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Today I took part in a 'taster' experience of 'Forest Bathing', part of a pilot scheme being run on behalf of Scottish Forestry. Ally led Drew and I through a series of 'invitations' to use our senses and tune in to the landscape around us as we visited various areas of Beechbrae, then served up a brew of plants foraged from the area as we shared our thoughts about the experience at the end. I enjoyed the experience, but find it hard to fully relax into it in a group, and frustrating that I can't photograph and share the experience as we go ("look, what's that? Ooh, I saw a mouse!"). Which is kind of the point, of course - properly switching off the analytical, 'busy' part of my brain to 'just be' is almost impossible for me (unless I'm on a beach on Orkney, when I can space out for hours). Turns out I've been doing something similar on walks by myself for years, which is why my walks never register as 'exercise' on my activity watch!

There was a brief blink of sun today, which lured me outside to the garden, to begin tidying up the detritus of winter. It's amazing, and invigorating, to see so many plants already springing to life. I love looking at the fine details, and the impossibly green fresh growth. But eek, so much gardening to do already! I filled the brown bin with ease, and now that we have to book a trip to the recycling centre, AND pay £50/year for the bin (or so the rumour goes) it will be harder to dispose of all the rubbish I create. Shame I don't have room for a compost heap.

To Beechbrae, on another bitterly cold day (I'm beginning to forget it was ever warm there). Today we considered the many uses of mulch, disturbing the creatures burrowed deep into its warmth so that we could barrow heaps of fresh wood chippings to the main gate, where dog walkers were wearing a muddy track in the grass around the gateposts instead of using the gates, because of the quagmire beyond. The application of several layers of thick cardboard and a deep layer of dry mulch soon sorted that out, providing a bridge across the ankle deep glaur back to the safe footing of the actual path. We also repaired a brushwood barrier where walkers were trying to create a shortcut near the Centre, instead of going round by the gate. After a brief tea-break we also spread a deep layer of well-rotted mulch on one of the outdoor vegetable beds, in anticipation of spring crops to come. And finally, since we were so efficient working as a team, we retreated to the comparative warmth of the polytunnel and transplanted some baby elder trees to bigger pots, to bring them on before they go outdoors in the spring.

To the CAC, to view 'Deep Rooted', eight contemporary artists' responses to the relationship between people and the natural environment, especially trees. I was attracted by the promise of some Andy Goldsworthy, but I was underwhelmed by the exhibits, the two of his works seemed minor canon comparted to his best works. Elsewhere, naturalistic copies of branches in metal and glass (clever, but so what?) someone dancing around (on screen) in an artificial forest installation, some intricate woodwork representing words for weather, and so on. Meh. The exhibition downstairs, of the very varied top choices in the Scottish Landscapes art show, were more interesting, though some of the prices of the artworks were eye watering. Thing I learned - anyone can enter, not just established 'artists' but the next competition isn't till Jan 2025.Tempted to give it a go myself, perhaps if I practice my cyanotype pics or resin something might be chosen for exhibition.

The island of Lanzarote gets only ~150ml of rainfall each year, and most of the island relies on water desalination plants for drinking water. However, most houses are built to a traditional design, and sit atop a water tank, which is shielded from the sun by the building and therefore conserves the water stored there. You can also see larger underground reservoirs in the middle of villages. The lack of water has led to a unique method of 'dry' vine cultivation for wine - in the centre of the island, you can see fields of black volcanic ash, which overlies hollows in which vines are planted singly behind semi-circular walls which protect from the wind. Their roots reach down into a layer of manure and the thin soil beneath the ash, and the 10-12cm ash layer conserves the moisture that allows the grapes to grow (no other irrigation is given once the vines are planted). All harvesting and wine production is done by hand, with over 2000 viticulturalists on an island of only 150,000 people, providing valuable, sustainable local employment.

On a Canaries cruise, my mum and I took a trip to Timanfaya volcano and its visitor centre today. Although the most recent big eruptions were back in the 1700s, and 1824, at the visitor centre there is still (carefully-monitored) volcanic activity directly under our feet - as demonstrated by the guide handing us handfuls of gravel scraped up from the surface, which were almost too hot to hold. We also saw straw dropped into a cleft in the ground catch fire, and 'geysers' of steam created by pouring cold water down narrow pipes, not to mention steaks merrily sizzling on a barbecue grill set over a glowing hole in the ground. I learned volcanos in this area are made of basalt, so black and red (iron oxide) ones are younger and sharper, yellow/brown ones older (up to 3m yrs old ) and smoother, They are fissile, so they all pop up in a row, not randomly. The landscape looks rocky and almost barren for miles around (40% of the whole island) with lava flows right down to the sea from the centre of the island, where often only lichen (white then yellow) can grow. However, there are over 600 species of plants and creatures across the national volcano park as a whole. Mainly tough, spiny desert-adapted plants, nocturnal insects and a few birds, the biggest of which is a gyra vulture, plus rabbits, rats and an indigenous Canarian shrew. Some of the oldest parts look like the 'Hollywood' version of a desert, with what appears to be sand dunes, complete with camels for the tourists to ride on (not part of our trip). Most of the park is forbidden to walkers due to the extreme roughness and fragility of the lava fields and the danger of falling into a hole or cave, but the bus tours 14 km of the park on precipitous roads to give tourists a good flavour of the unique landscape. It is like nothing I have ever seen on earth - even the dry, rocky parts of Lanzarote looked positively verdant after being in the heart of the park.

A very enjoyable day being introduced to the craft of whittling today. I learned lots about making spatulas and spoons, but I was inspired to make a wooden fish for my downstairs loo, which will soon be redecorated with an undersea theme) (final pic shows finished item on 21 Feb). This was a bigger and chunkier project than most others', so I didn't get very far, it will need to be finished at home. I also learned about correct sharpening - my mind was blown by the discovery that you can sharpen tools on a strop made from a fungus, birch polyphore, which grows on dead or dying birch trees. We were each gifted a fresh slice of fungus for future use. I will now be more confident about trying whittling by myself, and taking care of my beginner's blades.

Today I made my first attempt at a cyanotype picture. This specially-coated paper is light-sensitive, and produces beautiful prints if you lay vegetation such as ferns on top of it, so that some areas are shielded from exposure, and the rest turns a beautiful bright blue when rinsed in cold water to 'fix' it. Results vary according to the light - development took much longer in the weak winter sun than the instructions implied (>30 mins v 10 usually) but I was pleased with the result. I used various bits and bobs from the garden - ivy, seeds, a snowdrop or two, tiny ferns. That's mum's birthday card sorted - she loves snowdrops, and a handmade card is nicer than a shop-bought one.