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Sunset over Devon

Falling asleep to the rhythmic hoot of the owl in the apple tree, and waking to the sound of hooves as Nimrod, Raffles and Maeve escape their stable to canter the high meadow outside the bedroom window.

Coming home on freezing days and feeling the wall of warmth that rushes to embrace my cold face as I enter the kitchen where the Rayburn softly purrs.


Seeing Poppet the goat on the front lawn, eating everything that crosses her path, and hearing her bleating greetings to anyone who calls at the gate.

Hot summer afternoons sitting outside the door amid the potted plants, an iced G&T and the Saturday Guardian on the table in front of me.

Greeting Adam Through The Window as our landlord/neighbour/friend passes the dining room on his way in, and out of the farm, imparting pearls of local history and farming wisdom en route.

Wild garlic

Collecting wild garlic from the pungent hosts that spill onto the driveway in April, their white-starred heads nodding in the spring breeze.

Being mobbed by the collies; shouting at Bill as he jumps up with filthy paws and tries to kiss our faces; rubbing Jess’s tummy as, prompted by the merest hint of human contact, she falls to the ground, legs akimbo, a look of expectant ecstasy already on her face.

And most of all, sitting at my laptop staring out at the valley whose hypnotic beauty ripples beneath the daily movement of the sun and clouds across the sky, and whose colours, scents and shapes morph with each turn of the seasons.

View from the window

These, and many more, are the things I’ll miss when we move away from this heavenly slice of Devon to set up home in Somerset – a mere 6 miles away – and begin to build a whole new library of sights, sounds and smells.


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