I find myself slipping into the pace effortlessly, savouring each moment as it unfolds. Tea in bed, a morning snuggle with a bleary eyed sproglet, crisp nighties and buttery toast.
The mornings here are a symphony of subtle sounds: the distant call of a pheasant, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the gentle grumbles of chickens, impatient to be let out of the coop, bustling about with the importance of a new day.
I start my day with a cup of ‘builder's tea’ on the porch, a ritual that anchors me. There's something profoundly calming about watching the world wake up from the comfort of the entrance to MH, in my nightie and big jumper.
Lavender borders buzz with bees, and the vegetable patch promises a bounty of fresh produce; that, and lots of weeds that I never seem to be able to stay on top of. There’s a simple joy in growing your own food, in the meditative process of planting, nurturing, and harvesting, and yet I'm a sloppy Veg patch owner. An ambitious patch for a novice grower, it's a 'bit-off-more-than-I-can-chew' sort of affair where I seem to have to start the "no dig" method from scratch every year. But yet, I am learning as I grow.
For a few precious hours at the weekend, life is lived at a gentler pace, each moment a tapestry of simple pleasures and quiet joys. MH is a place that reminds me to appreciate the present, to find extraordinary in the ordinary and to cherish the moments that make up a life well-lived. There’s a sense of fulfilment (however short lived) in these moments, a reminder of the beauty in the everyday.
Night falls gently here, the sky a deep velvet canopy studded with stars. The air cools quickly, carrying the scent of earth and leaves, a reminder of the endless cycle of seasons. As I sit on the porch, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I feel a deep rooted connection to this place, a sense of belonging that transcends time. She's more than a home, there's a deep love and understanding that has made us inextricably linked. I found myself when I found Mulberry House.
