Today in Hampshire: a summer that felt like spring in the English countryside

Have you ever been to a place that, by its nature, elicited feelings of deep sentiment for you? I guess some call it nostalgia, but I wonder how it can be nostalgia when it’s not actually something you’ve experienced before? Or maybe you have experienced it, but in another form. 

I’m gonna ask you to join me in an exercise. Close your eyes, take a breath, and relax every muscle in your body. Clear your mind. Now, reflect on a moment during your childhood that ushers in a sense of tranquil contentment. You feel safe, you feel like a child again maybe; like you are completely insulated from the harsh sensations of the rest of the world. It’s almost like a temporary bubble of peace and calm. For me, anytime I find myself in a bright and airy room with the windows open and a cool spring breeze from outside wisps in every few minutes, I am transported back to those soft spring days in the woods off Holly Hills Lane, a once secluded forest in rural Georgia. I can smell the fresh cut grass and the floral notes on the breeze. If I smell honeysuckle it’s even more dulcifying. I think about the ceiling fan - it seemed that though their bulbs may have differed in shape and size, all ceiling fans in the 1990’s had the same number of blades that were all shaped the same. In the humid southwest they helped circulate the garden-scented breezes throughout the house.

I recently stayed a week in a rural town in Hampshire County, England working on a garden for a British family. Being there brought those sensations back to me. The home was idyllic, set in the countryside on acres and acres of land. Their kitchen was what I would call lovingly messy. The counter was splayed with remnants of flour and other ingredients for baking fresh bread. Dishes of leftover yogurt and cereals were abandoned on the kitchen table, long forgotten by the children who were just moments ago satiating their little bellies. Vegetables were steaming on the stove and tiny ramekins stuffed with quiche were just waiting to be enjoyed for lunch. This was the room in the house that was frequented the most. This is where the Priv’s* came to feed, snack, nibble, and just be with each other. It felt like home.

My room was in the annex above the garage, which had shapely square windows that opened out to allow the breeze in. The whole room felt bright, and every evening I watched the golden sunset lull the gardens to rest just outside my window. I spent several hours a day working in the garden; pulling weeds, strimming the grass, playing with the curious chickens. In the afternoons Mrs. Priv would call me in for lunch. Each day I could count on a healthy lunch that was evenly balanced with fresh vegetables of different colors, a bread-based offering usually in the form of a quiche, and some spiced chutney. I took so much pleasure in these lunches as they hit all the senses just perfectly. Sure, the food was colorful and tasted delicious from tongue to belly, but the environment played a big role in it too. There was something about their kitchen that made me feel like part of a family. A chaotic but loving and happy family. 

I felt those good feelings every day I was in Hampshire. It’s a bit odd, since I didn’t grow up in a loving or safe home. I remember longing for and envisioning something similar as a child, though. Perhaps that’s what it is; I had dreamt up this ideal of what a loving family is like, what a safe home is like. And this was as close to any picture of home I painted in my imagination as a child as one could get. 

As I worked outside in the gardens, the sun smiled happily on me and the breeze provided cool kisses to my exposed skin. Having lived in the desert for the past six years, I’ve almost forgotten the calming effect of the sounds of rustling leaves when a subtle wind brushes through the trees on a warm, sunny day. Pulling tiny weeds in a gravel garden sounds monotonous, but I rather enjoyed myself.

As much as a I enjoyed working in the garden, I was happy, to take a day off and visit the nearby village of Odiham. It was only a half hour cycle, though I took a bit of a detour at the recommendation of Mrs. Priv and traveled through Upton Grey, an idyllic-looking village occupied by sweet Victorian cottages and classic English pubs. Though there were no designated bicycle lanes, it was a smooth and safe ride - motorists happily share the roads with cyclists and drive very attentively here.

The thing I love about visiting small towns like Odiham is that they usually have so much to offer, they’re often historic, and they’re not overrun with people. London is a great tourist destination, with hundreds of museums and monuments, sprawling parks, shopping and food and drink for the dedicated consumer. And that is part of what makes London so popular. But if you’re living your travels, or you want to slow down and enjoy your surroundings in a leisurely manner, small villages are where it’s at. When I’m in London, or Paris, or Zurich, I feel like a tourist - I am a tourist! And that can be enjoyable. But when I am in small villages with no expectations, just strolling along finding things to explore, I feel like a person in a town. That’s how I felt in Odiham.

Unmistakably the best feature of Odiham is Basingstoke canal. The path runs for 51km (32 miles) from Greywell to Surrey. Half of its length, though, runs through Hampshire County. It’s called Basingstoke Canal but interestingly doesn’t actually reach Basingstoke, though I believe in its early construction it was meant to. I made my way along the gravel packed canal path. While it serves best as a walking path, you can cycle it, which of course I did. I took my time admiring the ducks and swans and water lilies. The Odiham castle ruins are just off the path and an interesting bit of history. The contrasting but quite complimentary sensations of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze stimulated my skin cells and seeped underneath the hypodermic layer. Eventually I made my way back into Odiham, where I locked up my bicycle and walked around the quaint village. I stopped in to a small coffee shop for a latte. A sweet, little village, you won’t find any big box stores here. The main street consists of a couple of coffee shops, some hair salons, a sewing and crafts store, and a few boutiques. You’ll find some pubs and restaurants scattered around town as well. I walked through town people watching and overindulging in the urbane sounds of English accents. 

Odiham castle ruins along the Basingstoke Canal

Having taken all of 15 minutes to stroll the entire down-town of Odiham, I made my way back down to the canal where people were canoeing and enjoying some serenity on their small boats. I had a glass of wine and a salad lunch at Waterwitch, a cute little restaurant/pub that sits right on the bank of the canal. It was a beautiful, sunny day, the cool spring-like breeze creating an agreeable climate. I had my lunch outside at one of the picnic tables. As I soaked in the idyllic day, I thought about my daughters. I wonder if a day like this would engender those nostalgic, sentimental feelings for them.

As if it were yesterday, I can recall their little bare feet carrying them around on the soft grass, their little girl giggles a cacophony of wonderment and joy. It was yesterday, so how is it that the younger of the two has just turned 18 only weeks ago? That’s what time does; it plays tricks on us. It slows down when we are waiting for something and it speeds up when we’re not paying attention. It allows us precious moments to savor but doesn’t tell us that it will move along without us if we don’t pay attention. My mind knows my daughters are grown but my heart is in shock, unprepared for the aches that accompany feelings of loss and dreams that have already been lived. I close my eyes and try to savor the feeling of the gentle breeze, the fresh scent of the green grass and the sweet fragrance of the river, the warmth of the sun on my skin. I try to savor this moment as the pang of regret ebbs and flows through my veins - a sadness at the realization that I let time pass so quickly. That on those spring days while I watched my girls chase butterflies, patter around in the grass, and listened to the songs of their laughter I thought about what I would cook for dinner that night, what bills were due on the 15th and whether or not I had, in fact, scheduled their payments yet, and organized in my head the tasks that were on my calendar for work tomorrow. I gave too much attention to things that lose all importance the split second they’ve been completed. I should have set those things aside, so that my mind and my heart could revel in the transitory moments that were part of being a mother to two magical little girls. Perhaps I believed that today would bleed into tomorrow, where I’ll have more chances. But no, today washes away like the sands with the ocean waves, eroding our chance to hold onto what we love the most just a little longer. There is no tomorrow, there’s only today. Today in Odiham, today in Hampshire. My thoughts now wander to Mrs. Priv. I hope she is enjoying this beautiful day with her children, and appreciating every moment right now.

My daughters and me in Paris

*Names have been changed.