I never host anyone, I never invite anyone over, I keep my harvest and my tools to myself the folk in the village think Im odd.
It was that feeling of being fed up with the bustle of London that pushed me into early retirement. I wanted quiet, to live alone with nature, to grow vegetables, fruit and berries and to sip herbal tea sweetened with real honey. So, before I stopped working, I bought a cottage in the Cotswolds.
In spring I planted beds of flowers, bought garden gnomes, squirrel statues and tiny lanterns, and set them out around the yard. My neighbours watched me with curious eyes. One day a neighbour, Mrs. Whitaker, could no longer keep silent. While I was planting seedlings she stepped into my garden.
She complained that she had forgotten to sow petunias and hinted that I should share my seedlings with her. Why should I give my seedlings to a woman I barely know? Petunias are finicky; I only had ten of them. I pretended not to understand her suggestion.
A week and a half later I saw Mrs. Clarke over the fence talking to a woman who kept glancing my way. I got the impression they were gossiping about me.
On a summer afternoon I was tending the garden when a voice startled me. A woman stood at the fence and called out. She said she had walked past my house and seen ripe fruit hanging in the garden. She had none of her own. My eyes widened. How could she barge onto anothers property and ask for fruit? I barely eat the fruit myself; I keep it for my daughter, Poppy.
Later, while I was in the shop buying sweets, a woman from the next lane, Mrs. Hargreaves, asked who the treats were for and whether I would invite her for tea. Why did she care what I bought? Why should I invite a stranger who is not a friend, relative or colleague?
Just last week Mrs. Whitaker spotted me digging with a small spade and asked what I had bought, when and where. I felt compelled to give a polite answer, even though it seemed intrusive.
In the city you dont get pestering questions, unsolicited visits, or offers to share harvests and tools. Yet a neighbour confided that many villagers consider me abnormal, and perhaps thats how it is.
I dont mind their opinions. I bought this cottage to enjoy my privacy, not to befriend every village woman or get tangled in gossip. If they think that, perhaps theyll leave me alone and stay away from my garden and my peace.
The lesson is simple: a life lived for oneself need not be lonely, but it does require clear boundaries and the courage to keep them.
