Moving to the country

So almost 2 weeks ago, it happened. We moved to the country! That’s where this blog should have taken off, but no matter how much you plan, there is no underestimating the time and energy that a move will absorb. So it’s all we’ve been able to do just to be setting up our office, keeping in touch with clients, and not drowning in boxes which keep vomiting their contents into the rooms of our house, with no regard for proper organisation or order. Actually, we’ve done quite well. Though obviously at the expense of communicating with the outside world.

The day we moved in was foggy. We seem to get a lot of fog here. This was our first sighting of North Crawley when we drove up with they keys.

This past Saturday, we took a walk to our nearest village, Cranfield. As we walked through the fields, an Autumn’s worth of mud newly crusted over with a crispy layer of ice, we both felt this was the first outing we’ve had as residents since the move. And we agreed on the fact that we are both still in a kind of shock over the whole thing. The actual get-in, receiving our storage containers, setting up basic functions for cooking and computing, these were alright. But they were a bit like camping, and neither of us have actually felt the distinct impact of having set up our lives in this new, unfamiliar environment, in this relatively remote house. I think it will take a couple months to sink in. Or, as Emily thinks, it will take returning here having been away to really make it true in our minds that this is now home.

Here are some first impressions: to start with, our arrival was a bit of a whirlwind of activity. We were very fortunate in that Ben and Jen were around (with baby Eryn and incorrigibly naughtly jackadoodle (poodle x jack russel) Doolie) and they helped us enormously in occupying the house. With their help, we made a first move to really inhabit the space, though we had piles of cardboard boxes falling on top of us, bedding was improvised, and we just did what we could with meals. But we made time to walk in the surrounding area, and to break in some of the more unwieldy spaces (sheds, kitchen). We did up the shed so it would serve as a studio, and we picked colours for the few walls we’ll paint to remove the psychological damage being actively inflicted by the magnolia.

[Allow me to insert a note here, to the effect that i would love to include photos of several aspects of our new situation, but one particular casualty of the move was our camera battery charger. The camera battery is dead, and with it our ability to show you the sights in addition to writing the words. Sorry. This will be remedied as soon as we find the bugger, or at this rate, order a new one.][Edit by Emily 20.12.10 - Have added photos taken with my phone camera]

What we didn’t suspect is something no photograph would properly describe: the COLD. The bloody cold. Apparently, in the country it’s colder than in London. And in this house, you really feel it. This means we are layered up at all times. It has also impacted on my plans for the new studio. Now, I’ve had pretty makeshift studios before. Spaces that were interior in name only. But nothing that a bit of clear plastic sheeting and a few space heaters wouldn’t make perfectly usable. However, my shed/studio is not being nearly as accommodating. I went out there this afternoon to find my 10L bucket of white emulsion half solid with ice. I wonder if the studio will really be a summer-only studio? who knows? we are, after all, having an unseasonably cold spell. Perhaps I’ll just use it when i can. Actually I think that it’ll be fine for oil painting – it’s just the water-based paints i worry about… Studio aside, sitting at a computer is hard for longer than an hour without needing to move to warm up. That, at least, means little change for my routine.

The frozen rainwater tank next to the shed.

I’ve already noticed a different character in the people we encounter. Generally they seem nice and un-presupposing, though i have gotten some wary glances which i put up to being the only bearded long-haired man i’ve seen so far. That’s ok. The neighbour came to say hello and gave us some jam and chutney. That was a very nice gesture, and i have no idea how to respond. I think his name is Ken.

Oh, I have one more negative observation before moving on to the high points: the dog shit. Moving here has made me realise that the existence of dog shit in the universe amounts to almost a phobia for me. I say this as someone who has, in pursuit of learning the way of the woods, crawled along forest floors, rubbing my face in badger poos, getting rabbit pellets in my hair, and sloshing into the urine lake at the centre of a mammoth cow pat so it flowed into my boot, but none of this even phased me compared to the irrational fear i have of a simple little dog turd. Why is this? Whatever the reasons for my aversion, the one thing that seems to unite country folk is their love of taking their pet dogs for a session of hiding poos in my path, and, in fact, all over the fields. I know i will have to get used to this. I think the solution is a pair of wellies that i mentally give over to wading in dog excrement, knowing none is really touching me. But i can’ t get over the thought of it, the smell of it, imagining the texture…

Cows grazing in the field on other side of our fence

Before I finish this long post, I should say that already I am enjoying certain new features of my life. For one thing, the clean air. I’m loving the beautifully clear lungfuls i get every time i step outside. These bring with them a new realm of scents: the smell of the fields, of earth; the smell of trees and plants even at this time of year; the cows with their rich aroma wafting over the field (passing a cow shed is a different matter, though not entirely unpleasant either), and just the number of times in a day i smell something i don’t recognise, but i know wasn’t emitted by a machine. Also the space. There is so much space to walk, and even in the house, so much space to spread out. At night, I can see the stars. Though there is the occasional thumpety-thump of the passing boy racer, it is very quiet. And the animals: the birds that live in the three big trees in our back garden, the mice, horses, cows that i now encounter regularly. The pheasant that hangs our by the shed each morning. Perhaps these don’t seem a great advantage over London (especially taking into account the dog shit) but actually they are an enormous change. I am now waiting for the shock of the move to thaw, and for the new routines to establish themselves.