Parcels of hope: community, connection and creativity

So here I am, watching the beautiful view roll by through the minibus window, chatting with the other volunteers and beginning to feel myself relax into the experience. We’ve had a final pit stop at a corner shop and sent farewell text messages – we’re heading out of range into the wild, and it feels good.

Our accommodation for the week is Athnamulloch, an old crofter’s cottage now transformed by Trees for Life into a cosy bothy nestled in the heart of Glen Affric. Stepping outside I feel held by the cradling presence of the surrounding mountains. There’s no phone signal or Wi-Fi here, the power comes from the solar panels, and our water needs to be collected daily from the nearby beck.

But the simplicity of life at Athnamulloch is what makes it so special. Stripped of the mindless efficiency of modern life, tasks such as making a pot of tea become slower and more thoughtful. Throughout the week we take turns to cook, and afterwards sit and share the meal together. Living and working communally, bonds are quickly formed, and without the distraction of mobile phones an evening in the bothy hums with positive energy as people chat, read or play cards. Conversation is free ranging and varied, and there’s a real pleasure in coming together with a diverse group who are all united by a common thread of caring for the land. I feel comfortable and at ease, and I laugh a lot.

Each day we fill our planting bags with trees: eared willow, woolly willow, elm, hazel, rowan, birch, bird cherry and aspen. Then bags over our shoulders and spade in hand we set off into the glen to help replenish the land. I love the yellow planting bags. They remind me of the postie’s delivery bag, but instead of carrying letters we’re delivering little parcels of hope into the ground. We learn that the hardest thing about tree planting is not the digging but finding a patch of suitable soil, and as the week progresses, we gradually become more proficient at finding suitable homes for our tiny, precious trees.

We plant on bare wind-swept hillsides and in the sun dappled understory of birch woodland. We learn to tell a Scots pine from a lodgepole pine and spend a day removing the latter to help regenerate the former. We visit an ancient wych elm, a lonely survivor of the ravages of Dutch elm disease and carefully plant seven precious elm saplings in its company.

Before the trip I was worried whether I’d be physically up to the demands of a week of manual labour. But although we are on our feet much of the day, we are always walking and working at our own pace. Together we plant hundreds of trees, and when one person finishes their bag, they turn to help others. Like all life at Athnamulloch, it’s a team effort.

I finish and end each day with a swim, sometimes alone, often with others. The crystal-clear water bites with an icy chill, but the view is phenomenal and the moment when my body relaxes and accepts the cold is sublime. Afterwards I warm up with a cup of tea by the wood-burning stove, shivering and happy.

My week in Glen Affric had a profound effect upon me. Normal life is busy and noisy, constantly demanding attention and action. To step away from it all for a while was a privilege and gave me much needed space and perspective. I learnt a lot – about the damage that we have done to our land, and what we need to do to foster regeneration. The brutally stark difference in vegetation on either side of the deer fences demonstrated without words the devastating impact of overgrazing. But above all it felt good to be part of something positive, working as a group and forming meaningful connections with people and nature. I came away from Glen Affric feeling informed, inspired and hopeful. I very much hope I’ll be back.