Once more unto the marsh, dear friends - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

The civic situation surrounding Wingham’s calendar has entered a further phase. This follows the emergence of what organizers are calling the March Marsh Marches, a series of carefully planned, carefully paced and occasionally carefully reconsidered marches. These take place not on sidewalks or streets, nor on any surface that would confidently describe itself as stable. Instead, they unfold in the marshy margins just beyond town.

 

Organizers describe the effect as grounding. Several participants have observed, with a tone that suggests both insight and dampness, that the ground is also, quite literally, gripping.

 

The idea reportedly began when a small group of residents attempted to avoid a dense convergence of lunchtime marches downtown. They took a detour along a marsh path. There they discovered, somewhat by accident and somewhat by gradual submergence, that marching through wetlands produced an atmosphere that felt unusually reflective. It was also occasionally adhesive. At moments, it was faintly collaborative.

 

“It regulates the rhythm,” one participant explained while retrieving a boot that had entered into a brief but committed relationship with the marsh. The relationship was characterized by mutual interest and uneven expectations. “You cannot hurry. The marsh has a say. It suggests. It insists. It occasionally retains. And when it retains, it does so with a quiet confidence.”

 

Within days, the concept had formalized into scheduled March Marsh Marches. These included posted times and suggested routes. There was also a brief advisory note regarding the unpredictable enthusiasm of mud. That enthusiasm has been described as welcoming by some, persuasive by others and by at least one participant as “remarkably thorough”.

 

A small but articulate group has begun staging Counter Marsh Marches. Participants proceed along the firmer perimeter of the wetlands. They maintain a consistent and reassuring relationship with gravity. At the same time, they express concerns about the normalization of marsh-based marching during an already march-dense period. Some suggest the town has reached a level of march saturation that was previously considered theoretical.

 

Members emphasize that they are not opposed to wetlands. Nor are they opposed to moisture in principle.

 

“We appreciate the marsh,” one organizer noted. They stood on ground that produced a reassuringly decisive thump rather than a conversational squelch. The ground declared itself with clarity. “Our concern is with the migration of marching into environments that were previously content to remain un-marched, or at least un-consulted.”

 

Perhaps the most notable shift is in how residents speak about the proposed statue of Betty White.

 

Earlier conversations focused on placement and posture. Recent discussions have taken on a broader tone. This is especially true mid-marsh and mid-suction. Marchers consider not only the statue, but the town and the landscape. They also consider the water’s quiet patience. There is attention to the curious chain of events that has led from a simple idea to a co-ordinated series of movements. These now span pavement, pathways and permeable ground that responds in kind, in sound and occasionally in grip.

 

There is a sense, expressed quietly and often while balancing, that the act of moving together has begun to matter as much as the destination. In certain softer areas, it may matter slightly more.

 

The statue proposal remains under consideration.

 

Each morning, boots approach the boundary between firm and forgiving ground. There is a brief moment of collective adjustment. A re-calibration follows. Strides soften. Intent is reconsidered. Laces are tightened with a respectful pause.
Then, with a series of patient, persuasive and faintly approving sounds, the marsh receives them. It considers them. For a time, it keeps them.