When we first looked around the house we live in now, we were so excited by the fact it had a dishwasher, we didn’t realise there was no fridge.
On the day we moved in to our home, three weeks late because of heavy snow, we ended up having to keep the milk outside in the back garden while we waited for a fridge to be delivered.
But it didn’t matter, because we had a shed:
And a beautiful log-burning stove:
The low ceilings in our 16th Century cottage constantly catch out the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine, so that he inevitably bangs his 6 foot 5 inch high head every single day.
But we still love this house.
It’s the place where I put on my wedding dress, ready to meet the NLM at the end of the aisle. It’s the place where I brought my newborn baby back home, cocooned in a nest of baby-bubbled tranquility. It’s the place where I met our future friends and next-door neighbours.
As a former city dweller, I was unsure how I’d adapt to village life. But I soon settled in after finding the local walking spot and the village drinking hole:
We rent our home, as we save for the huge deposit currently needed to secure a mortgage, so we don’t know how long we will live in this house.
This makes me sad, as I love the fact I live in an enclosed spot where the children are constantly in and out of each other’s houses and there’s always a willing friend with a cup of tea next door. I love the fact there’s open countryside only yards away, perfect for adventures once Frog eventually gets off her backside and starts walking. And I love the fact there’s a sleepy train station one minute’s walk from my back door so if I fancy something a bit more lively than the village pub it’s not too far away.
Although we won’t live here forever, this place will always feel like home.