Small is Mighty

On the extraordinary beauty of small things.

Nov 15, 2025

Hello again

Let’s call it consistently inconsistent, family time and the work that replaced work known as volunteering seem to have taken November away from my grasp. Here though patient friends is a little more woodland wondering.

Imagine seeing a dog sized version of this little fellow wandering down the high street. we would certainly see him then. He would have escaped my notice had I not been sitting, soggy on damp leaf mould with my camera pointed at liverworts in a temperate rainforest. Macro lens deployed, playing at being a photographer whilst fumbling with camera settings. I’m fascinated to know what he is, this little pug in blue armour. He’s hooked me in though, of course he has, a reminder to be pointing my camera downwards more often.

Hazel Woods, Torrisdale, Argyll, Scotland — Hazel Woods, Torrisdale

So here we are in the woods again, Billy and I. A day to ourselves, the weather mild and obliging. A visit to Torrisdale, to our friend’s rainforest, seeking the wisdom of the old hazel trees who’s every branch tells a story. I was turned back a few times by encroaching Rhododendron ponticum, the invasive that ravages, favourite of Victorian castles and stately homes, and scourge of native woodlands. I had to detour, retrace my steps, too many steep paths and vertiginous edges for my liking. We slithered down leafy slopes arriving in ungainly fashion amongst the hazels. I stopped, breathed, calmed myself. There she is, with her unkempt appearance, twisted boughs, tangled sun shoots.

Her appearance belies her wisdom, her connections to the woods around her. She doesn’t need to be fashionable my birth tree, she is abundance, intuition, wisdom and so much more. I stand beside her, touch her many stems, breathe quietly, but she doesn’t speak to me today, suggests I come back when I’m more ready.

She’s right of course, I know I am too preoccupied to listen, so I take some photographs, lulled by the sea lapping on the skerries below, and walk away. I could go on, but it’s not my day today, I can’t force calm. We head back up the hillside, explore a stand of wet rooted birch trees, sit a while by a liverwort covered branch, and just enjoy our time in the sun together.

Photogrpahs of a mass of liverworts — Liverwort Army

It’s interesting that some woods don’t bring me the instant peace I so crave, and this is one of them, it feels full of noisy voices, and rushing people, makes me feel a little unsettled. Not afraid, something other. Curious anyway.

Away home and we pause for a walk in the castle grounds, along the sawmill track, back to the beach. When I first visited here it was a surprise, its hidden beauty. I remember my delight to find the cliffs covered in filmy fern, more than I had seen anywhere before. The rhododendron has been cleared from the cliffs now, and so has the filmy fern, I am devastated each time I visit. Collateral damage, always cruel, always hurtful to someone or something. There are times when it is heartbreaking caring so much about the little things. Across the bay is more destruction, non resident private landowner creating a pay to park car park, flattening the land, removing the scrub, landscaping nature for profit. Illegal, no planning consent, but it seems acceptable despite the campaign to stop the development, an impotent council it seems. Big things get the attention. Collateral damage.

I watch an otter fishing, and two seals leaping enjoying the still waters, swimming closer, examining Billy and I intently. Life goes on.

I’m unsettled just now, unable to concentrate, or sleep well, or order my thoughts. I walk, and get drenched most days, mud squelching under my boots. I enjoy these dark months though, just need to work with them, give in to them, and allow myself some time to find my way out of this melancholy, align to my own rhythms rather than dancing to those of others.

Carradale mornings when the sun shines through the mist.

This morning winter is in the air. Having fed the ponies, walked to the viewpoint, relished the snowy mountains on Arran, we turned to head back home. Billy stopped dead still, a sure sign that he is telling me that he has seen something that I need to know about. A large dog otter appeared out of the plantation, came down onto the track a few yards away from us, looked up, and turned back, its body a beautiful U shape as it dissapeared back up the hillside. if there was anything designed to lift my spirits, it is an otter coming to visit. We have seen him hearabouts before, he’s big, bold, an apex predator, a reminder of why every little step we take to secure the future of our woodlands matters. My call to action, my reason.