Hollows and gunshots

Amid cicada orgies in the treetops

I walked a mile uphill with a five-litre bottle of water, swopping hands every so often. The strap cut into my hands and kept on slipping. I carried it down a familiar dusty track in the woods to where last week I happened to notice a hollow in the rock. I must have walked past this hollow a thousand times, but it is so weathered it is almost invisible to the eye. Someone had cemented an extra higher edge on the downslope, enough time ago for moss to have grown there and died.

I can’t help surveying the forest afflicted by this cruel drought, the likes of which none of us can remember. Taking so many photographs over six years, you pick up on everything. I might as well have a magnifying glass strapped to my head! We got down to 25% water levels in the spring, after the no-snow-melt.

In May the rain in the mountains was daily and the reservoirs got back up to over 30%. Thank goodness but the heat is digging in now. Even the gorse a meter tall is brown. Maybe a shepherd made the drinking trough in an outcrop of rock when the terraced land was farmed for carob pods, olives or grapes and itinerant sheep. 

Today I swept out the grey dust and gravel with my hands, blackening my nails in an instant. Dry pine needles were collected there. They spiked my skin, they are that dry. I poured all five litres into the hollow. Then I walked further to my rock perch that looks across the vineyards and the next village and ate a muesli bar for breakfast. I had to chuckle at the irony when I realised I had forgotten to bring myself a drink.

Nobody. Not a soul was walking. At 8 it’s busy but at nearly 10am the only accompaniment is the cicadas who by this time were just loving the heat. I switched left through the trees to avoid the sun. I know these woods well. As I entered the woods it felt as if I was intruding on cicada territory. Their screeching seemed like a war cry, trying to scare me into turning back. I even pictured them in chain armour, with iron helmets, shields and swords trying to block my way.

Crazy woman. They couldn’t be more misunderstood. This storm in the treetops is really an orgy not a war. It’s a cry for the ultimate orgasm, to then die like martyrs. 

They were really giving me sound advice though! They were more likely to be screaming at me ‘go home!’, it was 32 degrees and 65% humid and yet the sun was only just over the tall trees. They were yelling at me, ‘It is cicada hot, and getting hotter and you better get home or shrivel up and die!’

A bit of an exaggeration but I did realise that if I tripped and broke a leg there probably would be no one passing by for a few hours, no one to rescue me until the dogwalkers brave the afternoon heat as the sun goes down. 

I wondered about the puddle of water I had left behind. How long would it take for the first mammal, or bird or reptile to find it? I hoped it wouldn’t be a dog but only because they can get there fill at home. 

Ten minutes later I couldn’t resist doubling back, walking slowly, silently back to watch, from a distance. Stupidly I imagined a rabbit sitting at the side sipping. I guess it takes a while for nature to trust a new niche, but it is probably the only water body in these woods for miles and I couldn’t underestimate its importance. I needn’t have been so cautious though. It would be difficult to disturb anything, I couldn’t hear a buzzing bee or a bird, neither did the Merlin app, the cicadas were outscreeching every other sound, including my footsteps.

A minute later, starting to think I’d passed the spot, less familiar with the change in direction, there was one almighty gun shot. Collared doves flapped their wings loudly in shock, steadying themselves on the branches. The gunshot ripped through the air across the hills, reverberating around the valley. No rabbit or ant in their right mind would still be sipping. The only fool round here was me.

I was wondering if it was the start of a local fiesta, but cannon shots are nearly always at 6am accompanied by playful drums. A second gunshot pierced the air! I realised in my slow overheated brain that this was no party. Not the kind of party I was thinking o

f. Hunters must be near, near enough for astoundingly loud bullets and maybe, just maybe I should get out of the way! I quickly climbed the rocks up the steep hill to a safer more familiar place to finish my notes until my bum was numb on the jagged rock.

Would the birds or squirrels find the water before it evaporated in the sun? Would they see a pool of blue reflected sky on the wood floor and dip down? Would the wasp that was circling above it in a squiggle of a doodle be a signal to other wildlife that water was near? 

Did I feel silly walking with water into the woods and carrying empty bottles home strapped to my back? Definitely. Will I do it again? Definitely. Actually, wondering if to set up a camera to film the puddle! I even started thinking how to make some shade to stop the water disappearing into this stunning sky that has totally sold out to drought.

It is amazing how doing something simple brings a tiny buzz to the morning. Feeding nature brings you closer to the other living beings, squirrels, cicadas, bee eaters, foxes, short toed tree creepers, dogs, and wild boar I suppose too, I even saw a golden oriol here once. When we think we’re, bigger, taller, higher than everyone or everything around us, we are only building ourselves up and giving ourselves further distance to fall. I suppose it is only logical that being more equal we lose the fear of falling. So I shall let you know how my mini-oasis evolves. Until then I wish you a fabulous weekend. Making the most of ‘what we got’ and looking at the sunny side, even when it’s burning hot!

A manmade drinking hole reflecting the sky. (I only noticed the cigarette butt afterwards).