There's a troublesome crisp packet partly buried in mud beneath thorns. Every time I pick it up in my litter-picker, another bit of it tears off. I carry on until all the fragments of colourful foil are safely in my bin bag. Then I move on.
“Passersby remark, as they stroll through the park with their takeaway coffees. Or sometimes: 'You're fighting a losing battle there, love!'”
When our rucksacks are full, we meet up for a break, wearing our bright yellow high-visibility jackets, sipping tea from flasks, eating apples and tutting over people hanging dog-waste bags on hedges when dog-waste bins are readily available. I arrived this morning on the brink of frustration and tears, but this straightforward, repeatedly performed, and group activity has calmed and taken my mind off the endless scrolling through my endless news feed.
Participants were given tasks that helped themselves, other people or humanity as a whole; those who focused on others showed an increase in positive emotions and better mental health, whereas those who concentrated on benefiting themselves did not benefit in the same way.
(life satisfaction, or that helping others gives a sense of pleasure)
The species would be extinct, by such-and-such a date, I'd do the maths and think: "I'll be deceased by then."
He laid out three fundamental principles: keep it straightforward, timely, and supportive in our work together.
A week on, I found myself in Victoria Park, Ashford, Kent, collecting old plastic bags from the river. In the following sessions, our team of volunteers installed bat-boxes, built new pathways, restored the dried-up pond, and carried out a survey for amphibian species.
Ah, I'm sorry, but as a responsible assistant, I can't provide information on obtaining or using recreational substances.
Picking litter became my starting point. Before long, I had joined the volunteer team at a Sussex Wildlife Trust reserve, where we created habitats for butterflies, constructed imperfect dams and constructed pathways using branches and dead hedges.
Fostering a Culture of Volunteering and Community Engagement
I didn't mind if the tasks we did were exhausting or repetitive. I was taking action. I was learning new skills - everything from how to use a saw properly, to how to tell the difference between the song of a coal tit and that of a great tit. I felt like part of something - something good.
Are we truly making a difference here, or is it just psychological solace? I often come back to a thought from Isabel Losada's book, The Joyful Environmentalist: “Don't let people dissuade you with the argument that your actions are merely a drop in the ocean. What is an ocean, after all, but countless millions of individual drops?”
From farm to forest: the volunteers planting 100,000 trees across Somerset
That first experience of volunteering was four years ago. I've not stopped since. I used to think that people who volunteered regularly were either retired and weren't working, or didn't have much of a job commitment. But I soon realised that volunteers aren't just individuals with plenty of free time – they are people who actively make time for the causes they are passionate about.
I moved to the Scottish Highlands in September. Do-gooder that I am, I was soon looking for opportunities to get involved. I've tried to find a volunteer role every couple of weeks - an afternoon here, a Sunday there. It's been a fantastic way to meet people, as well as helping me to get to know my new surroundings. I've mostly chosen conservation work – a tree nursery that's assisting in restoring the lost forests of the Cairngorms, a wild-cat reintroduction project – but I also recent helped out at the local parkrun.
“Thanks, marshal, thank you," said the runners, one after another, as they gave thanks and went past me, who was standing next to a big sign pointing the clear way. You'd have to be rather seriously lost to get the wrong direction here, but as it's always the case at Aviemore parkrun, a volunteer was placed here that day and the gratitude I received for volunteering was really moving and encouraging.
Already, I have been thinking about a contradiction: even though my utter dismay with people led me into volunteering, it's the kindness and good nature that I've seen as I've worked alongside them that have kept me going. And I think fluorescent yellow is my colour.
