A raw day, chilly, foggy and wet. Tomorrow is forecast to be in the 60’s F, with showers! This morning, following a night of rain, the willows have turned green. As I sit here before the window my morning cup of coffee is marvellously tasty and warming.
Before polio I lived in rural Lincolnshire. My dad was in the U.S. Air Force and was stationed at a RAF base near the coast. We live in a magnificent manor house, complete with many acres of fields and forest, that had been turned into apartments.
I went to the two room village school and was the only American. Most of the other kids had lost their RAF based fathers in the war, and while I did not have words for it, I sensed a dense sadness and sense of loss under the surface of the classroom. Being just two rooms for thirteen grades gave those of us who were ravenous learners all the stimulation we could ask for or use, and I came back to the States way ahead of most second graders.
What I remember most fondly were the spring walks through the English countryside near the school. All of those memories are aglow with sunshine so I suspect we did not go out often in the rain. Then again, I have always loved walking in natural settings in the rain which causes me to wonder.
Spring was deeply magical for this seven year old, rich in colour, avian sound, and flora. Back then the hedgerows were largely intact and the verges lush. Through the fields ran streams dense with frog and salamander spawn. The world was green and new and flourishing, and adventure called.
Britain is an island with a large population and contemporary agricultural practices and extensive development have greatly reduced the complexity and diversity of its landscapes and ecosystems. I imagine that should I walk those fields now there would be much less to see and hear, but if I were seven the walks might still seem magical.
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