A Field of Difference

Each field is a world of discovery - for those who have the eyes to see.

Photo by Jenelle on Unsplash

Your local field, whether it be a hay meadow, playing field, or field of wheat, is a special place. Unique. There is no place on earth quite like it, no matter how small or mundane it may appear at first sight. The distinct community of plants, animals, and fungi that call it home; the ingenious expressions of human management and culture over centuries that have formed it; and the particular geology, hydrology, and pedology contained within it are replicated nowhere else. Your local field is, indeed, a special place — enjoy it, explore it, treasure it. 

And learn to read it well.

Reading any field well requires fine-tuned perception and a curious disposition. As you step from one patch of wildflowers, grass, or crop to the next, subtle changes in colour, texture, and form betray the secrets of the soil beneath your feet. Here, the earth is a darker shade of brown and the plants lusher and more verdant. A few meters yonder and bare, dry earth confronts you, warning you something is amiss. At the edges of the field and under the shade of the oaks, flowers bloom along the line where the shadows on their daily rhythm fail to reach, whilst underneath the dappled canopy, fungi stake their claim on the decaying leaf litter. What at first glance seemed to be a uniform field, is — to those with eyes to see — an opportunity for an endless exploration of diversity. Enough to keep an eccentric botanist or mycologist utterly content for many an hour. 

Take, for example, my local playing field. Built on top an old rubbish tip, John Shennan Playing Field is a surprisingly diverse patch of nature surrounded by old housing estates and a busy road to the north. Formed on sloping clay soil, the wildflowers here express this soil type, as do the ash trees that line the perimeter of the field. The field is far from uniform; clear patches sharpen into focus for those who take a closer look. One patch is dominated by ox-eye daisy, a larger relative of the daisy that forms children’s daisy chains, whilst dock leaves and their tall seed heads poke out like flags alerting me to their presence. Another patch is dominated by gently swaying yarrow whose delicate white fronds litter the green grass like a sea of manna. These flowers have been allowed to persist due to a few well-timed mows in a year which have kept shrubs in check, but allowed the flowers to flourish. Other areas of the field have been fenced off, allowing shrubs and saplings to grow unhindered by grazing species and trampling from inconsiderate boots. Walking this field with a curious mind and an alert attention has provided much joy. It has helped me see this, my local field, as the unique and special place that it is.

To a great degree, my enjoyment was enabled by changing the scale or orientation of my vision. This opened up new dimensions of discovery which I otherwise would have remained ignorant of, and it is a practice, dear reader, that I thoroughly recommend to you. It will greatly enrich any walk in the countryside that you may take — even of those places you think you know well. For some, this may involve looking up in the vast expanse of the sky rather than keeping their gaze at eye level. For others, it will mean peering down low at what is going on at your feet, armed with a magnifying glass or macro lens.