Living in the countryside takes some getting used to (and even then, by "countryside" I mean a 20-minute drive to a city or a 45-minute train ride into London). I did live on a farm many years ago, but the memories have faded and melt into a run of dried mud grooves, dark brown calves' eyes, the metallic smell of sweat and the razor-sharp feel of leaves on stalks of corn. These memories are vastly different to what I see and know now.

What I have learned is that there are the good parts of countryside living.

There are, unfortunately, bad parts. The bad often have me muttering, under my breath, That's it-we're moving.

I am constantly receiving gifts from the tag team terror duo known as Gorby and Mumin. Voles, mice, birds, frogs, and once a cute garden snake turned up as presents-truthfully, I have passed out of the role of privilege in Mumin's life and the animals are presented to her best mate Gorby who, thinking of them as toys, treats them as such. I run a 24-hour rescue mission in this house saving the lives of hapless frogs that venture too far from the pond. Mumin has taken to wanting to sleep outside at night which worries me no end, as we also have a large fox population that will throw down and take little Mummy away.

Everytime I find the carcass in the grass I think: That's it. We're moving.

Gorby also, from time to time, finds a fragrant pile of something in the back of the large garden. I'm thinking it's fox or cat related, but regardless of what butt it comes out of, he rolls in it. This, then, results in him getting a bath and then every square surface in the house that he even looked at gets scrubbed down as my germ phobias kick in at super levels.

That's it. We're moving.

Then there are the fruit trees. Whoever lived here either suffered from diabetes or worried about Armageddon, because we have more fruit trees than we can deal with. I want to call Smuckers and say: Seriously, get the fuck out here and take this shit away. Bring your friend Mason. What, you expect me to make jam out of this stuff? Who the fuck do you think I am, Laura Ingalls Wilder? Jesus. There's the massive Bramley apple tree that's dropping apples, and wouldn't you know it, neither of us like Bramley apples. We have two plum trees, one with dark purple plums and the other with orangey-red ones. I was just mowing over the damn things

That's it. We're moving.

until Angus picked one of the dark purple plums off the tree, split it, and popped part of it in my mouth. The sweet, tender, succulent taste ran down the back of my throat, and we picked several more, which we ate with big grins.

We're definitely staying.

We have large fields on two sides of the house, fields of trees and swaying grasses

We're definitely staying.

and my mortal enemy, the stinging nettle. Truckloads of stinging nettles, so many of them that some of the paths in the woods are impenetrable just now, unless of course you like having boil-like marks all over every inch of exposed skin.

That's it. We're moving.

In the spring morning the sound of pigeons, doves and sparrows compete for the daybreak and once the sun is up the welcoming bellow of the cows nearby accompanies the sound of our coffee grinder.

We're definitely staying.

But the birds decided to hold gang turf wars in summer. The cooing of the doves became a vicious chain saw-like action as the Crips and the Bloods took sides. It was a daily 4 am going to the mats. The sweet, Cinderella-like aviaries became the Alfred Hitchcock version of The Birds, and the beautiful wake-up call became the nightmare frenzy smack down that saw me wanting to shoot the coffee grinder out the window at the singing little fuckers, just so I could sleep longer.

That's it. We're moving.

We leave the windows and doors open when we're home, unconcerned that someone other than the postman will cross the threshold. The DHL delivery man and the postman know us, and they always say hi to Gorby. I feel like I'm living in Petticoat Junction.

We're definitely staying.

A week ago Gorby was pawing at something on the back flagstones in the garden. He was barking at it and his tail was wagging. Smiling, I sauntered over to see what our precious little boy was barking at. I bent over to see.

Yeah. It's a maggot.

We're moving we're moving we're moving.

I'll get used to it all at some point.

Except the maggots.

I'm not really ever going to get used to those.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:47 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
Post contains 821 words, total size 5 kb.

1 Stinging nettles are the food for the caterpillars of some butterflies - painted lady, small tortoiseshell, peacock, so please don't get rid of all of them! ;-) And if you want to see more of them in your garden plant a buddleia bush - we have one at the caravan (Abersoch, North Wales), and it's thick with butterflies whenever there's even a hint of sun. Even hummingbird hawk moths :-) which you would definitely recognise if you saw one. In fact you're probably likely to see them more frequently than me as they are commoner in the South than up here. Perhaps you could make chutney instead of jam from the fruit? If you have damsons at all I can highly recommend damson gin too. Slurp! :-) And as for Bramley apples - they make the best apple sauce since they cook down to a mush with sugar... Nice with roast pork or pork chops as the acidity cuts through the fattiness of the pork. On the whole it sounds like you will stay - at least you don't have seagulls with hobnail boots walking over your roof - at least that's what it sounds like when they land on the caravan roof! Thanks for sharing your musings.

Posted by: Maggie Wallace at August 23, 2006 12:03 PM (p96lg)

2 Yeah, I can relate with the icky factor for sure. But now you have another reason to be happy that fall/winter will be coming soon.

Posted by: Minawolf at August 23, 2006 12:46 PM (75szC)

3 Maybe you could open a "pick your own" fruit enterprise in the back yard - after you get those plums for yourself. We have a single apple tree at the lake and I've been trying to figure out how to draw people off the highway (3 miles away) for years just to avoid picking up and disposing of all the apples.

Posted by: cursingmama at August 23, 2006 01:40 PM (PoQfr)

4 oh I dunno. Making Jam is kinda fun if you have a group. And then you get rid of it by giving it away at Christmas. Saves buying presents

Posted by: caltechgirl at August 23, 2006 02:28 PM (/vgMZ)

5 OMG maggots.. I don't think it's possible to get used to maggots.. EW! I'll consider myself lucky then, that I've only had 1 kitty present encounter, a lizzard that I managed to help escape while thanking Colby so much for his consideration. The husband was not so lucky as a couple days later he came home to a dead one on the kitchen floor. Yuck!

Posted by: Erin at August 23, 2006 04:07 PM (zw8QA)

6 Stay. No doubt about it. The tone of your posts has changed since the move to the Blackberries.

Posted by: Foggy at August 23, 2006 04:42 PM (WlHuv)

7 The tradeoff is worth it. Get used to the fresh air, the quiet, the thunderstorms and spectacular lightning shows, the sounds of the crickets and frogs at night, and the lightning bugs. You'll love the lightning bugs. You'll miss those things if you decide to move back to the city. Maggots are disgusting but it's not like you see them all of the time and you can probably reach an accommodation with the spiders. Might as well because you will never get rid of them all.

Posted by: Rob at August 24, 2006 03:34 AM (MoXSh)

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