The Welsh for an oak tree is derwen, plural derw. The Welsh for druid is derwydd, literally oak-knower.1 So here I am, in my mid 50s, high up on Trellech Common, sitting in an oak tree as a druid might. It’s a magnificent tree, the lord of this part of the woods. There’s just a short section of trunk before it divides in two, and it’s easy to step into the gap and hunker down quite comfortably.
Yes here I am, watching and listening to the woods, waiting for whatever comes. What comes at first are great tits and blue tits, tseeping as they flit among the trees. Momentarily I see them feeding as they swing acrobatically on the ends of branches.
Then a grey squirrel rustles out of the bracken onto a nearby toppled birch. It hasn’t seen me yet. Just going about its business. It will probably soon be heading for the oak and the promise of acorns. Oh wait. It’s spotted me, and I make a discovery — squirrels cluck disapprovingly when they are discombobulated. What is this human doing sitting in an oak tree? It keeps a wary distance and continues its pottering back along the birch.
I let my eyes rest on the bracken along the path in front of me and listen again to the birds. When all of a sudden, commotion! And of all things, the top half of a chicken jack-in-the-boxes out of the bracken. I don’t know who is more startled — squirrel, chicken or me — at the incongruity. But the squirrel and chicken put on a fine Punch & Judy show, furiously arguing as they exeunt right. I make another discovery — squirrels bark when they are pissed as all hell. The raging goes on for some time out of sight in the wings, until eventually one of them tires, or the chicken moves far enough out of the squirrel’s territory, the woods quieten, and the squirrel reappears. It hasn’t finished its business around the oak.
I’m still happily ensconced in the oak crook when I become conscious of a small grey head poking around the branch above me. I offer a greeting — hello you — but the squirrel is clucking again, still unsure. And then I make a third discovery — squirrels also purr. Just pretending to be a derwydd in a derwen, not moving, making hardly a sound, I am no longer threatening. I have become acceptable and worthy of contented conversation. But there is no way I can reply, not knowing the language of purring, and the squirrel soon decides that it has had enough excitement, slips back around the branch, and is gone.
-oOo-
- According to Wiktionary derwydd is cognate with both derw, oak, and dryw, wren — the messenger of the gods, king of all birds and druidic familiar. ↩︎