One of my DoE students asked me at the weekend where my favourite place to walk is. I replied with some naff comment that it was the last place I walked. But it got me thinking. For sure I live for the moment of where I happen to be but to return to my home hills after a spell away is particularly comforting and warm even when being battered by a wintry April shower.
The Australian Aboriginals and the Native American Indians both have their scared places. Such do not seem to appear in the British psyche; or perhaps they did long, long ago but have since been built on by churches, henges and tumuli. The Swedes have a nice idea, a personal special place: smultronställe which literally translates as “a place of wild strawberries”, I like that concept, an idyll to return to for solace and relaxation, where stress or sadness evaporate.
Now where is my smultonställe?