Beating the bounds

 In some places, people still practice the ancient custom of beating the bounds.

The parish was the basic unit of society in medieval England. Maps were rare, as were people who could read them. But it was important for common people to know where the boundaries were. A parishioner might have the right to graze a cow on the commons of his parish, not on the commons of the parish next door.

So once a year the older folks who had learned the landmarks as children led younger folks around and showed them. The bounds of the parish were kept in living memory.

I like to think I’m doing something similar.

I don’t own any of the land I tromp on. The public does. But as a member of the public, I have a right to walk the land, and it seems to me that I have a balancing obligation to know something about it.

So I’ve been in the woods to see what’s blooming.

Incidentally, the origin of the phrase “beating the bounds” interests me, but I haven’t found anything convincing. I’ve run across articles describing how violence can help imprint memories and so children were taught to beat the boundary stones with switches. In some cases, the adults thrashed the children, allegedly to help them learn. But it seems to me that the beat we’re talking about probably is in the sense of a “regularly traversed round.” The cop patrols her beat, while the reporter covers his.