Post by Alraun on Jan 1, 2013 13:25:55 GMT
In October 2011 Brocc and I moved from Somerset to Wales.
We decided upon the southern edge of the Brecon Breacons and bought a large three-bedroomed house. The reason for moving were both financial, one can afford to purchase a three-bedroom house in South Wales for the same price as a bedsit in Somerset, and topographical, as the Brecons are extremely beautiful.
The house was enormous, probably not by American standards, but the largest house either of us had ever lived in. It was remote, the nearest town being about twenty miles away in Swansea with the Brecons surrounding us on three sides. The landscape itself closely resembled Dartmoor, my favourite place in the known universe, and there was a good-sized garden for growing veggies, keeping our chickens and two hives of bees. We settled in and began to plan a future.
It didn't work out.
Firstly it rained. A lot. There's a jokey attitude towards Welsh weather that the rain is measured in miles rather than inches but there's more than an element of truth in that. All right, it's been a wet summer for everyone, but the rain here has been utterly relentless. We watched our elderly neighbour rotavate his garden in the spring, put in seeds and then saw his vegetable patch fill up with water until it looked like a First World War re-enactment. The chickens sloshed around in their large run, when they weren't sheltering from the weather, and the plants I'd bought all drowned. Our bees haven't fared much better either, we hardly saw them and have had to supplement their diet with fondant. Not much chance of getting lots of lovely golden honey unlike the first year we had them.
Secondly, it's expensive. Though the actual cost the living here is much cheaper everything is further away and the price of petrol has gone through the roof. Brocc spends far more on petrol here than he has anywhere else, and that's not just a reflection on the price increase, it's mostly a increase in the actual petrol consumption.
Finally, and most importantly, it's not the right land for us. Though it looks like Dartmoor, the Brecons are an entirely differently land and the numinous force feels very different. The Welsh Gods aren't my Gods (I'm a Hellenic-flavoured polytheist), nor are they Brocc's Gods (he's an Anglo-Saxon polytheist). I'm also an absolute topophile for the West Country. I was born and raised in Devon and lived for nearly five years in Somerset. I can feel the spiritual presence in the land in those two counties, it invokes a deep emotional response in me that's as powerful as true love. I simply cannot live anywhere else.
So in October 2012 we found a new home, about fifteen miles from where we used to live.
It's tiny. Seriously it's the smallest place either of us will have ever lived in. There's no garden, we've had to move our chickens onto some druid friends who have a smallholding, but they will have a much better life as 'foxy ladies'. The bees will be going to some other druid friends who also have what is amounting to a smallholding, and there is no chance for growing veggies. We have to sell a lot of the beautiful furniture we bought to fill our large house. The several shrines I've erected to various Gods will have to be condensed into one small shrine.
But, despite the few negative aspects I feel this is the right thing to do. The cottage might be tiny but it's utterly charming and the location couldn't be better. Brocc can rejoin his former druid grove, I can go into town and see my friends and there'll be live folk music in the local pubs. The land itself is just right, proper cider country, with plenty of mistletoe-laden orchards, perfect for a little Dionysian tribute. I already have the location for my Lenaia rites figured out, a local hill that was a favourite walking spot, and am planning some loud-roaring waking up of the slumbering earth.
We'll be living in boxes for a few weeks now but on Candlemas we'll be back home. Couldn't be better.
We decided upon the southern edge of the Brecon Breacons and bought a large three-bedroomed house. The reason for moving were both financial, one can afford to purchase a three-bedroom house in South Wales for the same price as a bedsit in Somerset, and topographical, as the Brecons are extremely beautiful.
The house was enormous, probably not by American standards, but the largest house either of us had ever lived in. It was remote, the nearest town being about twenty miles away in Swansea with the Brecons surrounding us on three sides. The landscape itself closely resembled Dartmoor, my favourite place in the known universe, and there was a good-sized garden for growing veggies, keeping our chickens and two hives of bees. We settled in and began to plan a future.
It didn't work out.
Firstly it rained. A lot. There's a jokey attitude towards Welsh weather that the rain is measured in miles rather than inches but there's more than an element of truth in that. All right, it's been a wet summer for everyone, but the rain here has been utterly relentless. We watched our elderly neighbour rotavate his garden in the spring, put in seeds and then saw his vegetable patch fill up with water until it looked like a First World War re-enactment. The chickens sloshed around in their large run, when they weren't sheltering from the weather, and the plants I'd bought all drowned. Our bees haven't fared much better either, we hardly saw them and have had to supplement their diet with fondant. Not much chance of getting lots of lovely golden honey unlike the first year we had them.
Secondly, it's expensive. Though the actual cost the living here is much cheaper everything is further away and the price of petrol has gone through the roof. Brocc spends far more on petrol here than he has anywhere else, and that's not just a reflection on the price increase, it's mostly a increase in the actual petrol consumption.
Finally, and most importantly, it's not the right land for us. Though it looks like Dartmoor, the Brecons are an entirely differently land and the numinous force feels very different. The Welsh Gods aren't my Gods (I'm a Hellenic-flavoured polytheist), nor are they Brocc's Gods (he's an Anglo-Saxon polytheist). I'm also an absolute topophile for the West Country. I was born and raised in Devon and lived for nearly five years in Somerset. I can feel the spiritual presence in the land in those two counties, it invokes a deep emotional response in me that's as powerful as true love. I simply cannot live anywhere else.
So in October 2012 we found a new home, about fifteen miles from where we used to live.
It's tiny. Seriously it's the smallest place either of us will have ever lived in. There's no garden, we've had to move our chickens onto some druid friends who have a smallholding, but they will have a much better life as 'foxy ladies'. The bees will be going to some other druid friends who also have what is amounting to a smallholding, and there is no chance for growing veggies. We have to sell a lot of the beautiful furniture we bought to fill our large house. The several shrines I've erected to various Gods will have to be condensed into one small shrine.
But, despite the few negative aspects I feel this is the right thing to do. The cottage might be tiny but it's utterly charming and the location couldn't be better. Brocc can rejoin his former druid grove, I can go into town and see my friends and there'll be live folk music in the local pubs. The land itself is just right, proper cider country, with plenty of mistletoe-laden orchards, perfect for a little Dionysian tribute. I already have the location for my Lenaia rites figured out, a local hill that was a favourite walking spot, and am planning some loud-roaring waking up of the slumbering earth.
We'll be living in boxes for a few weeks now but on Candlemas we'll be back home. Couldn't be better.