracked paving slabs and home to countless vibrant Cinnabar caterpillars. Small pieces of natural beauty in the heart of the cold and gray city, taken from my daily adventures that now, after the initial upheaval, balm for worry and longing.
Now, while everyday life denies me wildlife in its traditional sense, I have been forced to rethink my definition of wilderness and alter the way I look for it. Here, I must look more closely and appreciate all of life, regardless of its scarcity or greatness, and in doing so, visit places that I would have ignored, ignorant, a few months ago. The forgotten places, the “wild” places, home to species that deserve respect and admiration for their resilience, at least – earn a living despite the massive changes that are imposed on the landscape here.
Staying sane in the city is a matter of optimism and observation. And life here is not so bad when you alter the way you view nature. I could, if I wanted to, venture to the beautiful, empty places that I previously longed for during my free time moments, but now, after all this, I’m not sure I want to. The intrepid Mistle 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 …