Our landscape is criss-crossed by track-ways and paths, not all of them
the product of human activity. Enter a wood or a meadow and you will find the
tracks created and maintained by other creatures, from the temporary
meanderings of a fox made through wet grass to the more regular routes of
commuting badgers.
Our own tracks and paths tend to have more permanence, especially those
built, through the use of tarmac and stone, to resist colonisation by nature
and to provide a flat surface for feet and tyres. Such creations bully nature
into submission, our technology able to deliver roads and paths that are not
constrained by the landscape but instead thrust their way across it – the
shortest journey between intended destinations. The journey (and the road or
path itself) no longer matters when using such conduits; our focus shifts
towards our intended destination. We no longer have the time to meander or to
take in the landscape; we simply need to get from ‘a’ to ‘b’.
One strange feature of the road is the way in which we describe it as
‘going’ somewhere – ‘that road goes to Norwich’. Of course, the road doesn’t go
anywhere – it is immobile and rooted in the landscape and it is we who are the
travellers. I have little time for the modern road and favour older routes that
are more sensitive to the landscape and whose journeyings follow the contours
of the hills and the crossing places of the rivers. Such routes slow your
journey and present you with views of landscape that would otherwise have been
constrained by cuttings, embankments and roadside plantings of amenity trees
and shrubs.
Better still are the ancient track-ways, whose former routes can still
be found as echoes within the landscape. These have been colonised by nature
and only remain open, in parts, through use, providing a sense that they are in
keeping with the land rather than a challenge to it. These old routes require
you to walk rather than drive, removing you from the air-conditioned cocoon and
rewarding you with exercise and stimulation. Such journeys made on foot also
provide a link back to our nomadic past, a past when we were more in touch with
the world around us.
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