A Great Escape?
Bolting to the hills for some peace and tranquility, to relax and connect with nature beneath the stars. Well, that was the plan...
A Great Escape?
Our journey consumed motorway and main road miles until eventually, we found ourselves driving in and out of shady hollows and threading along narrow twisty lanes. By the time our dirty tyres rumbled over the farmyard’s concrete and gravel, a sheepdog barking its welcome, it felt as though we’d literally bolted for the hills. Our retreat, it must be said, whilst feeling a little selfish did seem long overdue, being much needed to restore some kind of balance.
In every way, our great escape was a withdrawal from the usual routine, albeit for just one night, and as we carried overnight bags from the car up the orchard path, I’m sure we both let out a sigh of relief on first seeing our place for the night. The rest of our world was for a few precious hours officially on pause. All we had to do was slow down, savour some fresh air and let the place speak to our senses; after all, in less than twenty-four hours we’d be heading back to reality, to leave that rural idyll behind
Not recalling having ever seen a genuine shepherd’s hut before, the look of ours reminded me of those beach front cabins once used by Victorian folk, the ones that could be wheeled right down into the water’s edge. Our hut was thankfully a little newer, maybe a year or two old, but equally as enchanting as any beachside cabin. The off-grid charm-filled box was just big enough for two, sat surprisingly high off the ground with a steel wheel in each corner, sported an arched blacktop roof with a tall slender chimney, and could be reached up a few steep steps to a narrow little balcony.
Where those beach front cabins might have owned panoramic seaside views to a faraway horizon, our hut enjoyed a pastoral scene across fields bordered with elderflower speckled hedges. In the distance and densely covered with trees, a wide-ranging hill bordered our view, the remote hill itself not so lofty but overflowing with intrigue, presenting itself magically as a misty, moisture-laden stage set worthy of any Shakespearean play.
Considering now, that landscape in theatre form, to stage left looking from our seats in the middle stalls, or hut, was a working farm beyond a ripening orchard. Behind us in the upper circle, and just beyond an impenetrably wild hedge was another tree covered hill that climbed away. Between the hedges, orchard and hill therefore, our corner plot felt reassuringly enclosed. To stage right, in contrast, a patchwork of fields opened out, the nearest recently drilled and rising in smooth ocean-like waves from low ground where our hut lived, up to the right to join the tree covered hill behind us. Whilst we may have been there just for one night’s show, the performance delivered by that landscape proved evocative and memorable.
Some while later whilst reclining in the hut’s shadows with its doors wide open to the world, we both watched sunbeams showering down on the landscape from between clouds moving at pace to the west. The ambient temperature was comfortable, both for us as for the two buzzards circling over the nearest hill. Thrushes, sparrows, and blackbirds sang from the hedgerows, sheep bleated from across the field and several goats slowly worked the nearest field margin; standing awkwardly on the wire fence to reach freshest leaves.
The sense of my spirit floating out through that doorway and into the picture-perfect landscape felt true, although frequently and often when deep in thought, I’d be snapped back to the present by a nearby incident like a squeaking door hinge, the dog barking, or a bird arriving with a start to a nearby fence post. The whole place may have been picture-like, but there could be no doubting that all three-sixty degrees of it was alive; and like sheep in a barn or birds in a nest, these two tiny folks in their hut quickly became a part of the whole.
Being used to enticing birds to our own garden, it was wonderful to be somewhere different, yet still able to connect with some of the self-same species we see at home. We’d found ourselves submerged, not quite by accident, in a place that seemed new-found and familiar all at once. Considering the birds, greenery, and brilliant skies above, I personally mulled over the feeling of being at the same time large and imposing, yet ridiculously insignificant and irrelevant too. That hut, safe on its little lawn fenced from a vast landscape around was causing me to think big, think small, and reflect.
Anticipating a long evening inside and out, not one but two fires were lit. Initially to heat food, the first stove to receive a flame was one inside the hut, on the basis that later when it was sure to turn cool, the stove could also warm us too. The second little stove to be lit was built into the wall of a hot tub, which unknowingly at the time was to provide some heart racing moments later. Two fires for two people seemed a little extravagant, so naturally I rationed the wood and burned it slowly, all the while enjoying the primitive wonder of playing with fire.
As the day light gracefully faded, helped in no short measure by an emergent breeze, we watched on as soft clouds gradually transformed from silver-swished brilliant whites to slate greys, that were moving in from far beyond the skyline; there could be no denying that rain was on its way. As always, the weather would do as it pleased, so ours was to sit back and read a little, and to enjoy the countryside sounds offered by feathered friends and farm animals.
After more than an hour intermittently tending the stove for the hot tub, puffs of chimney smoke that had been rising steadily to the west became increasingly flattened by the breeze. It became obvious that if we were to stew in the tub’s warmed water, we’d need to break the laziness that had set in and get our act together. As if on the spur of the moment, we found ourselves heading for the tub, paddle-stirring the steamy water within and taking a plunge.
Reclining for a while in the comforting warm-enough water and very fresh air, all felt unbelievably good under that wide-open evening sky. There were no bubbles or jets, the water wasn’t illuminated and no noisy airplanes or passing road racers like at home, just peace and calmness all around and soothing restoration within. ‘This is the life’ I thought, and just what a doctor would order if I’d ever bother to burden them with my ills. Certainly, knowing the experience wouldn’t last forever, our desire was to maximise the moments, because the ‘tub exit strategy’ would involve a brusque dose of some increasingly chilly air, and probably some sharp rain drops too.
Turning to focus on the water’s still surface, ultra-fine droplets could be seen rising and shifting about, further adding to the unique atmosphere but the water’s tranquillity, as for ours, was soon to be challenged. Spits of rain soon started to fall splashing coldly on exposed skin. Very gradually picking up pace, proper rain drops which had at first pinged innocently across the surface of the pool, soon forced eyes half closed, and before long time arrived to climb out and call it a day.
Despite its delightful moments, the restorative soak had come to an end all too soon, and after much scurrying about in the rain it was a relief at last to climb the steps and shut the weather out. Despite the rain, the sky had been clear enough to suggest that the night hadn’t quite been ready to fall, but with the best will, only foolhardy folks would have stayed out as those clouds powered down. Thankfully that cosy hut awaited, and whilst warming our cockles through, it was strangely comforting to listen to the rain tapping across the roof, increasing its tempo right into the early hours.
Almost in the blink of an eye, a new day’s sunshine beamed early through un-closed curtains, and after rising briefly to remake the stove, I sat back listening to the growing chorus, and the farmer rumbling around the fields on a quad bike checking the livestock. Steadily, whilst waiting for the kettle to whistle, we began to acknowledge that our not-so-great escape was soon to end.
Our last hours in the hut were unhurriedly spent, attentively absorbing the peace, and blocking out the busyness that did, in the end, await our return to the real world. Clearing away all evidence of us ever having been there, except that is for a few well-chosen words in a visitor book, we continued to observe the distant trees and foraging birds, and the bright sky with its happy rolling clouds. We both snapped a few more photos to trigger memories, and I wrote some notes. Now, having long since returned home to the old routine, I am frequently reminded of those special hours spent at the hut when a local sparrow or robin lands on the fence, or blackbird drops in for a drink; and so maybe, it was a great escape after all.
A little memory piece by Gary Webb.