Hope: Snowdrops (on the day we met)

It had been a long day, in which we had looked at 6 or 7 houses. Travelling the road to get to the last of the day, it appeared we may be wasting our time: I had long ago lost all sense of geography, so had literally no clue where we were, nor any hope of finding the right place anymore. Arriving at the gate, the house looked as dark as the ill-chosen estate agent’s picture and, by the state of the sign on the gate, had been À Vendre’ for quite some while. Only the sight of the snowdrops on the other side persuaded me to go in.

The smell of that fresh evening in March kept me going: I wasn’t used to fragrant air, since at home we live with too many cars, in spite of our proximity to fields. Curious in spite of myself, I followed the agent who had met us there, through the latched side gate (you still have to lift it with your foot) and into the courtyard. On touching the wooden support on one of the barns as we entered, it seemed a relationship had begun, whatever the outcome.

We were walking slowly – I noticed the martins’ nests under the eaves of the barn, then through the front door, the light in the dining room. Unlike any of the houses we had viewed that day, the air inside was warm…heating! My eye travelling to the piano, I saw my husband playing. He has so little time for the music he loves. Further dream-like and healing imaginings, (our lives had become so busy, so packed), drew me in.

However, we hadn’t yet been back outside. Having grown up in Kent, where square feet are costed as you tread, notions of ‘space’ are price-tagged. It may be the garden of England, but land is definitely for the loaded! … Beyond the lawn and covered eating area, past the small orchard and through a gap in the hedge, the garden opened out into a clearing, with a wooded area at the end. It was hard to imagine we hadn’t now ventured into neighbouring farmland. As we came back up, the snowdrops returned to view – I was in love!

Much practical reckoning later, we were able to make an offer, which was accepted. I still ache with anticipation every time we drive the birch-edged road to the house. Due to Covid travel restrictions, it’s been almost 6 months now since we were able to visit. I know, however, the snowdrops will be peeping through and it calms me to know this will happen independently of me, or of what it is decided will happen with rules for travel. The barn owl will continue to roost in the beams above the straw and later in the year, daffodils will appear and the martins will return to their nests.

‘These things are promises, no doubt we will come back to them’

Hugo Williams, Tides

Why my house in France?

Often when I’m here (in my ‘nice’ four-bedroomed semi in ‘nice’ suburban area of a ‘lovely’ historic city in SE UK), I’m able to feel lucky.  I’ve trained myself to focus on what is positive: our relative affluence, that we are healthy, that we have jobs, that this is peacetime, that we live between a town and beautiful countryside, within reach of the coast … there is a lengthy list.  This sense of perspective is is important to me … and certainly when I voice discontent there are many who tell me how lucky I am and refer me straight back to gratitude!  After all, we have been unable to visit our house in France for some five months now: little did I know when I wrote my June 2019 post about missing it due to family committments, we’d be separated by Covid restrictions, literally banning us from travel. I’m so fortunate to be safe in south east suburbia.

So why the longing to be in that house, in France? It’s hard to justify longing, it just is. I can’t say why. Why that day in 2016, when we had visited so many houses, did I touch this one … and it touch me? It had been a long day and we were so grateful to our French friends Ang and Michael for helping set up the appointments and coming with us. There were some possibilities and we had almost left this one out, since the dark picture on the estate agent’s blurb did it no justice at all. It was only by virtue of the amount of land I wanted to consider it – I was surprised at the size of the plot. The agent met us at the gate and let us in. It was early spring and daffodils shone in the grass by the woodshed. He let us through the side passage to the front door and I knew when I reached out and felt the wood of the barn that I wanted to be there, yet at this point I hadn’t even seen inside.

