Whenever I read accounts of urban wanderings I feel the urge to go and explore a city myself. This is a little difficult for me right now, locked down as we are in the middle of an epidemic. We live in a village, down an unmetalled road by the side of a beck.
A few yards past our house, this road crosses the beck and turns into an even rougher farm-track. Here, the houses end and the fields begin. I went for a walk that way one evening, a while ago. I found myself thinking about urban exploration and it struck me how villages, like cities, have their edgelands. They don’t sprawl for a mile or so like those of cities – in fact, blink and you might miss them. As I walked away from our house I realised I was walking through ours.
When the road turns into a track, the verge widens into a small area of “waste” ground. At the moment, it’s merely overgrown (I say merely, but it’s good to see it that way) but for several years it was used to store a number of huge concrete pipes intended for a land-drainage project. When they were finally taken away, it acquired a mound of hardcore that resembled a miniature Silbury Hill. I have to admit I played a small part in building it. Over the years the heap got used up. You can still see a low mound there, in the winter, when all the vegetation’s died back. Over the years, people have also dumped garden waste in the undergrowth hereabouts. A few yards beyond the remains of our Silbury Hill I spotted a lone daffodil growing on the bank of the beck. Not far from it stood a large-leafed, exotic looking plant I couldn’t name. Fortunately, no-one has dumped anything invasive. I think people here know better than to shit in their own backyard. The daffodil marks the end of the edgelands here. Beyond this point, everything is farmland.
Back home from my walk, I sat writing this in our conservatory – a grand word for a lean-to structure built on one end of the house. Boiler-room would have been more accurate, had the boiler not been taken away. There are no hot-house plants here. This is a place to keep bicycles, wellington boots, a tumble dryer, the odd piece of garden furniture which might be taken outside on warm days. The wall opposite the windows is the stone wall of the house It’s built of irregular-shaped pieces of stone and roughly pointed. Part of it has been plastered at one time and there are traces of green paint on one of the stones. An elaborate system of copper pipes which once connected to the boiler still run down the wall. I often sit staring at all this. Anyone attuned to the Japanese concept of wabi sabi (of seeing aesthetic value in imperfection and decay) can sit here for hours. The point I’m getting round to here is that this space is our “edgeland”. One door (the window in which is filled with a piece of salvaged stained glass which, like the wall, can hold one’s attention for quite a while) leads to the outside world. Another leads to the carpeted, centrally-heated world of the kitchen. Wherever we establish ourselves, on whatever scale, we create some sort of liminal space around us. Such spaces serve to sustain the illusions we create within their borders.
We live not far from an Iron Age hill fort. Fortunately, it’s quite remote and rarely visited. Finding it is a test of map-reading ability and many visitors to the area complain that they failed to find it. Being local, I’ve been there many times and so far I’ve always had it to myself. It strikes me now that what remains of it –the mound and the ditch- probably marked the edgelands of the community that settled within it. It seems that the thresholds we create are often the most enduring part of what we leave behind.
When the road turns into a track, the verge widens into a small area of “waste” ground. At the moment, it’s merely overgrown (I say merely, but it’s good to see it that way) but for several years it was used to store a number of huge concrete pipes intended for a land-drainage project. When they were finally taken away, it acquired a mound of hardcore that resembled a miniature Silbury Hill. I have to admit I played a small part in building it. Over the years the heap got used up. You can still see a low mound there, in the winter, when all the vegetation’s died back. Over the years, people have also dumped garden waste in the undergrowth hereabouts. A few yards beyond the remains of our Silbury Hill I spotted a lone daffodil growing on the bank of the beck. Not far from it stood a large-leafed, exotic looking plant I couldn’t name. Fortunately, no-one has dumped anything invasive. I think people here know better than to shit in their own backyard. The daffodil marks the end of the edgelands here. Beyond this point, everything is farmland.
Back home from my walk, I sat writing this in our conservatory – a grand word for a lean-to structure built on one end of the house. Boiler-room would have been more accurate, had the boiler not been taken away. There are no hot-house plants here. This is a place to keep bicycles, wellington boots, a tumble dryer, the odd piece of garden furniture which might be taken outside on warm days. The wall opposite the windows is the stone wall of the house It’s built of irregular-shaped pieces of stone and roughly pointed. Part of it has been plastered at one time and there are traces of green paint on one of the stones. An elaborate system of copper pipes which once connected to the boiler still run down the wall. I often sit staring at all this. Anyone attuned to the Japanese concept of wabi sabi (of seeing aesthetic value in imperfection and decay) can sit here for hours. The point I’m getting round to here is that this space is our “edgeland”. One door (the window in which is filled with a piece of salvaged stained glass which, like the wall, can hold one’s attention for quite a while) leads to the outside world. Another leads to the carpeted, centrally-heated world of the kitchen. Wherever we establish ourselves, on whatever scale, we create some sort of liminal space around us. Such spaces serve to sustain the illusions we create within their borders.
We live not far from an Iron Age hill fort. Fortunately, it’s quite remote and rarely visited. Finding it is a test of map-reading ability and many visitors to the area complain that they failed to find it. Being local, I’ve been there many times and so far I’ve always had it to myself. It strikes me now that what remains of it –the mound and the ditch- probably marked the edgelands of the community that settled within it. It seems that the thresholds we create are often the most enduring part of what we leave behind.
Most interesting Dom, not least because I am the kind of person who, wherever I live, never leaves edgelands. Where I live is where I leave my possessions. No rubbish, garden or otherwise is left beyond. I suppose it is my innate tidiness (bordering on obsession) which makes me like this. I do remember the 'Silbury Hill' of Mill Lane - always a bit of an eye sore I thought - except in Spring when thrown away garden rubbish often sprouted a few snowdrops and daffodils - which obviously thrived there - and expanded.
ReplyDeleteI would have said your garage was exactly the kind of personal edgelands I'm describing here.
DeleteArchaeologists certainly learn a great deal from the rubbish left behind at ancient sites. According to Neil Oliver places like Skara Brae would have been very offensive to our modern nostrils but they must have thought of it as the sweet smell of home. My edgelands are my shed and the cupboard under the stairs; I never know what I'll find in there!
ReplyDeleteWe're very particular about smell aren't we? One doesn't have to go back far. I remember back in the 60s/70s, in the days before the UK diet really took onboard 'foreign food', how people complained about garlic. It's a great smell! And everywhere used to stink of fagsmoke back then, too.
DeleteMuch to think about hear. I wish there were more edges instead of the massive urban sprawl we have.
ReplyDeleteYes. More edges rather than longer edges.
DeleteThank you for reposting. Throughout my life, I've lived in edgelands. That is where I feel most comfortable. For my second floor condominium, my small porch is my edgeland. The county I live in has its Northern border with Canada (25 miles away), with edgelands leading to it on both sides. To the east are edgelands leading to the nearby Cascade Mountains. To the west are edgelands leading to the nearby Salish Sea. An edgy place!
ReplyDeleteOne often gets a more realistic view from the edge of things.
Deletevery interesting thoughts on thresholds and edgelands. There's the remains of possibly an Iron Age Fort on a hill in Edinburgh, but most people don't know it's there, let alone what it was.
ReplyDelete