This beautiful scene depicts part of my English childhood. Created in pastels after a visit to my home town, a dear friend now long gone, gave this to me so I would always remember where I came from and what I loved about the countryside where I spent so much time. The tall oak tree in the center of the fields was one I often climbed in with my best friend. She and I would balance astride a sturdy lower branch, talk about our dreams and the future. These fields were where my mother and I would gather mushrooms early mornings . . . . . . before the dairy cows came out and trampled them.
Much changed over the years before I decided to come to America. We grew up and my best friend became a hair stylist. I went to college and trained to be a secretary, remember them? We had boyfriends and danced in clubs. My mother worked several jobs and we gave up tramping through the damp fields, preferring to sleep a little later before going to work. My dad worked hard too, and my brother became a great tennis player whilst still in school, trained and played mixed doubles with Sue Barker as his partner - Brits reading this know who she is of course!
Growing up in another country, across a wide expanse of water, means your children and grandchildren may not spend a lot of time in your homeland. We took our children to England several times when they were young. Travel was much easier in so many ways. . . . . .or perhaps it seemed that way because we were younger, healthier, and the world was a much different place! They spent time with their grandparents and other family members. They met my school friends, neighbors and their families. We enjoyed English summer days at the beach, some sandy others pebbly, Devon has a selection of both. Outdoor afternoon tea, watching brilliant colored peacocks strut through the orchard gardens was fun. Viewing wild ponies run across the golden gorse smothered ancient landscape of Dartmoor was exciting to city children.
One of my own favorite childhood memories is of summer Sunday afternoon picnics on the banks of the River Dart. The surrounding moor was always a special place. . . . . .and the weather was usually pleasant and cool compared to here in the US southeast. Writing this today in much too hot, close to 100 degrees, and in a severe drought, I have a deep yearning to be back home across the pond.
For me, there really is no place like home. Mine is still across the ocean despite having lived here many more years than there. Off to grab a cold drink and then pull a salad together - too hot to cook, too hot for anything much. Hope your summer days are pleasant.
Devon thatched cottages in Shiphay village where I grew up.
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