Always Moving On

From birth until the age of seven, I lived in the same house, played with the same friends and had one set of grandparents living right next door.       Life was anchored and safe, I knew my neighbourhood, the school, my friends, my place.   

One day  we children were told that we would be going to live somewhere else, we would be flying on an aeroplane and living in a very hot country, leaving Grandma and Grandad behind, and my cat, Sooty.         One day Sooty was there, then the next day he wasn't.    I was told he had wandered off and found a new home, I still have my doubt about the truth of that!

                                                                                                                                                                   
There was a flurry of activity, lots of new clothes and sandals bought, packing cases filled and the purchase of several B.O.A.C. cabin bags.    We were on our way to Hong Kong, where we would spend the next few years.   In those days the flight took 3 days, with two overnight stops. 

A few years passed, we came back to England.     We moved every two or three years, Lincolnshire was followed by Cheshire, then the Western Isles, Huntingdonshire, Norfolk and back to Lincolnshire.

New places meant new school, new uniform, new curriculum, being the new girl.  Always the new girl.   I hated school.

I met my Geordie husband in Lincolnshire, we married, moved up to Newcastle, then down to Hampshire, back to Lincolnshire, followed by a few years in Dubai, then more time in Abu Dhabi.   I returned to Lincolnshire so that my children could go through their senior school years without being uprooted or always feeling the odd one out.

Back in Lincolnshire, we bought a house just a few hundred yards from the beach.   We lived there until our three children had been through university and were beginning their own travels - Israel, Canada, China, and Taiwan.   Then we moved into the country, I had found my dream cottage.    Perhaps not externally the prettiest cottage in the world, but the atmosphere was very special and so was the interior.

It was an old farmhouse which had originally had lots of land and barns, although only a large garden remained.    Most wonderful of all, though, was the atmosphere.  Peaceful, warm, welcoming, especially in the room which had been the kitchen in years gone by.      No matter what the weather or my mood I just had to walk into that room to feel better.     Nothing dramatic, just a peaceful feeling.

Unfortunately, it wasn't my husband's dream cottage.   We left after a couple of years and moved here.

We have been here for 12 years now.  This house has become home.

Finally, I have been able to put down deep roots.

It was brought home to me how well I know the fields and byways of this area when I was chatting to a local farmer, earlier in the year.    We were talking about foraging, not sure why, when he told me that he had never seen a puffball mushroom.       

Yesterday I was able to give him a rough map of where to find some on his land.   It struck me as quite funny, but then I have the luxury of just being able to walk the land, whereas he farms it.

This one is now about the size of a football, if no one kicks it or picks it should grow even larger.