I’ll describe this first meeting – between me and the house – in a later blog post, but four years on I have no regrets, other than being unable to spend more time there. And I guess my lack of a plan, since all I know is that I need to be at the house often and that this heals me. There are obvious downsides to being so instinct-driven: not least that goals and financial plans can be helpful and remove some of the anxiety of not knowing where the repair money for an old property is coming from. When I read or hear about people’s experiences of buying and renovating houses abroad, they usually have one or more of DIY skills, money and time … and between us at the moment we don’t have any of those! Since my paid job is part-time, I do have the freedom of long weekends, and therefore some time available, but certainly not the money to cross the Channel frequently, even once we are allowed to without quarantine again. Once more I need to allow myself the space for this to evolve, painful as it is, (not least because I judge myself constantly), by slowing down and listening to my heart … or the house. Maybe they’re the same thing?

Where to call Home

It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to visit our peaceful home in France.  We are up against three children’s and five different institutions’ agendas.  I’ve also never quite worked out how children’s clubs you pay for seem to own their time, when you will pay the fees anyway, regardless of whether you’re away or not! I know, I know, committment, part of a team and all that … but they are actually children and with that need time out with their family too!  Enough negatives maybe…

Our French sanctuary takes us away from what is increasingly feeling like madness:  in a beautiful, ancient city where a new multi-storey carpark scheme takes precedence over cycle routes, I need to get away.  If I could think of a way to earn my living doing it I’d let out my house in suburban SE UK and go for the duration! Silence is becoming so precious.  Even as I write, alone in the ‘quiet room’ of the library, the noise from outside is a constant yet unwelcome companion.

It is hard to understand how, when we know we need silence for thought, creativity and well-being, it seems not to be a priority in our cities or even many of our homes.  Even in a relatively tranquil area of suburbia, on a day when neighbours are not lawnmowing, building or busy with DIY, there are alerts I have messages, alarms to tell me the dishwasher or washing machine have finished …in addition to the cacophony in my head:  school admission form, marking, lesson prep., accounts, washing…

Are we so accustomed to noise we’re unaware of the stress levels it creates?  Even when I am aware of it, in a working week, with evenings full of family committments, there is often little I can do.  Beyond taking up yoga and seeking out quiet spaces whenever I can, my body is telling me I need to move.  Oh for that quiet space, the view from a window beyond which a hare runs across the grass, birds come and go and a deer startles from beside the woodshed.  Our house in France, our sanctuary and my spiritual home.

 

Permaculture novice

Although permaculture has always interested me, I’ve been daunted by the vastness of the knowledge and understanding I’d need to integrate it’s principles into my life effectively. I’ve decided it’s pointless not starting a project because you can’t do it big or well enough, so am focussing on improving the efficiency and, I hope, quality of life in my tiny suburban corner of the globe.

Where to start? Well, since my last post my interest in food has developed, which helps. The discovery of the un-packaging shop in town has helped, along with conversations with my husband, who enjoys cooking more. Some jars have formed (see photo) and meal planning started, though needs improvement as we find it hard to set aside the time. Budget has also had an impact, as budget changes mean I simply can’t afford to ‘last minute shop’ for things so often.

Another change: the plan to sell the car. This will ease the financial situation, although I’m nervous of a repeat of past experience where my sense suburban trapped-ness grew beyond my tolerance threshold. Connections with local community are the answer, or part of it, but this proves difficult in a community of commuters. I have to expand my connections.

Finally, for now, I’m considering the best use of what is currently a concrete hard standing for two cars out front. Having unsuccessfully tried car and parking shares (little interest from some I suggested it to, combined with lack of compatible needs from those who were keen), I’m wondering again about how to use it optimally. Once we have one car, us off-road parking for a guest vital? Or is it useful (south-facing) growing space? Currently no water supply and containers would dry out quickly. I imagine it might be costly to dig it up … unless we did it ourselves. I’ll ponder on it – enough for today. I need something to calm my mind:

‘The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.’

T S Eliot

When biscuits fail

We are trying to ‘Un-consume in 2018’, as part of a group set up by Catherine Lloyd,

https://www.facebook.com/groups/368553396923060/

 

 

The holidays over and as February looms, I’m more pushed for time and feel burdened by routine.  My goal of offering gifts that count, but don’t cost is a challenge.  In spite of some clear successes, I can’t say I think I’ve ‘got it’ yet:  the art of giving is hard to master.

