Moving On : 2

Choosing where to move to was harder.

There were places nearby that we knew well, but for various reasons were not right for us. The beautiful small market town about 30 miles away that we would often visit somehow didn’t feel right as a location to live in. Other towns and villages ranged from downright dull and suburban, similar country cottages with less land, too expensive, on-the-up, but clearly not yet, and so on.

We knew we wanted somewhere that was different. Somewhere that wasn’t a car drive from basic amenities. A place where a variety of things were going on that we could be involved in if we wanted to. Not necessarily in the countryside but ideally with pleasant views. A place with its own strengths and character, with a wide cross section of population and where stuff happened. Somewhere different.

A year went past. I got ill when we were on holiday and needed a big operation. This was the inevitable result of believing that I was physically invincible: a kind of horticultural Wonder Woman. All that heavy gardening had finally taken its toll. Moving became essential and we were glad we’d already made the decision and not had it imposed upon us.

Selling the property took a while and two sales fell through just days before exchange of contracts. We blatantly lied about the work involved maintaining the garden. We had ‘planned and planted it to be low maintenance’. This much was true, but the sheer scale and effort required to keep up with hedge cutting, mowing and heavy duty stuff was beyond belief, and had to be glossed over if we stood a chance of selling.

The first two prospective purchasers were very keen on the garden: loved it. They could picture themselves living there, caring for it as it was, as we had. They wanted to buy into the dream of country living, and why not? Both purchases fell through for the sort of practical, legal, financial reasons that are the reality in house purchases.

The third buyers reminded me of us nearly 30 years previously. They were young and polite, but clearly had definite plans and ideas of their own, which is how it should be. It would be their property, not ours, and for us it was time to move on.

Over the years since, some friends from our past life who will forever picture us as we were in our rustic haven, say over again with disbelief “You must miss your lovely garden”, when we reply “ Well, no”, they genuinely don’t get it. Even years on some still state the opinion that “ of course, secretly, we must miss it terribly”. Their inability to accept reality is not our problem. It was our choice, and the right one for us.

The Sanctuary, the caravans, the pond, the Polytunnel were all things we wanted to achieve, and we found the opportunity to create them, and loved them while we were there.

We have done it. Of course there are no regrets