symphonies and lucky charms

This weekend was one of the best weekends of my life. There were some tears, there were some laughs, there were some donuts. There was lots of other stuff.

But after a weekend in the city, I was really concerned that going back to the country was going to do me in. I mean, yes... It is literally the most beautiful piece of country on earth. But when you want to buy flour to make pancakes and you literally cannot do that for days at a time because of a work schedule and a bus that stops running right when you get out of work; or when you want to get out of the house, but it's pouring, and your only options are walking a mile to go to an expensive hotel restaurant or walking a mile to go to a pub that only serves expensive drinks; or any other of a number of situations that I have encountered in the last six weeks; you wish that you were a lot closer to urban civilization.

The last thing I experienced in Edinburgh on Tuesday was waiting for a screen to tell me what platform I needed to head to to catch my train back to England. I stood there with my bags and took a deep breath, and that air was disgusting. It was worse than the thick city air, cigarette and exhaust cocktail, of any European city; it was train air, cramped and wet and hot and dirty. And I wished I didn't have to get on a train, I wished I could run away back through the streets and west through the pastures and back and back and back to Glasgow, where I left a surprisingly large part of my heart last summer (I didn't realize exactly how much until I found it again). 

But I got on the train, and got on the connecting train, and finally got on the bus that winded up the narrow roads to Grasmere. I was motion sick and tired, and ready to shower five times, but when I got off the bus that cool breeze that is so familiar to me now wrapped itself around my body and my heart and welcomed me home and I felt amazingly comfortable in the middle of nowhere. As I walked to the co-op that night to scavenge for fresh fruit and milk that wouldn't expire in two days (I will always miss real grocery stores!) the birds were saying goodnight and the air was so fresh and cool... Unbelievably fresh and cool and clean and perfect. And it got dark and I still felt safe, walking through the village with my grocery bag. The peace of early night and the quiet of empty pastures washed over me and left me revived and hopeful. 

So in the end I decided that I can't have the one without the other. I might be a city girl at heart, but the county (and especially the country I call home right now) is so healing... This is sounding a lot more Rousseau than I thought it would. 

At any rate, it's good to be back.