Birthday Blessings

Celebrating when you are feeling 'January-ish'

Somewhere outside Brockenhurst in the New Forest

My partner’s birthday is in mid-January. I have a couple of friends with very early January birthdays, so I am used to drawing out the holiday season into the new year in a slightly fuzzy and pleasant way. Not with full-blown party-parties, but gentle gatherings and the chance to keep eating the fun foods, but not at the frenetic all-day pace of the December holidays.  

Mid-January birthdays are trickier, since everyone is pretty much done with indulgence by then, and our bodies are actually begging to relinquish the quantities of sugar they have been ingesting. It is also cold, wet and dark in January, which doesn’t make for the best time to spend outside, which is our go-to place in general. For a milestone birthday some years ago we went to New York City for a long weekend, which was a great way to celebrate. It’s also a bit extravagant for a regular birthday, at least for us, as we don’t usually fly off somewhere specifically for the mid-winter birthday celebration. 

The usual iconic photos of NYC

Last year we had just relocated to the Isle of Wight from Plymouth, but still had a carload of our stuff in Plymouth that needed retrieving. We decided to make a long weekend of the return trip, with a night spent in the New Forest. For my US readers, the word ‘New’ is a slight misnomer in that the forest was named as such in the Domesday book in 1086 after William the Conqueror established it as a royal forest mainly for his hunting purposes. So not really as “New”as you might imagine. 

I was hooked after that first trip: the sparsely vegetated heathlands, the broadleaf and oak forests, and the little villages dotted around were enchanting. The first morning we went on a walk to find a stream for Pete’s research, and surprisingly, I found a large grove of redwood trees, a tree commonly associated with my home state of California. There were also wild ponies, and the heathlands that I had become familiar with in Dartmoor, our stomping grounds when we lived in Plymouth. The New Forest turned out to have familiar landscape types, in a different place, alongside it’s very own own special qualities.

Magical rivers and trees (and birthday boy) last year

For this year’s birthday celebration, we realised we both wanted to spend more time in the New Forest. This time we took a different ferry off the Island: the Yarmouth-Lymington trip which landed us smack into the New Forest. After fortifying ourselves with brunch we headed out of Lymington into the very rainy forest. We got sidetracked for several hours at the National Car Museum and grounds at Beaulieu (birthday person’s choice, and a good idea for a very rainy day), after which time it was only raining intermittently. We mosyed on to another area around Lyndhurst, the centre of the New Forest. After walking around and getting quite wet, we did what you do on a dreary late afternoon in Britain: we found a snug pub with fireplaces, dogs and well-kept beer. 

My pick from the Beaulieu Motor Museum, proper birthday celebration

We spent the evening in another pub with the comfort that we could just wander upstairs where we were staying the night.

The next day after another hearty breakfast, we looked into the village shop next door and discovered the elderly couple looking after it were a font of knowledge and ideas of what we should do next. Which is how we discovered the gravestone of Arthur Conan Doyle was just up the road that we were obviously going to have to go see. After packing away the newly acquired maps of walks and cycle paths and some locally made products to fortify us later in the day, we headed up the road. 

The church bells were chiming repeatedly in some rhythm not understood by us as we tread carefully through the gravestones, looking in the back of the churchyard towards the fields as directed. Eventually we found the gravestone, enjoying the rays of sunlight streaming down for the first time in a week. 

Doyle gravestone and glorious sunlight

As we left the churchyard, a robust older woman came striding up and when we exchanged hellos, she stopped us and asked if we had gone to see the Doyle gravestone. Barely waiting for our answer she told us to come back later in the day to see the fallow deer who would appear, and also that we better come back in about a month when the whole churchyard and grounds would be covered in snowdrops-it was the best churchyard display we could ever see. 

She then showed us the bag of knitting that she was donating to the Merchant Navy (and did we know that 40% of the serving personnel were women, that is why she knitted so many bright colours!) Where were we from, she asked; oh she loves the Isle of Wight! She also told us that she had lived her whole life here in Minstead, in 5 different houses, and the next one was going to be ‘back there’, she said, gesturing to the graveyard. 

