Author and Conservationist Laurence Rose took thirteen of us on an inspiring outdoor nature writing workshop for River Holme Connections. This innovative exercise based on short exploratory walks at Bottoms Mill, was a fantastic opportunity for the community to creatively express their interest in nature through writing, regardless of experience or confidence.
Bottoms Mill was the chosen setting for this workshop: it combines in one small area countless potential subjects for the writer, living and growing in and around the river, mill-pond, woods, meadows, industrial and urban environments. Laurence encouraged everyone to explore the beauty, drama and mysteries of the natural world in novel ways, paying attention to themes such as:
- The uniqueness of the moment (time, place, context, and detail)
- Using all the senses (mindful observation)
- Imagination
- Thoughts and feelings
- Everything is a story
All equipped with a notepad and pen, everyone explored the style of writing that suited them, from non-fiction prose to poetry. Everyone enjoyed their morning and River Holme Connections would like to say a big thank you to Laurence for making this session possible. This activity gave everyone the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of nature in a different way and focus on the moment.
Laurence takes up the story:
Even before we reached the river it became obvious why Bottoms Mill was such a good choice for a nature writing workshop. The 150-foot chimney, built from 200,000 bricks in 1911, is now rapidly turning into a vertical forest, with willow trees growing up one side to the very top. The working mill depended on nature – the river – and now nature is hanging on to the remnants of industry.
The group scattered for their first writing exercise. One, Juliet, crossed the river and marched uphill into the woods on the opposite bank. Inspired by the leafless “canopy above, a spidery web of branches, so closely related to lung x-rays, softly swaying, drawing me in and giving me oxygen.” Juliet’s thoughts wandered well beyond the narrow valley, and she ended up writing a blog of her own.
When we reconvened to share our first jottings, she noted the many small things that the group had taken their inspiration from: “the palette of greens, and blues, the rushing river water and bird song, mole-hill homes, reflections in puddles, and even the Lowry-like matchstick people of our group.”
Another participant, Tom, also went public with his reflections days after the event, posting on X/Twitter: “Since last week’s nature writing workshop with @LaurenceR_write I can’t stop writing Haikus.” Tom was inspired by this beautiful flower on the day and wrote:
“A golden jewel, the first treat of new spring. Oh Lesser Celandine how you light your little world, and with it my soul. My thanks you’ll never really know, but they’re there, each spring, they are there.”
John, on the other hand, found words gushing like the Holme itself, with at least one long poem to show for his two hours by the river. This verse captures its past and present, human and non-human dimensions found in a single piece of stone:
“Neolithic standing-stone?
No, a rough-hewn gatepost
scarred with purpose long gone,
Its companion across the way time-lost.
This one’s still here, still standing, all alone,
gatekeeping grass.”
As for me, I watched a tiny wren foraging around the exposed roots of a huge sycamore. The size difference excited me for a moment, until I decided that was too easy a starting point. After all, the wren is one of the biggest inhabitants of the valley. Apart from a few thousand trees and a few hundred other animals, everything is smaller than a wren. That wren would snuff out more life in a day than a sparrowhawk could manage in a year. It was a formidable predator: feared spiderer. By comparison, the sycamore was mountainous, and I got as far as a title for something: The Mighty Wren of Sycamore Mountain.
