A Very Big House In The Country
It’s been quiet on here, and with somewhat good reason. From late last year to, well, just about now, we’ve been looking for a new house, packing up the old house, moving into the new house, and getting things all set up at the new house.
The move also marked our move away from Weston. Adam and I both moved to Weston around the same time. He moved from London in late 2006 and I moved from Vermont in early 2007.
It seemed like a nice place, and in many ways it was and is. But more and more the negative things creeped out, pushing us to our limits, making things a misery. Everyone seems to have given up on Weston, including us.
There are people who are actively trying to make it a better place, but the overwhelming depression of the town was too much for me. I don’t have enough of an affection for Weston to put any effort into making it better. When the council, police, and most business owners can’t be bothered, I can’t stay there tilting at windmills.
So we left.
We went deep into the countryside. We stepped back from the seaside into a building only a few years newer than my home country. (The local pub is significantly older.)
I intend to take plenty of photos, and share them with friends and family via Facebook. The house is something special. The massive rooms, high ceilings, giant windows, and big fireplace are some of the best features, and make it hard to believe that it was the house for the servants.
Our new home, it is — finally — a home rather than a house like all the others, gives us all the things Weston couldn’t. We have stars at night, wild rabbits and pheasant frolic about next to the driveway, and most evenings you can hear the sheep more than the cars.
We also have a community, though one we expect we’ll see more of when it gets warmer. It’s a small village here. While there are some negative parts (‘She’ll know what labels are in your underwear,’ we were warned of one resident), there are many benefits.
The late winter flowers have started to bloom, and we’ve had some sunny days hinting at what we have in store for us. It’s the type of place that makes me wish I was a better photographer, so I could capture it all.
Instead, though, I’m learning to enjoy the experience of it, and have that be enough. It’s the struggle to know that this is home, and not a place we’re simply visiting. The last few years have seen more moves than we ever wanted, but now we’re here.
This isn’t a place people move from very often. ‘It was a privilege to live there; it was something so special to live there,’ our neighbour said. ‘When I moved back and there was a place available, I had to take it.’ (Another explained that he had moved from one house to another, simply because it was a bit bigger and he would still be able to live here. Most have stayed between a few and 25 years.)
So now, with a relaxed sigh, I can say I’m home.