In celebration of Country Living’s Access for All campaign, poet and activist Bethany Handley shares how becoming a wheelchair user has gifted her a remarkable new perspective on nature.

For me, spring represents a celebration of life and a chance to embrace living once again. This time last year, I was in the hospital with an acute illness that led to me becoming a full-time wheelchair user. It was the most challenging period of my life, as I was unable to go outside.

Being outdoors is where I feel most like myself. I grew up near the Brecon Beacons, hiking, caving, and climbing. Exploring the hills is more difficult now, but I’m slowly learning through trial and error which routes are accessible.

Gorse is currently blooming on the Blorenge, a mountain near my home in Monmouthshire. There’s a car park near the summit at Keeper’s Pond, a 19th-century forge pond that is a picturesque spot. I glide along the accessible path to view Sugar Loaf rising above Abergavenny. On a clear day, I can spot the peaks of Pen y Fan and Corn Du. The first sighting of snowdrops always fills me with awe. In the woods near my home, the forest floor will soon be covered with them at the start of spring. Then come crocuses and daffodils, my favorite flowers for their triumphant bloom.

Nature provides me with energy and inspiration. As a disabled person, I don’t always feel I belong in many places, but in the countryside, I feel free—until I encounter a stranger’s question or stare. The more I can reclaim my sense of belonging, the more inspired I feel to write.

I use my writing and poetry to bear witness. I am working on a collection exploring access to nature and editing an anthology of Welsh disabled writers. If I receive a discriminatory comment, I might start writing immediately.

Focusing on small details helps me feel grounded. My enjoyment of nature is often compromised by the need to fight for access. Taking time to notice buds emerging from the soil, birds in the tree canopy, and fungi pushing through the gravel on the path forces me to slow down. My worries fade as I become aware of my place as a small, interconnected part of the natural world.

When possible, I go surfing. It restores my independence. In the water, I can move without pain. I’ve surfed at Porthcawl near Cardiff since childhood, but as a wheelchair user, I’ve had to relearn.

I’m also learning to sail at Llandegfedd Reservoir near Usk, borrowing a boat adapted for disabled sailors. It’s a stunning location: spring visitors include ospreys and great-crested grebes.

In the disability community, the day you acquire your physical impairment is sometimes referred to as a “life day.” I’ll mark mine with my family, wheeling through a forest or by the river in my newly resilient body. Having been so ill, I understand the importance of finding joy in the present moment. It’s all any of us have.

Source: Country Living