Not a bad place to end up, if you ask me

I had already decided that I might want to move to the New Forest next, if we do move again, and she pretty much sold me on it. There were numerous other retired folks walking toward the church as we spoke and she chatted to all of them in turn. I get completely sucked in when I find a community that is active and engaged and clearly this little village had a lot going on. 

This is part of the little ‘game’ we play when we travel: we imagine ourselves living there to see how it feels, and tell ourselves stories about what kind of life we would have if we lived there. We look at the local real estate listings, check out the cafes, go for walks, note the activities pinned to noticeboards, watch the locals, and eavesdrop on conversations.

But wait, I know you are thinking, didn’t you just move to the place you are living now? Didn’t you just have a year of stress and limbo waiting to move into the home you are still adjusting to suit yourselves. And don’t you wax on all the time about how beautiful it is on the Island? Yes, yes, and yes. I can’t explain what it is that makes me want to think about living in other places, but I always do it.

We travel a lot and there are some places that I pretty quickly decide I wouldn’t live, but still enjoy the visit immensely, like New York City. I generally love to go to visit big cities, but I don’t want to live in one. I like the semi-rural life for my day to day existence, but with access to bigger villages and huge cities to get lost in and benefit from the cultural diversity and stimulation.  I suppose there are also the ‘grass is greener’ fantasies that I wander into now and again. 

Back in the New Forest, after another long walk through the gorgeous forests, we headed towards the ferry for the ride back home. HOME. We both had that funny feeling we still get that the Isle of Wight is home. It is harder for Pete who has been going to the Island as a visitor his whole life, and now the ferry ride at the end of the holiday or break is going the OTHER direction-towards the island instead of away from it. I still think that riding a ferry to get home is pretty cool. I rode a ferry most of the time we lived in Plymouth so to me that is just how things are done when you live around water; I love it.

Before we got on the ferry we went to a place on the coast of the mainland (or the ‘Big Island’ as we sometimes call it, since calling it ‘Mainland’ seems a bit grand for another Island, albeit a much bigger island) from which point we could see the western end of the Isle of Wight. From that windswept vantage point the Island looked huge, and was bigger than could fit into our field of vision. It was a large mass of land just over there, not an island separated from us completely by water. Strangely, that view seemed to delight and console us both a bit. 

Isle of Wight is all the dark land in the distance

As we got into the queue of cars waiting to load on the just-arrived ferry, we noticed some activity that seemed unusual whilst the cars were driving off the boat. After about a ten-minute delay, we saw staff starting to walk down each row of cars speaking to each driver in turn. When it was our turn we learned there had been a medical emergency on the boat upon arrival and there would be a delay until an ambulance could arrive. A few moments later the staff member and another woman went trotting back towards the boat; we assume she was some kind of medical professional offering help.

Another 15-20 minutes passed before the ambulance arrived, and after another ten minutes and some loading and unloading jenga, we were onboard the boat and on our way. After the usual safety message the captain came on the intercom and thanked us all for our patience in waiting for the medical emergency to get the help needed before we could leave. The woman who had offered to help was sitting near us on the boat, and several of the crew stopped by to thank her for her help.

As Islanders who need to travel to the Big Island for any complicated or specialised medical care, I think we were all very well aware of the need for this person to get the care they deserved, and no one seemed at all grumpy about having to wait the extra time. As always in these situations, you feel a bit fragile, a bit blessed and very thankful for the people around you. We certainly were.  

We had a quiet ride across the calm waters separating the two islands, one now clearly and more resolutely home. Even after several hours of imagining otherwise, it felt just right. We were on our way home.

Do you ever imagine what it would be like to live elsewhere? Does living anywhere else ever appeal to you? If so, does that happen when you are on holidays/vacations, or other times? Do you make up colourful stories about the people around you when you are in a new place, just for fun? I’d love to hear if there are others with an incessant curiosity about living in other places…

And as always, thanks so much for reading and welcome to recent new subscribers! I am ever so grateful for your commitment!

Cheers,

Sabrina