There’s a field in North Cornwall that feels like home to me. Where a little piece of my heart is. After a few days here I shake off the city and come back to myself. It doesn’t look like anything special, at first glance, but this field holds so much memory and magic for me. I think it’s where I may have felt the most free. It’s a place that holds the memory of myself as a girl, as the old farmer, long dead now, once called me “bastard gypsy girl with dog running around off lead” (how we laughed) It holds the memory of the one summer I spent with my sister.
I’ve met some of my best friends in this field. I’ve spent endless summers with some of my oldest and dearest loved ones here. Over the years so many have come and gone. So many have stayed. I’ve watched the children turn into beautiful, interesting young people. I’ve laughed, loved and cried here.
I’ve laid down on warm nights and waited for shooting stars. I’ve ridden my bike in the rain and swam in the ocean, I’ve kept myself safe. I’ve sat around campfires with faces I only see once a year, who ask nothing of me and accept everything. I’ve sat alone with the rain hammering down on the caravan roof, with barely any possessions, no electricity and no car and felt perfectly at peace. Perfectly content.
I’ve cursed this place, it’s wind, it’s harshness and lack of facilities and sworn I would never return. But I always do.
This is my 18th summer. This field has seen me change so much. But at my core, the feeling of the grass under my feet, the love I get from the connection with people and the peace I feel from this wild aloneness is still very much the same.
I love you, unremarkable field, you connect my past to my present and you hold me safe, firmly rooted in who I am. Goodbye until our next summer…