Sunday, November 2, 2008

Four (Or More) Legs Good, Two Legs Bad

My little trip to friends was the final piece in a puzzle I've been, well, puzzling over for many years - what is the vital ingredient in a happy life?

I had always been a town girl and reasonably happy to be so, I thought. So when we came here ten years ago and found ourselves living in the country it was quite a change - no pub or Indian carry-out within walking distance for a start! I found it very hard. The Golfer was away on business a lot and the neighbours completely ignored us - avoided us in fact. I found, during that first winter, my bubbly personality fizzling out and I was bitterly unhappy. But at the same time, I was entranced by my surroundings. Deer would appear at dusk and we would rush to the window and watch them till they moved on. An occasional hare would melt into view and then magically melt away again. Every time I heard a buzzard cry overhead I would dash out to watch it wheel far above. I began to feel truly in touch with, and not just sympathetic to, nature.

I began to pity people who had to live in town. True, we had new worries - the constant dread of a huge tree falling, a septic tank to grapple with, and the isolation - but every time I stepped outside I felt nourished. The Golfer, after a doubtful start, began to relax too. He loved coming back here after a long and tiring business trip and would feel his bones relax as he drew near the peace of home. It was a bit like being on holiday.

After he died, it was the land that kept me going. No matter how bad I felt, a walk round the wood would refresh me, even if it made me feel all the lonelier. Living here, there wasn't anything else to cheer me up, with neighbours who avoided me and the nearest Starbucks ten miles away. I felt completely alone but at peace, if that makes sense. I began to despair of ever being part of a community of any kind again. I tried new things but it never seemed to last beyond the event itself. No matter how adventurous I was, I still landed up back at home alone in the dark at the end of it. But my garden was always there for me to remind me that even if humanity didn't want me, I was part of nature. In those early dark days of widowhood I didn't much care if humanity didn't want me anyway. I felt more like 87 than 47 and tried to be brave in the face of the certainty that the best of my life was over.

A few months ago I was surprised to find that I ached when it was time to leave a friend's house, leaving behind all that normality. I had thought that I had toughened myself sufficiently not to need other people - like them of course, and meet friends but not need them - couldn't afford to need them, they might leave me or let me down and I didn't want to feel that bad again.

At the same time I was finding that my two and a half acres wasn't giving me quite the pleasure it had before. I'd see a new flower and think - "that's all very well but you can't talk to me, or share a joke, or tell me I exist". This was new. Home, which had been a haven for me in the first months, now felt like a prison. I wanted to be out there amongst humanity. But who would choose to leave this place of tranquillity and head back to town, where you have to fight for a parking space, and it's noisy and polluted, and you don't have deer gambolling past your window as you type on your computer? As I've written here before, I was caught in a dilemma that seemed to have no solution - too lonely to stay, too scared to leave. Part of that was the fear of losing that very special daily connection to nature that I've had for ten years.

But this visit to my friends has decided me. Friendship, love and human company come first. If I ever find myself at the heart of a family again, then I might be lucky enough to live once again amongst the rest of nature. But living alone in the country, especially in this unfriendly place, deprives me of the most vital thing that surely all humans require - contact with our own species. I think it's all very Darwinian - the need to be amongst other people; the herd instinct which brings mutual protection and support is, I have found, very deep within me and is even more fundamental than the desire to be amongst the natural world. So I will head back to civilization. I just wish I could go right now.

3 comments:

diver said...

Nicely written Puddock, they gave this reader a real vision of you in your highland world. What a tonic that WoW must have been for you these last year(s). Great stuff!

FWIW ... I think a book collecting aspiring intellectual who never wants to cook another meal but loves playing World of Warcraft makes you sound most interesting, a real individual. I'm sure I won't be the only middle aged fella who can appreciate this quality in you :)

Puddock said...

Thanks diver - you've made my day!

bear said...

Wishing you good times where ever you end up!

(Oh - have you read "Two in a boat" by Gwyneth Lewis? It is a very good book about difficult times and things not going to plan. Think it might interest you.)