The season is quickening. It’s light enough now to open the curtains and see a glimmer of pink and green, as we our drink our morning cup of tea. Patches of primroses have appeared like bruises in our front garden. Catkins drip from branches and the wren has been examining its old nest in the thatch. Days feel exciting again.
I’ve been thinking about bright days, longer walks. Walks where I pack a rucksack with sandwiches and water, as well as a map and first-aid kit. Days when the sun continues to shine when I’m on my way home and hungry for dinner. I’m busy this month and about to be busier, and knowing that this year I won’t have much time for these kinds of days, these kinds of walks, gives me an added sense of urgency.
Speaking of which…thinking about previous stomps through the countryside brings to mind the ones long enough to mean that nature will have called to me in more than one way. Forgive me for sharing such intimate details: the truth is that I love long walks, and I also love an outdoor wee.
I was wondering what to write about on International Women’s Day. There are so many inspirational female walkers (and I’m still holding true to my pledge made this time last year to read about more of them*), and multiple issues that women around the world face in finding opportunities and safe spaces for exploring the outdoors. But the everyday reality of the feminine bladder is a topic that rarely surfaces. There are some important discussions of urban provision in the shape of effectively-designed public toilets that address the needs of women, and many commentaries on how to set up proper sanitation on a wild camp, but the idea of weeing in the tame English countryside is more or less unspoken. And as one academic paper notes, ‘for gendered reasons, women are less likely to practice open urination, instead becoming practiced at withholding urination when away from home.’**
Taboos about bodily functions will differ around the world, and I am fortunate to feel able to relieve myself more-or-less when the need arises. If I’m out and about, whether in the wilds of West Oxfordshire or up a hillside in Wales, I feel no inhibitions. There’s something liberating about it. A release. Primitive pleasure. A reminder of our connection to the material world and the sodden ground beneath us.
I’m prepared: I keep loo roll and hand sanitiser in my rucksack so I can tidy up if necessary (I always take the used paper away with me). And I’m sensitive: I make sure I step off the path and find a secluded spot in a hedge or behind a tree. There are also stinging nettles and brambles to avoid. With these provisions in place, in a quiet moment and sheltered from the breeze, I’m free to enjoy the great outdoors wee.
*On my bookshelf are Kerri Andrews’ Wanderers: a History of Women Walking; Anita Sethi’s I Belong Here: A Journey Along the Backbone of Britain; Rebecca Solnit’s Wanderlust: a History of Walking; and Cheryl Strayed’s Wild: a Journey from Lost to Found.
** A great exception is Rachel Hewitt’s In Her Nature: How Women Break Boundaries in the Great Outdoors, which I’ve mentioned before, and which includes detailed descriptions of the continence pads she packs for her long-distance runs.
Fascinating, funny too. Can identify with much of this, the joy of long walks outdoors …