My path back to Heal

An insight into land management at Heal Somerset, written by regular volunteer and ecotherapy practitioner Simon Woodward (excerpt only, link to full blog at bottom of page)

---

Into The Light

Having been away from Heal for a few months, my path back to Heal started with attending the Into The Light gathering on Saturday the 6th of June. The gloom of the overcast day was offset by the warm greetings I received, unexpected hugs and compliments.

We sat in a billowing marquee listening to some amazing speakers including Meg Avon, a poet, activist and performance artist known for her unique approach to environmental issues. She famously married the Bristol Avon River in 2023 as a symbolic act of love and protest against river pollution. As interesting as the presentations were, occasionally my focus would drift towards the undulating windows, watching the raindrops swerved down the transparent sides. Beyond, the grass bent and ducked in the wind and rain. The irony that the theme of the event was water was not lost on anyone. 

At lunch, I took a walk down to the beaver dam. Being at Heal again was as much about a reconnection with the land as much as the people and the hope. There was a palpable sense of the land's flourishing. This was supported by the State of Nature report shared by Jan. I was also delighted to learn a direct link to my blog had been included in Heal’s Social Impact Report 2026.

Image © Simon Woodward

Solace before the Solstice

Two days before the summer solstice and I was back volunteering at Heal under vivid blue skies and white pillowing clouds. In the morning, Jeremy and I, accompanied by two young guys Caleb and Ralph, bumped our way across the Southern Fields in the pick-up. Our mission was to remove as many metal gates from the land as possible. As we drove down the main track away from the barn, meadow brown butterflies danced before us. We had to slow down for a moment to allow a dunnock time to wrestle an enormous worm off the track – the small bird taking several attempts to take flight with its prize. I felt that familiar feeling of solace from being surrounded by abundant nature.

As we shuttled back and forth from the Southern Fields, the sharing of stories began – everything from heart conditions to nature facts. We stopped by one of the new ponds to pick up some old wooden fence posts, tucking our trousers into our socks to reduce the chances of giving the ticks a free lunch.  The pond was supporting newly planted willow trees. Dragonflies, darters and damselflies weaved and zipped across the water’s surface. I felt an irresistible need to share my understanding of dragonflies hunting prowess with Caleb and Ralph - dragonflies have the highest hunting success of any predator. Jeremy added that this was in part due to their extraordinary eye structure – their sight becomes enhanced as their eyes heat up during the day.  

Clockwise around the northern boundaries

Mike, Ralph and I were tasked with photographing the entire perimeter of the Northern Fields. The resulting images would be part of a bid to access government funding for stock fencing. With a secure perimeter, Heal’s boar proxies, Ticket and Tailor, could be allowed to roam the Northern Fields. 

We were supplied with several aerial colour photocopies of the northern fields along with an example photo of the required view of the hedge line. The three of us organically fell into roles that suited us; Mike driving the pick-up and taking back-up photos; Ralph sitting in the back of the vehicle diligently recording where each photo was taken and me using the panoramic function of my camera.

With the first two fields complete, we drove back briefly on to the public road before trundling up the track that twists and turns up to the elevated section of the Northern Fields. We continued to work clockwise around the fields which first took us alongside the commercial railway line. The glowing hedgerows, bright in the sun, also possessed deep shadows, shady corners and barbed wire woven within its interior. 

The pick-up surfed its way through waves of golden grasses, thistle colonies and nettle patches, the bonnet pinging with sprays of grass seeds.  Swirls of meadow brown butterflies plumed around the front of the vehicle. Overhead, two giant buzzards wheeled in an azure sky.  We were all startled by a deer that broke cover, its arching leap taking it in and out of sight. Twenty minutes later, as we were surveying the hedge alongside the railway line, I heard the clattering of stones as the deer crashed through the hedgerow and across the railway line.

Image © Simon Woodward

Up on these higher stretches, we could see across to the Southern Fields and how the inner hedge rows were beginning to lose their definition, softening and dissolving into the landscape. These stood in stark contrast to the monocultures and managed land just beyond Heal’s boundaries.

Skippers and sticky seeds

We trundled our way back to the farmhouse for lunch. We were escorted by clouds of meadow browns, skippers and marbled whites. I don’t remember seeing these many butterflies even as a child, perhaps only up in the Italian Alps. Returning to my car later that day, I found that my socks were decorated with the vivid green spheres of dozens of cleaver seeds and the golden arrow heads of grass seeds lodged firmly into the weave of my socks. Both were impossible to remove – but then that’s Heal for you. Once you’ve walked through its abundant fields it has a habit of not letting you go.

Read the full story on Simon's blog Rewilding Together