Why would you want to move? Especially to the countryside. Everyone seems so eager to head to the city, and yet youre doing the complete opposite. Whats so wonderful out there? I just dont get it. Sure, its nice in the summer, but once winter hits, theres hardly anything to do.
I have a friend, Emily, who tried everything she could to talk us out of moving to a village. Both my husband and I found her attitude really upsetting, as though our decisions ought to please her.
After about a year of searching, we finally found a house that suited us and made the move. That didnt stop Emily, thoughshe kept ringing almost daily, asking, often rather sarcastically, whether Id found a job yet. She knew perfectly well that I was working remotely and wasnt planning to change that any time soon. She also kept pestering me: Is the internet rubbish there?
Emily came by for a visit at the start of October. It had been over a year since our move. She wandered our garden rather reluctantly, then spent most of her time indoors, drinking ale with her husband for the whole two days they were with us.
All the while, despite having guests, my husband and I kept ferrying crates of veg down to the cellar and sealing jars of compote for the winter. On the third day, Emily and her husband packed up to catch the evening coach. We didnt give them any parting gift. Then, just as they were about to leave, Emily actually asked if we could spare them a sack of potatoes and some apples.
I offered to nip down to the cellar for everything, but they declined, still a bit hungover. So I handed them some buckets and a sack for the apples. Grumbling about how it all looked, they went out to pick their own fruit. I did rather wonder how they planned to lug it all onto the coach. But after theyd gathered everything, it became cleartheyd asked my husband to drive them.
It was a round trip of nearly three hours to London. My husband twigged what was going on and said hed already had a pint and couldnt drive. So off they went themselves, lugging the bags. And then, for several years, there wasnt a peep from them. Wed call each other now and then, but they never visited again. Perhaps it sounds harsh, but I rather think our village isnt quite to their taste.
Then, towards the end of November, they turned up on our doorstep, unannounced. Seemed they fancied surprising us. Theyd come for the weekend, but we were snowed under with work. Id spent the week plucking poultry for Christmas orders. Three bulls were still being butchered that day. Never mind, a surprise is a surprise.
I hastily set the table. Emily and her husband tucked in and enjoyed a drink, while we barely had a moment to sit down. At least we offered to help, although it didnt seem they knew how to pluck birds anyway, despite both of us being village folk.
All my poultry had been spoken forordered by others well in advance. Wed planned to butcher our own for ourselves and our parents before Christmas, but I felt awkward about it. Eventually, I offered them a goose, with the caveat that theyd need to pluck it themselves. They agreed, but said theyd leave it for the following day.
Next daynothing. Not a word. This time at least, theyd driven themselves up, so they loaded the car with veg and pickled jars before leaving. Take what you like, I told them. Theres plenty to last us a few years.
But then Emily asked something that took me aback: You wouldnt happen to have any spare beef, would you?
I told her no, genuinely. We dont have any extra beeforders come first, then well see about butchering the bulls. Its not as though were idle; we have to make a living. And, if ever we did have some to spare, our parents and siblings would be next in line.
Theyve probably fallen out with us over it. Emily hasnt called or texted since, and a mutual acquaintance recently told me were considered greedy. Emily apparently said, We went to the countryside and left with no beef.We went to the countryside and left with no beef. I laughed when I heard ita genuine, whole-hearted laugh, surprising myself. For once, I felt at peace with it all, the unspoken distance that had grown between us. Sometimes, I suppose, you carry a friendship as far as it can go, and then you both quietly set it down somewhere between potato fields and city lights.
That winter, as the first deep snow settled and my husband and I sat by the fire, I realized how much quieter things had become. The house felt fuller with just the two of us, the cellar lined with jars and crateseach one packed by our own hands, each one a small testament to the life wed chosen. The village outside was silent, save for the occasional crow, and I found comfort in the hush.
Emily may never understand why we chose this place, nor why I am content without bustling cinemas or late-night taxis. Maybe the countryside isnt for everyonemaybe it never was. But as the wind rattled the windows and the smell of woodsmoke curled through the kitchen, I smiled to myself, grateful for the space to grow roots, and for the friendships that, even if only for a while, helped me realize what I truly wanted. Some seasons end, their harvest gathered. And now, as another winter deepened, I found I was exactly where I was meant to be.
