‘Don’t be a lemming.’ A wise old phrase, meaning ‘don’t follow the crowd blindly’, based on the belief that lemmings have such a strong pack instinct that they would follow each other off the edge of a cliff. I heard this phrase in my head when I stepped off the X40 bus at Baldon Lane and a large group of tourists walked up a relatively busy road (with no pavement) to get to Harcourt Arboretum.
Here’s something about me: I will not travel to a new place until I have so thoroughly revised the area in advance that I could be quizzed on it for University Challenge. The night before leaving for Harcourt, I had memorised the entire bus route, the bus timetable, and, most importantly, the walking route from the bus stop to the Arboretum. Now, according to my revision, I was supposed to get off the bus, cross the road, go through a gate and follow the path to the Arboretum entrance. However, seeing the group of tourists head up the busy road instead really made me question my plan. Nonetheless, I decided to trust myself on this occasion. So, I crossed the road, went through the gate and was only two strides up the path when my lovely new boots were six inches deep into thick, wet mud. I later met the group of tourists at the entrance at the same time, but I was covered in clumps of brown and they were perfectly clean. I think I should’ve taken the lemming approach…
Once I had shown my Bodcard to the lady at the entrance, I was given a map and was able to explore the Arboretum for free. As I started along the path, I could smell the hot drinks from the pop-up coffee shop and was immediately immersed into autumn. The air was crisp, I could feel the tips of my ears getting cold, and I could see the cloud of water vapour in the air when I breathed out. The vibes were immaculate.
I had brought a packed lunch with me, hoping to find a picturesque spot to sit and enjoy a picnic. A little while into my walk, I found a beautiful woodland bench, and took my sandwich out of my bag. And, I’m afraid, that’s as far as the romanticising goes, because before I had even taken a bite, half of my sandwich had been stolen by a peacock. No, I’m not joking. It stood there looking at me with no remorse whatsoever. In fact, it had the cheek to stand there trying its luck with the other half. Although I wasn’t too happy, I could at least say it gave all the passers-by a good laugh.
After I’d finished, I got up to continue my walk and suddenly realised that I had no idea where I was on the map. For a geographer, you would think map-reading is one of my strengths. Well, it isn’t. I knew that if I were to stand there trying to work out where I was, it would be dark by the time I found out. So I went left based on ‘instinct’.
Turns out, this was the correct choice, as before long I was surrounded by the most beautiful array of autumnal trees. I felt like I was in a scene from Frozen 2 and I had to seriously stop myself from belting out the song, ‘Into the Unknown’. Although, I do feel as though that would have been rather therapeutic. For me… not for the fellow walkers.
I continued to wander around the Arboretum for the next hour or so, admiring the autumnal views across open meadow and through peaceful woodland. Eventually I came to a halt – I had encountered the most mesmerising redwood tree. It towered above all the others and, for some reason, I felt really drawn to it. So, I decided it would be the perfect spot to do some journaling to finish the day. I don’t journal very often. I sometimes find it a bit cringey – particularly the whole ‘Dear Diary, today I am grateful for…’ malarky. As such, instead I took the opportunity to jot down my favourite parts of the day and where I’d like to go for my next outing. Hint: for next week’s article I shall visit a place that is associated with a particularly famous aquatic animal coming out of a roof. I think you might know the one.
By the time I’d made it back to Oxford on the bus, I felt energised and glad that I’d found somewhere I could feel so at peace. Although, it’s safe to say, that by the time I’d cleaned the thick layer of mud off my boots that evening, I was no longer feeling peaceful…