I've lived in my village since I was two. But recently, I've been coming to the realisation that I really don't know where I live at all.
For instance, the other week I went for a run in my village. I found about 15 beautiful houses that I never knew existed, and an enormous hill which I regretted running down as soon as I had to run back up it (even if I did get hill point on MapMyRun as a result. It was that big).
And at the weekend, Mama CupandSaucer went for a drive and found Lopwell Dam, part of a nature reserve that we knew existed in an abstract kind of way, but had never visited. And I'm really rather pleased we did.
According to the genius that is Wikipedia, Lopwell features a saltmarsh, freshwater marshes, and "ancient, semi-natural woodland". Personally I'm not sure how it can be both ancient and semi natural (surely one precludes the other?), but who am I to argue?
We went on a rather cloudy Sunday afternoon, when the tide was out, but it didn't put us off. This place could be beautiful in the sunshine. We pottered around, I picked blackberries (Mum: "But Alice, you have nothing to put them in!". Me: "Er, what about my mouth?"), we spotted bird boxes, and ended up in the lovely tea room there, asking the charming young man serving us about the beautiful house we'd passed on the way down, which turned out to be the Maristow Estate (which, in turn, turns out to have a really interesting history).
|This isn't the Maristow Estate. I have no idea what this is.|
We nibbled forest fruit flapjacks, drank tea, watched the swans, and marvelled over how you can live in a place for 21 years, and not even realise what's on your doorstep.