Upon review of my first post, I noted some spelling mistakes (along with some people who I had let know of this rambling record).

I have always struggled with spelling. I can see myself now from a birdseye view sitting outside my Year 2 classroom, panicking politely with the commencement of that week’s spelling test. It was not until my second year of university, around 14 years later, that I was told to have passed with the flying colours… my Diagnostic Assessment for Dyslexia.

The label brought with it relief but also a sinking feeling that some negative ideas I had of myself were true. I was in fact forgetful, ditsy and a little bit stupid. Confusing Dyslexia with low-intellect, I can turn back now and see how my confidence slipped. But also acknowledge that this diagnosis coincided with a reduction in alcohol consumption. During this sobering passage of time, I came in closer proximity with myself and it started to matter who I was, how I communicated and what I could remember. 

I now no longer feel the weight of this facet so heavily. It does not slump across my shoulders, as it once did. It has the capacity at times to lift me up, encourage my hands and help me to think in novel ways. I realise now, that my leaving of certain situations and feeling lesser is more so a reflection of my company, than my own mind. I cannot recall passages from an article I skimmed in the morning’s news or hold my own in a jargon-heavy political debate. I know I would need to make detailed notes in the margin, with coloured illustrations to give myself a chance, but i also know I would not find joy in this exhange. I enjoy speaking to people about their own experience and hearing their stories. I like to make things with people, share skills and experiences. I like to use the library, attend talks, or listen to the radio (always with at least two notebooks to hand) when in need of understanding dense and complex subject matter, which of course can be dusted into conversation, if and when appropriate. 

I attempt to finish a book a month. This labour usually results in the book growing. Becoming sandwiched with sticky notes and paper until the end. I understand that AI has beat me to it and read all reading material available. It is completing student assignments and ridding us of many professions. I worry, as I often do, what is being sacrificed in our pursuit of economising and optimising our relationship with the environment, along with how we record and communicate our experience of it. In permaculture they talk of how we can make our working relationship with the land more efficient, so that as Bill Mollison says, we can use our spare time ‘to sit on our veranda and play the guitar’. But we should not be able to spend all our time on the veranda, playing the guitar! 

With the increase in use of AI, it feels marginally radical to leave in a sprinkling of spelling mistakes. A reminder of humanity, craft and learning from mishaps. I also like the unconscious bias that sometimes springs up when I look back at them. Although… I did receive my second parking ticket last month, as a result of me incorrectly spelling my number plate. “How was I to know that it was an ‘O’ and not a ‘0’?” I scoffed over lunch to some friends. My friend Henry kindly pointed out that, “The last three digits in number plates are always letters”, confusing wording of the explanation I know, but I was thankful for the knowledge and agreed that this mistake is worth correcting. 

They have created an industrial level weeder now that uses AI. I think it uses drones, with a scan and burn strategy. I have only just learnt how to plant out on an industrial scale, so I am yet to jump enthusiastically onto this automated waggon. From my little experience, I can see there being great value in scanning your land with your eyes and hand weeding in a team. The benefits this would have in familiarising yourself with your land, along with providing work and connection to your local community.

After initial weeding was done to my first post, I did return a couple. After all, if you ask five gardeners for their opinion, you will get 10 different answers. Apparently, forget-me-nots are considered a weed by some, as my favourite wild flower – this is not something I’ll be remembering to pluck out. Their Latin name is Myosotis alpestris, something I will also no doubt forget. From where I sit there is a quiet arrogance and exclusivity that comes with the use of Latin names by plant folk. Many of which originate from the first written records in Greece, as far back as 300 BC, by the wealthy clergy and scholars, as the peasant majority were completely illiterate. Those with the plants in their hands, were also most likely those without the pens (or a more appropriate ancient writing implement). So, with another rebellious swing, I would like to learn and use all the common names first. I think more than anything we need to invite people into the conversation of growing and connecting with nature, so first and foremost we need a common language to do so. 

I recently started reading a pamphlet my Grandad put together on our family history, called The Cowslip Meadow. This flower is part of the primrose family, the other common names include: fairy cups, palsywort and plumrocks. He talks about how in the early stages he did not stray away from the current spelling of our surname in his research, but quickly learnt “it is good to remember that a vast number of our ancestors were illiterate and did not know how their surnames were or should be spelt”.  Despite this they still existed and felt the weight of living. He goes on to say that “a great deal of our heritage has just disappeared over the last hundred years and just doesn’t exist, so this is why it is so important to record everything we do and have now”. He wrote this in 2000, dedicated to his granddaughters, with the hope we would carry on where he left off. He is sadly no longer with us, and I wonder if he would marvel at how much we are able to record now but also how much easier it is to exist less in the world, as a result. I hope to preserve the relationships within our family primarily in the physical sense, and then in written record secondarily.

My difficulty with spelling is part of my identity (maybe even my heritage), and I do not feel this is something I need to correct but instead understand and work with. In the same way that we must continue to hold a conversation with the land, those around us, what was before us and what may lay ahead.