Let’s start with what went right: I’m in a department store café with my daughters and joke to the lady next to me that she’s nicked the last baked potato, (which she had!) … as they leave, smiling, my eldest asks me, ‘how do you do that?  …Make friends so easily?’ Touched, I love her for reflecting back a little bit of me so positively.  It means a lot and at that moment I realise that, like her, I carry an easy capacity to compliment.  What wonderful, feel-good giving for free!

There have, of course, also been failures.  The error in question was an attempted ‘gift’ of time’ … well-intentioned, yet wrapped in my own values and needs, with insufficient thought as to the recipient’s own position.  Result:  a loaded, coded package that made them feel obligated.

It was returned unopened.

I have agonised over this, probably too much, definitely too long.  But I’m a brooder … that’s what we do.

Commitment to the sometime painful emotional process we hope will be worth the gain is tough.  I need to work out what went wrong and I guess it was something like this:  you make beautiful, home-made biscuits, you bake them with love, yet if you offer them to someone allergic to the ingredients, you’re unlikely to hit the spot.  This was my mistake in offering time to a busy person.

When I think about it now, I was primarily trying to service my own need.  I value spending time and feel deeply appreciated and valued when people spend time with me. This doesn’t mean inviting someone to spend time with me when I am less busy, even offered with every good intention, will come across as a gift to them, whether or not they share my values hierarchy.

It is not just Christmas that has been commodified, it is giving in general.  However, as I have said before, stepping away from it is complex.  Hurt at what I perceived as rejection, I have beaten myself up over and over for my stupidity.  Yet I am, at the same time, aware that emotional deficit is no starting point for giving.  That easy capacity to compliment needs to start at home … if we are to get it right, we should forget martyrdom.  We must first be very, very kind to ourselves I think.

The challenge: un-consuming in 2018

The challenge is from my friend Catherine,

whose genius idea it was to set up an

‘Un-consume in 2018’

 Facebook group and make me a member.

 

 

 

The challenge is exactly that:  to try and un-consume in 2018, in whatever ways we can, sharing ideas and inspiring each other as we do.  I like the group because of its inclusive, fun and un-judgemental nature.  No-one is setting themselves up as an expert.  We are, simply, living and trying … and although all on different stages of the journey, as a group we have only just begun!

So, Christmas has come and gone and already I feel happier and closer to people as a result of thinking of gifts I could give them that they’d like, whilst avoiding presents in the conventional sense. Result!  This is not the first time I have tried this, as I have attempted it for a number of years, with varying amounts of success.  One issue is that the time it takes for me to think of a different ideas for each person runs out and I end up buying more than I meant to every time.  I can’t help wishing I was one of those people with an obvious craft, talent or other ‘product’.

There was the year we did marmalade, to find although it’s my dad’s favourite, many of our friends don’t actually like it!  Then the year of newspaper wrapping … I was more pleased with the way that went.  We’ve done gift brunches, vouchers, walks and biscuits:  the usual stuff! Two reasons this year felt a bit different:  a sense of connection through group membership and understanding that money spent on duty gifts can mask emotional distance.  It is therefore important to read people well to ‘get giving right’.

This year I did buy some presents, but feel my feet more firmly set on a path to less consumption and engaged in more relationships of mutual understanding.  One of the presents that touched me most was a packet of seeds from my friend Jo.  When we know we can be touched by ‘the little things’, how is it we are also so susceptible to marketing?

Given that ‘I’m just not doing presents’ is not a real solution for me either, because of the desire to show love, feel connection and reluctance to risk valuable and valued relationships, what is the way ahead?  I guess as far as Christmas is concerned I have another year to think about it.  Meaningful stepping away from its commodification seems a complex process:  done properly, the ‘un-consume’ thing is deeper than I first imagined!