On slowing down

Poster girl - kayaking - allotmenteering

I imagine it's a common thought that moving from London to country life means slowing down, that city life is busy, hectic and full and that country life is slower, gentler, less busy. There must be some truth in that - travel, transport and associated behaviours are different - but mostly, each to his or her own. Busy people are busy people. People have advocated to me in the past that I should slow down, but it's not really me. I fidget.

I had a lovely long chat with another returner on Tuesday. I’m going to be a case study for the award-winning recruitment programme that brought me home, and we had a lot to talk about. In amongst it, all the many things I want to do outside of work, from my crochet, quilting and dressmaking to preserving, brewing and smoking, from kayaking and walking to WI and other community activity. This is not slowing down! - even though I have 2-3 hours more in the evenings than three months ago, I’m still going to bed well after midnight (in fairness, Olympic coverage doesn’t help with that right now). But when we discussed driving, I observed that my driving style has relaxed – after being hooted at three times in the first fortnight for driving London-style and cutting people up, I have slowed down and become more in tune with local ways.

I had resolved to go kayaking again once I moved back home. Having said it publicly in my Cumbrian poster girl interview, I had to follow through, and after a month of procrastinating (rainy evenings and other things going on) I finally went out on the Eden in Carlisle on a fabulous warm sunny evening this week. Did it all come back? Not exactly – I hadn’t really been taught in a systematic BCU way, so I don’t know the words and I don’t know how to 'cut in' and out and I really don’t know how to do that thing of moving my weight to make the boat lean. But the group goes on river trips – three days canoeing the Spey and camping sounds fantastic - so I’ll certainly persist in order to do that, and hope the carpenter is able to join in too, eventually. And I always wanted to kayak the length of the Eden - may yet happen.

I have temporary custody of my brother in law’s polytunnel while he’s on holiday. In the hamlet at the edge of our parish, it’s bigger than an allotment, but – being covered – needs watering every couple of days. The first day is after kayaking; we got off the water shortly before 8pm, and by the time I've got the boat back to the boathouse, changed out of my wet shorts and got back to the car, the sun was well on the way to set. With no light in the polytunnel, I’m clockwatching – more than half an hour to water all the beds.

Tuesday	Criffel, Thursday

On Thursday, realising the rain was coming, I decided to strim the field that passes for a lawn at present – more than a month since it was last cut. It takes at least two battery charges of the strimmer to get it all done, so I did the first half before going allotmenteering while the battery recharged. Earlier than Tuesday, the sun was still setting as I got there, and I pulled off the road to look at Criffel in the golden glow below the cloudline.

Yesterday the rain had set in, but there was some late afternoon serenity in the polytunnel, sheltered from the Solway wind and rain and the tidal flood warning outside, slowing down and watering all the beds carefully. Do I have the patience to do this all the time? If I planted the seeds would I have the patience to nurture them? This afternoon I’ll come back and do some weeding. Although I was invited to harvest things, I’ve only taken three figs – I feel guilty about taking stuff unless I work harder for them.

Driving out on the marsh road, looking bleak yesterday with fog over the horizons hiding the mountains of Dumfriesshire. When I’d done the watering, the cloud had lifted out west, revealing the golden hour-before-sunset sun and the mountains across the water. I parked up in my new favourite edge of the marsh spot to take it in. Twitter suggests we have the best sunsets in the country on the Solway (but I bet everyone on the west says that about their bit) – but why no #SolwaySunset tags?

When I was a child we had a neighbour for a while who turned his half of the huge garden (that now has half a dozen houses on it) into an allotment, but in the end couldn't cope with the small Penrith skies and had to return to the flatlands of his home. If only he'd found the Solway Plain - big skies, great sunsets, mountain fringes.