Autumn Paths

valeriehuggins0
Oct 13
3 min read

In search of creative inspiration, I set out to explore a new woodland: Hembury, an ancient forest nestled between two valleys carved out by the River Dart and its tributary, the Holy Brook, near Buckfast in South Devon. I was drawn by the promise of winding riverside paths, dense woodland, and the chance to spot wildlife.

Although summer was drawing to a close and the first signs of autumn had begun to appear, the weather remained fair—perfect for a walk. But almost immediately, things didn’t go to plan. I realized I hadn’t charged the battery from my previous expedition—and worse, the backup was flat too. It seemed fitting, somehow, a reflection of how I’ve been feeling lately. Frustrated with myself and knowing I only had a few shots left, I struggled to relax. Perhaps the photos show it.

What surprised me too was how strangely intimidating this wood felt. It was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the plip-plop of falling acorns and the rustle of wind-blown leaves. I saw no other walkers. There were no signs, no waymarkers—nothing to guide me toward the river. Just me, the trees, and a growing sense of unease.

I felt unwelcome, a stranger, an intruder, which was really unsettling. I started to see faces and menacing shapes:

Luckily, I could hear the sound of water to my right, so I headed down some steep steps, hoping to reach the river, and was rewarded with a beautiful sight:

The last of the summer green in the leaves gave the scene a sense of light, the width of the river gave it openess, and I felt a sense of release. I sat on a fallen tree trunk by the river, ate my apple, and relaxed. I had my phone camera and I wondered how I could capture the scene in front of me. I noticed the play of light through the trees on to the water, and noted the way that was lifting my spirits:

I thought of the blog I had read yesterday by the photgrapher Guy Tal in which he talks about striving for a quality of 'aboutness' in his work, making not just pictures of things but pictures about things. He reminds us that although the photographer has an intention when creating the photo of what it is 'about; it is up to the viewer to discover whatever meaning, or aboutness, they find in the image. And as we all have different life experiences, values, knowledges, personalities and so on, we will bring a variety of understandings of what it is 'about'. I felt a lifting as I realised it is not my responsibility to ensure that a viewer has an emotional response to my work. I mused on this as I put the anger and self-blame about the dead batteries to one side. I took a series of images of reflections and patterns, and played with shutter speeds:

Guy Tal also wrote about the well-known poem by Robert Frost, 'The Road not Taken'

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less travelled by

And that made all the difference.

This triggered lots of thoughts for me. The choices I had made, and not made, and how these 'sliding doors' had shaped my life. Many of my choices had been rewarding. Those I had not chosen? Not worth dwelling upon. Thinking about that 'road less travelled' I played around with alternative settings, creating impressions of the light and the colours, gradually reducing the scene to an abstract expression of what I was experiencing as I became increasingly immersed in the creative process:

I am so grateful that in this time of climate crisis in the UK we have organisations such as the National Trust working to protect woodlands such as Hembury. They are also creating new forests in Devon with Forestry England as detailed here. Gives us hope for our grandchildren.