A meditation on the many riches freely bestowed by nature

This morning my thoughts turned to something more grand than the birds of the air or the wintering trees around me; I thought about the way nature has always provided for the human race, and indeed for everything else living on this wonderful planet, whether human, animal or vegetable.

So much we receive from nature is absolutely free, even if some of those benefits have now been harnessed by mankind for our continuing use.

Without the sun, for example, nothing would exist for it provides light and heat at absolutely no cost to us. Likewise the air is free, another essential for life on earth, and the third most important ingredient is water.

That arrives free of charge from the heavens to form our seas, lakes and rivers and they in turn provide more life and food which we can harvest for our benefit.

It follows that it is virtually impossible to categorise all the free benefits we receive from nature. The way those necessities are managed throughout the world varies according to the climate - people living in the Sahara desert harness nature's gifts in a way vastly different from those near the North Pole.

Much more locally, nature has provided us with the means of building and heating our homes. The basic necessities - stone and timber - are provided by the earth and, even if we say that some modern houses contain a lot of plastic, we must remember that that originates from oil, which of course comes from the ground. Coal and gas also come from the earth, even if it is necessary for them to be exploited for our benefit.

In the first instance, before farming was formalised, our food was provided by nature. The seas, lakes and rivers offered all manner of edible creatures and plants and continue to do so. Our ancestors simply went out and helped themselves, but we tend to rely on the fishing industry, although some of our fish, such as salmon and trout, now come from inland fish farms.

Nonetheless, water, which is so important to our lives in its own right, also provides us with added sustenance. Water must surely be the most beneficial of all things on earth. Without water, the ground would not produce our food.

Down the ages, we have taken vital food supplies from the ground, at first merely helping ourselves to growing plants and then learning how to cultivate the earth so that our needs were constantly met. Such harvesting cost us nothing, apart from the labour and tools required.

Even today we can walk into the countryside and help ourselves to food from the landscape, if only in small portions like hazel nuts or mushrooms!

In thinking of food from the countryside, we cannot overlook the amazing range of herbs which grow throughout the world. We have learned to harvest these for our medicinal needs, much of our knowledge being handed down by ancestors.

Also down the ages we have learned to domesticate animals, persuading the horse and even the mighty elephant to help us plough, travel and fight wars. We have made the cow vital by supplying milk, meat and leather, and we have made the most of many other creatures such as pigs, goats, sheep, poultry and even rabbits.

Even if such creatures were provided free in the first instance, we now need other people to process their benefits on our behalf. Few of us can milk a cow, for example, and even fewer would wish to kill one for their personal meat supply.

Here in England, our forefathers quickly realised that many wild creatures were wonderful, and indeed important, additions to our diet. Deer, wild boar, fish, rabbits and hares have all been hunted for food, as have a range of so-called game birds such as pheasants, partridges and grouse. While some of these creatures were later reared in farms, warrens, pheasantries or even dovecots, the appeal of hunting them in the wild has never dwindled. People still hunt deer and rabbits or go fishing.

The point about hunting creatures in the wild is that they were freely available for our use, but the need to protect them led to our early poaching laws, in which close seasons were provided. They allowed the creatures, which included fish, to multiply as nature desired.

Precisely when man learned to domesticate animals for his own use cannot be determined with precision, but, like so many aspects of nature, we have taken it upon ourselves to harvest them for the benefit of all humankind.

In pondering upon what nature has provided, we must always remember that what nature has given, nature can also take away. That begs the question of whether nature controls itself or whether it is managed by a superior intelligence.

In exploring the countryside at this time of year, I am reminded that we are now past the halfway stage of yet another winter.

By ancient tradition, the halfway point is Candlemas Day, which arrived last Wednesday. If you check the calendar, you'll see that Candlemas Day does fall midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox.

We know that winter is retreating because the evenings are noticeably lighter, even if they are not necessarily any warmer, and there are welcome signs of new growth in the countryside and in our gardens.

February is our shortest month with only 28 days (except in leap years) and, in Anglo-Saxon times in this country, it was known as Sprout Kale. That is because plants like cabbages and kale sprouted at this early stage, but in fact February did not always arrive at this time of year.

January and February were added to the calendar about 700 BC, with January at the beginning and February at the end. February is named after the ancient Roman festival of Februa, which was presided over by the god Februus. The festival contained a lot of purification ceremonies and examples of them still survive in some areas on Candlemas Day. The decimvirs, a supreme council of Roman officials, moved February in 452 BC and placed it after January, where it has remained.

So far as England is concerned, Candlemas Day was one of the most important of the rural festivals. Country people still regard it as valuable in their attempts to forecast the weather for the remaining half of winter, this being critical in matters of retaining sufficient fodder to feed livestock in the coming weeks and also for the sowing of some crops.

Many country people would insist on sowing seeds at Candlemas - for example, peas, lettuce, sweet peas, onions, beans and cabbages were always planted on that day and it was also marked as the time when one's geese resumed laying their eggs after winter. Another custom was to stop using candles to light the house because the lighter evenings meant they could be dispensed with for another year.

Farmers, conscious that winter was not over, would always ensure they had at least half their stocks of fodder and bedding left at Candlemas, enough to cope with severe weather and snow in the coming weeks.

And, of course, they looked to the heavens on Candlemas Day, believing that, if the day was fair and bright, winter would return. If it was wet and cloudy, however, winter would not return.

One of the surest signs that spring is on the way is the appearance of the snowdrop and, by tradition, it is said to bloom on Candlemas Day.

Monday is the feast day of St Romuald. He was born at Ravenna in Italy in 950 AD and died at Val di Castro on June 19, 1027.

He was regarded as a very important member of the monastic community of his time, travelling widely on the Continent and founding at least two monasteries of hermit monks. Some of those monks still exist as an independent order of Benedictines.

I mention his feast day because it is likely he gave his name to Romaldkirk on the banks of the Tees through being patron saint of the parish church. However, there was also an Irish St Rumold and a Rumwald who was a Northumbrian prince. I believe the village name was spelt Rombaldkirk in 1693, which may provide a clue!