Last night, as I had just tucked myself into my cosy brushed cotton covered bed, I remember with a slight horror that I hadn't locked in my dear Chickens.
So I got up, tiptoed through my quiet house, the smooth oak floorboards creaking as I pass over.
My cat Charlie, stalks me like a shadow, curious and hopeful for another meaty meal.
I opened the kitchen door and am blasted with the fresh wind of the night.
I tiptoe as quickly as I can to the coop, the damp dewy grass licking at my flip-flopped feet.
I slide the door down and slide across the lock. I go to the nest box at the side, open the flap slowly and see my nestled sleeping hens, in each nest box. I gently stroke each one, each sighing a little 'brrrr' of contentment. The most cautious of the two, Vivien opens her eye briefly to check it is me, and shuffles irritated that I woke her and more so that I touched her, which she never lets me do in the day.
I whisper goodnight, aware that if anyone could actually observe me I would be considered quite sentimental and pathetic!
I lock the nest box, and feel safe in the knowledge I have done all I can to secure them from Mrs. Fox, who prowls around in the early morning, and who stole their companion, Dottie a few months ago.
As I make my way back to my house, I breathe in the fresh, cool air and am seduced by the sweet, heady perfume of the 'tree' of Lilac behind the coop.
I take in several slow, deep breaths enjoying and savouring the beautiful scent, so strong and vibrant in the cool night. I look up at the sky, wisps of cloud like pulled cotton wool, stretching fibres across the navy indigo sky, with feint twinkles of starlight, and the moon, quiet and far, shining with somewhat of a subdued hazy light.
I see my garden in the moonlight, still and colourless.
I feel peaceful. Content. Safe but cold, in my floral pyjamas.
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| The Coop & Lilac in the day |
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| My bedroom window, bird cage feeder and Lilacs |
I creep back to my bed, slip in to the still warm covers, my husband, who was awake when I left, is snoring gently. I lay in the dark, absorbing the warmth and snuggling down into the feather duvet.
I think of how I am more at home in this new home of ours, than I have ever felt in any other home my husband and I have had.
Our first little ground floor flat, with its large spacious living room and bedroom but tiny kitchen and bathroom. Our happiness there was marred by the neighbours surrounding us, one with a bad relationship and frequent fights. One with a huge dog who would howl when his owner was out, but the worst was the man above us whom I was in constant fear of. A very angry and aggressive, huge man.
Through the day he banged and sawed, lord knows how much renovation the flat could take, he must have covered the entire place in wood by the sounds of it!
He was brutal to the women he managed to bring home, and often the police would turn up...
I am then reminded of our 2nd home, a 3 bedroomed terraced house in the same town, with streetlights outside our bedroom windows and a noisy pub at the end of the street. Those things I would happily have endured and put up with but again the neighbours joined to us, a single mother who worked all day, had 4 children who were left to their own devices.
they would skip school and sit on the shed roof, smoking and throw their cigarette butts, and other rubbish over our garden. I remember holding my baby, and being horrified that these children, just 9 and 7 were smoking and skipping school. They should be sweet, innoncent little girls, playing with dolls!!
The boy of the house just 11, was in and out of the police custody with his bad behaviour. At night my baby son would be terrified to go to bed as the screaming, shouting, swearing, arguing and fighting could be heard as if it were the next room. They got worse and worse, stealing from us and deliberately tormenting us.
We left as soon as we could and moved to a village, away from our hometown, but the house was too big, and I felt overwhelmed, lonely and overlooked.
I never felt safe. The house next to us was broken in and burgled, our car was broken into and the stereo stolen. The garden was shady, and overgrown shrubs, bushes and trees surrounded our small back garden, . If I ever had to venture outside in the night, I would feel scared and paranoid. Frightened of what may lurk in the shadows that eclipsed the garden. It was not how I had imagined village life. Everyone who passed our house looked in, but no one was friendly, despite the seemly friendly 'good morning' some gave.
Yes, here, in this tiny cottage, I am at home.
I can walk through the bushes at the back of our garden, and walk around our boundary, there is just one place a person can peek thorough, at the meeting of our hedge and my neighbours hedge at the back, this is what you see
Some friends/family who have visited us here have quietly looked around, and then to others have said after their visit 'well,.....I couldn't leave there', or comment on how small and cold it is.
I was even mocked and teased for calling it a 'cottage' and that I was romantising it and in a dream world!
I felt quite defensive of my little home!
It may not have a thatched roof as some imagine a cottage to be but I looked up the definition in 3 dictionaries to see if I had indeed been mis-describing it
cot·tage
/ˈkätij/
Noun
- A small simple house, typically one near a lake or beach.
- A dwelling forming part of a farm establishment, used by a worker.
Well, we live opposite a large fishing lake, and we are a few minutes walk from the beach! and it is indeed a small simple house! it was built for and lived in by the farm owners housekeeper and since then by the farm workers.
Other dictionaries say it is usually in the country and one storey.
I think that 'Cottage' describes my little home very well.
My step-daughter says its 'just a bungalow' however a bungalow is a large detached low house usually with rooms in the attic with windows, or just one storey.
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But I suppose this little house is not to every ones taste and preferences.
We have single glazed windows, and just an open fire in the living room.
It can get very cold in the winter, our first winter was indeed a learning curve, and next winter we shall be prepared.
it is small, a bit poky, and cramped. We are planning to build an 'outhouse' to house my drier and freezer and to store things that are making the kitchen overwhelmed!
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the cream vintage cupboard is now blue and white as seen below and also my chicken Hetty who loves to come in
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The back garden is very uneven but spacious and I love the surrounding trees
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| In April, a bit barren |
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May, much more leafy!
That garden swing has been with us since our 2nd house, and I love it! |
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| taken from my swing, my bed linen and my neighbours cottage (he is still a farm worker) |
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outside my kitchen door
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All the 'cons' of this place, are outweighed but the feeling of contentment, the little shiver of glee and fondness I get every morning as I walk back from the end of the lane where the boys meet their school bus, the oaks, young and old with their fresh green leaves, hanging over the lane, and through the trees I see our little brick cottage, nestled back a little, sigh...Home Sweet Home.
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| Our Lane, where my boys can relatively safely ride and scoot |
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| Home |
It may not be big, spacious, modern, neat and beautiful even, but we are so very content here.
