To explain me
You must look at the rolling valley
The rain soaked trees
This land made me
And in its beauty
I find home
Home, that is how I see my country, some are born with the travel bug, the yin for distant places, of course I want to see the world but I belong here. This is home and it is as flawed as it is beautiful.
As far as our culture goes we derive from offshoots of history, like a family tree gone wrong. we are a patchwork blanket laid over England, wales, Scotland and Ireland. The U.K, and we bicker as badly as a family too, never really settling on traditions, and beliefs, but that is part is my country. Divided but united.
I come from a quiet, hardly heard of county in the south-west called Somerset. Here most speak like yolkles, and say blimey, bloody, plonker, cream cracked, and call strangers love (more then we should) we have festivals devoted to cider, a great love for pubs and are as stubborn is a boulder.
People from every ilk live here with something akin peace, but that could be because of how beautiful it can be in rainy England.
I live on the outskirts of town, sheltered and protected and wonderfully naive, My house is in the shadow of the black down hills, blue mist clings to them in the morning, crawling across the countryside like phantom smoke on a stage, like something that is made up, a scene from a story book, in the morning the sun sets on another part of the world, maybe even your part, before breaking upon the hilltops with great heralding light, turning the land from blue to gold.
I know there are places more beautiful than this, that on some days the rain turns my country to dismal grey, that we are faulted and mistaken and too stubborn, but there is something wild in England, even with the diminished forests, and tamed farmland, even with the growing urban cities there is something inherently ancient and untameable about England, this island green and wild, is tiny but great.
From where I write this I can see the rolling hills, and gathering clouds, we enjoyed a few day of sunshine, but Brits love to complain about the weather, rain or shine we’ll complain about it. It is spring here and daffodils adorn the mud like gold jewels, birds sing in foreign tongue, I wish I knew what they said, but I like to think they are wishing me a happy birthday.
Life here, in rural England is peaceful, untouched, undisturbed, and before my family descends with cakes and congratulations, I enjoy a moment to look at home and thank the fates or whatever you believe in for granting me 22 to years in this place, and for now giving me the chance to meet 3 lovely girls, Danica, Malvika and Blair, whom have spent a similar amount of time in different places across the world, each morning they witness a different sunrise and sun set, at a different time thousands of miles away, across oceans and mountains, and deserts. I am humbled to start this blog with them, as they are beautiful people, writers and friends, and no matter what we are under the same sun we just have different custody times with it.
My name is Eloise but mostly I am called Ellie, yes I do have a “posh” (eloquent) English accent, yes I do sound a little like somebody off of Downton abbey, and yes I’ll probably use loads of British slang without even meaning to in future posts; it is so deeply ingrained into my use of language that I don’t know how to stop, and lastly London is four hours’ drive from here but for an English measure of distance that is too far away to really bother about visiting, and we all cross our fingers and hope the “bloody Londoners” don’t disturb our peace.
I am very pleased to meet you, wherever you may be in the world I hope you enjoy our blog.