Catching my breath

Not everyone has a strong sense of home. For some, home is where they grew up. For others, it's where they hang their hat. I have had several homes, but so far the one that has meant the most has been the one where I lived at that moment - my nostalgia for homes past is limited. Arriving in Devon two years ago felt like I was moving to a different country, not county. It was and is so utterly different from my previous surroundings. I have been used to having farms on my doorstep, but not where farming is the mainstay for nearly all local people. So considering how people who have lived here the majority of their lives still see themselves as incomers, how come I feel so quickly at home? I suspect that the situation of the farm has a lot to do with it. The house is sheltered in a children's storybook way, sitting in a dip, nestling. When I walk the dogs I rarely move out of the farm boundaries, but I still see something new each time - a flower, a dip in the land, the shape of a tree, a gap in a hedge, a ditch running with fresh rainwater, a clump of frog spawn.
As you walk or drive down the grassy lane to the house there are terrific views in all directions; it makes me catch my breath every time. You can place yourself firmly in the season, the landscape and the OS map. The sense of place is very strong. And then there is all the work that needs to be done on the land and on the buildings. Facing you every morning as you throw open the curtains are immense tasks that will take years and see me move through all my middle years. This roots you too; tasks to be undertaken, improvements and restorations to be started and to be completed. And when you steal an unexpected sunny day from a forecast of rain, and lie in a meadow of pignut, speedwell, bugle and bluebells for some respite from fencing, you catch your breath again.