I looked down at the rich red ladybird with the same wonder a small child sees the world.
Just a few short moments ago, I had glanced around the vast meadow, wondering how I would spot the diversity of insects I had heard inhabit this area.
It was a bright, late spring day. The sky was blue but filled with white puffy clouds. There was a cool breeze, not great for insect spotting, sensibly preferring to hide in the shelter of the trees and foliage.
Yet, as I leant over the nettles and brambles, I took the simple step to stop and focus on a few leaves for no more than a few seconds.
It was as though a curtain had been pulled away or I had put on a pair of glasses, bringing this other world into focus, seeing this life that was already right in front of me.
Once I saw the first ladybird, immediately, I saw another, then another. It was as though the first one gave me the key to sight.
My eyes moved slowly over the plants in front of me. Crickets and grasshoppers clustered in a group on some leaves. I last saw grasshoppers when I was in my 20s and these were species much smaller than I recall having seen before.
In front of me were oaks, supporting more life than we could even begin to imagine, the life below them, evidence of that. The more I looked, the more I saw; wasps, spiders, beetles, flies, butterflies, moths. The colours, varied and vibrant.
I stood up straight and again scanned the meadow, but this time, only a few minutes later, I was aware that I was truly surrounded by a rich diversity of life.
I looked up and saw the burnt rust undercarriage of kite hovering above me. Stationary, focused, looking for in the plant life below for its prey. Is this not the method I had just used to uncover the insect life around me?
My ears picked up the call of the nesting skylarks. I watched as they rose into the sky, higher, higher, higher, singing as they went, before hurtling back down, disappearing into the knee-high vegetation of the field.
I was told that there were 9 nesting pairs. I could feel the joy soaring within me, alive with all this life unfolding around me.
My senses overwhelmed, I closed my eyes and breathed in the rich air. The wind had died down and the warmth of the midday sun gave me a reassuring hug where I stood. I opened my eyes, just in time to witness three linnets shoot past me, as fast as bullets, singing as they went.
I watched them disappear out of view.
In this world where we are so used to humans being in control; being the greatest, the most powerful, intelligence above all other life, I began to feel my unimportance. Simply a visitor among this much greater community of plants and animals.
And then there is the life deep below our feet. Fairy rings providing evidence that the mycelium and fungi are never far away.
The only constant was change, the seasons saw to that. So much happened here; growing, breeding, overwintering, migrating, flowering, nesting, fledging, emerging, hibernating. From the dawn chorus in the morning to the bats and owls emerging as we prepared for rest.
We are not as intelligent as we are told, for we cannot even see what surrounds us, taking these precious spaces for granted. This wasn’t simply a meadow or a place to visit, it was a home.
Chantal, @wanderfulldn
Following a walk around Warren Farm, June 2022
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