Friday, 7 April 2006

fantasy farming

From www.freefoto.comI've hit a sort of wall. Not in a bad kind of way, but in a self-realisation kind of way.

Four years ago, when B and I decided to set up home together, it was clear that one of us had to move. He lived on Merseyside, I lived in South Wales.

It was equally clear that I was the person who was going to relocate. I had very few friends locally; the area held unhappy memories for me; and I had transferable skills both as an IT tutor in Community Education and as a secretary, that meant that I could find work pretty much anywhere.

B, on the other hand, had a client base that was centred around Manchester and the North-West; and a very supportive and integrated network of friends and family in Wallasey who had also made me very welcome. It would have been possible for him to move elsewhere and start his business up again; but it made more sense not to.

I have never, for one (sober) moment regretted that decision.

Living with B, is wonderful. And quite apart from that, I love having all our friends and family so close; I love the fact that I can pop round and see people for a cup of tea without having to plan a whole weekend away to catch up with them; I love the fact that B's parents are just around the corner - and although we have had our difficulties, we are basically a family unit.

These are things that I have never really had. I have moved around so much in the last fifteen years that I have never had time to put roots down anywhere; and going back home to live near my parents in Somerset was never a serious option; which still holds true now.

I can appreciate the fact that the Post-Office is just at the top of the road; the Co-op is just around the corner and there are about a million restaurants, cafes and pubs within walking distance. And then there's the centre of Liverpool a thirty minute bus-ride away. I even love our house, now we finally have functioning facilities and no resident builders.

From www.freefoto.comBut.

I really, really, miss living in the country. I miss having a garden. I miss things being green. I miss not being able to see hills. I miss not being able to potter outside with a cup of tea and see what plants are coming up in the far corners of the garden. I miss being able to open the door and walk down the road and be surrounded by trees and grass and plants. I miss having more animals around.

In a strange kind of way, I even miss the cats bringing in small dead presents for me in the mornings; as that is them doing their 'cat thing' and I don't think they much like being Town Cats.

So my epiphany last week was that I would like to live in the country again. Somewhere rural, where my Fantasy Chickens can become real.

We spent a bit of time last weekend looking at Rightmove to see what was affordably available around and about, within commuting distance of our clients in the North West. And that's as far as we've got, really.

The hitch is that moving house is not really compatible with adoption; or at least, adoption will severely constrain when we can move. We either move BEFORE children are placed with us. Or we wait for some years afterwards. It's just not fair to the children to settle them in one place - a new school, a completely new life - and then expect them to uproot again a couple of years later.

So. It's difficult. And in the meantime, as She Weevil pointed out in a comment when I first mentioned this earlier in the week, I am, actually, pretty homesick for the countryside.

We have some very serious thinking to do.

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