Walk the Hill - No. 1
winter on the hill - breathe and admire
This year, I set no more but ONE New Year’s resolution. A goal I’m heading towards, though it feels much more like an exploration of sorts, a process-oriented goal, rather than just a something that might be crossed off a checklist. There have been aspirations and business goal settings and dreams as well, but they didn’t present themselves to me like a true New Year’s resolution. This one goal did.
So, my goal for this year is to walk up the hill behind our village, way up to the top, at least once each month. My reasons for doing this are manyfold. I’ve been sick a lot this winter and have viewed any kind of regular physical activity with a neglectful eye over the past year, but scheduling regular yoga or weekly hikes feels like way too much to add to my days. I rather start small and stick to it. Other than that, I simply miss being up there. Not long ago I went up there often, together with my horse. We’ve spent hours in the forest, climbing the hill and I miss the view, the paths, the trees, the familiar ground underneath. We went up there, very often during the summer months, regularly for about fifteen years. Then life took challenging turns. While my horse suddenly got very sick last year and lacked the energy and motivation to walk further than a  short dog-walkie-round, I not only had started to question the way I handled and trained my horses (whole different story), but also to take my creative business seriously. It was only work, work, work for a long time and any longer activity felt like taking time away from what was most important to me: growing my business.
And now, after over a year of not riding, of not being up there, I miss it. I always thought me and my horse will go up there together again – and I’m pretty sure we will – but he needs a bit more time. So, I think I can go alone as well, though being without an animal when you’ve always walked and hiked with an animal is incredibly weird. I can go ALONE and seek nature and a spot with a view; I tell myself over and over.
Then, two weeks ago, I discovered
and read a wonderful text by her (I don’t remember which one, but it really struck me) and I thought, why not put my monthly walks into texts? Like a diary entry. I already set out with my camera to take nice photos, but writing down my walks up the hill will catch a bit more of the magic I encounter. So, let’s read about my first walk in January.No. 1 - January
It’s been the first sunshiny day in weeks, what do I say, MONTHS! At least it felt like that. January was almost over, so this weekend it should be, it must be, otherwise I would be breaking my goal, right? Even better then, that the sun was shining, because walking for at least two hours in relentless rain and winds wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned. So, after breakfast over a video call with my sister, where we discussed the options of starting my walk in the village or driving up to where the forest starts, I packed my backpack and … took the car.
The relatively long street up to the forest edge – a 15 to 20 minutes walk on an asphalt street going straight through bare fields – was something I just didn’t want to face right now. It had hold me back so many times, though I can’t exactly tell why, maybe because it’s just not as exciting. So I grabbed the keys and skipped it.
There it was: the hill rising up over me. To get to one of its peak spots called Wandernmannseiche1, I started at the Northern edge, to walk to its Western side, planning to go down over the Eastern route. May I repeat this in a way I would explain this to my sister: I parked underneath the forest, going up first to second turning spot, then up behind them. I stopped at the crossroad behind Wandermannseiche and came down over Laatzen through the hollow. Got it?
It was a beautiful day with blue skies and mild temperatures, but a bit of wind. I like wind, the way it makes you feel your body, you’re just a bit more alive with it than without. My walk started in shadows. Even though it was already lunch time, the sun wouldn’t rise high enough to catch the grounds on this Northern edge. Grass lay frosty on the ground, shimmering with white crystals. The bare trees showing no signs of growth, still being deep in winter mode. As I walked higher, bits of sunrays shone through the tree trunks, highlighting leftover seeds on goldenrod and sturdy stems of grass. I started to feel the stiffness in my muscles, not being used to walking up the hill and still suffering a bit from the last cold that caught me. It had been an exhausting winter, full of colds, flus and almost-burn-outs and I could feel it all over me.
I stopped often, to photograph nature, I told myself, but deep inside I knew I needed these stops. Isn’t it strange that on some days some paths seem more challenging and steeper than on others? Today the paths looked medium. Steep, but manageable. There was lots of moss growing along the way. No wonder, as it had been raining since Christmas. Behind the second turning point the path changed from gravelled forest road to bare soil, which was muddy at first but the higher I got, the firmer it was. I admired a natural wall of stony soil, hoping to remember to bring bottles with me next time, to collect a bit, to create pigments for painting. I always want to collect pigments for paintings outside, but again and again forget to take bottles or a bag with me.
Walking up the hill was exhausting; my legs hurt, still feeling slightly stiff, but breathing the fresh air and being able to explore nature’s beauty was incredibly good for my soul. When I was halfway up, all busyness and hustling had fallen off of me and I was simply walking, breathing and admiring. What I had missed for so long, the calming energy of moving yourself in a forest, had come back and it felt incredibly good. All way up, at the Wandermannseiche, I wanted to stop and have a little break. But the wind was too cold, blowing from the west, so that I walked on and sat down at a crossroad. Underneath a tree, on soft grass, I put my hiking cushion, face towards the sun.
After a while, I proceeded to walk back down following the longer slopes over the east. The forest changed a lot, from a wildly overgrown wood with many younger trees to an older beech forest, with high trees and far views underneath. It felt like walking down the aisle in a huge cathedral. Winter was still strong and visible up here. While there was spring lurking around in our village, here it was bare trees and no signs of any blooming. The cold sun shown deep inside without spending enough warmth to make anything bloom. Nonetheless, being able to look that far underneath a fully grown rooftop – with missing leaves – was special.
Anyway, the path, gravelled again, took a turn and suddenly I found myself looking at a cut-over forest. I remember this part as dark and shadowy, as spruces had grown there. None of them were left. Changes like these always leave me with surprise and it often takes a while to process them. It’s such a radical change, even though I know these spruces would have probably died soon. They simply don’t belong here. But tree-less forests are a bit heartless. The essential piece is missing and stumbling across it behind a road turn left me baffled. Especially because I know this part of the forest won’t look like a great forest again in my entire life. It makes me really sad. I’ve seen so many local forests die during the past years, I’m wondering whether I will ever walk through a proper forest at home again.
By following the path down the hill, I soon came into the shadow again, while the sun was hiding behind in the west. The views were great as well, but I realised I like the other one, facing westward, a bit more. The eastern view is dominated by a close local town while the other is just hills and curves. However, with still hurting and now a bit exhausted legs, I arrived at the hollow. A steep, small valley with a tiny stream running in the middle. It had been dry for a long time, so I was astonished to find it bubbling with water. I jumped across it, smiled and kept on walking. Now it was only a turn to the left and I walked the last five minutes along the forest edge again, seeing my car in the distance. Somehow, I was feeling slightly sad that I had taken the car because now I couldn’t walk back down through the sun. I’m already looking forward to the next time and can’t wait to see if there is still winter up there, or if I can spot first signs of spring.Â
The Wandermannseiche (EN (losely): Wayfarers Oak) is a local place way up on our hill, overlooking our neighbouring village to the west. It was created to honour the people who left to live in different countries. There’s a bench with labels stating various names with the places these peopled moved to. Next to it there is a huge oak tree with little flags from different countries. Then there is also a little hut with a wooden box. Inside you find notebooks where people could write down what brought them to visit this place (like a diary). Sadly, I had to find out that all journals are full since 2021 and no pen is left. Maybe next time I take a new journal and pen with me to place there.
About me: I’m Mareike, the writer of this newsletter hills to heart. I’m also the writer of my free Studio Journal newsletter, my Studio Blog and an artist, trying to capture the world around me with oils, watercolour or whatelse comes my way. Recently, I launched my art online shop, which you’re welcome to explore.