Packing up my bag and chatting with the hostel keeper, he catches me off guard with a simple statement. "Yeah, you meet a lot of interesting people working here, it's nice. None quite as interesting as you though."
"Sorry, what?" I'd only stayed a night and had a couple conversations with the guy.
"Well, yeah. You're always smiling. How do you do that?"
"Oh, well..." I don't want to tell him I'm here to escape the hate in my heart. "I've been angry for a long time...it's not worth it. Life is better when you smile."
After a day and a half of transit, I'm finally in Ripon waiting to meet my first Workaway host. Having been in four countries yesterday between breakfast and dinner I'm looking forward to settling in to something for a few weeks. I'll be working on a farm in Low Row, Swaledale, which is in the Yorkshire Dales National Park in England. It's a tiny, tiny village. With one inn, a church, and a population of at least 100 sheep per person. At least. Let's do it.
"Hi there! Are you Mia?"
Introductions, fluttering hands, fast words...kind of exactly the type of awkward, friendly uncertainty I expected from meeting a stranger who's home I'll be living in by tonight, knowing nothing about each other.
We've met in a supermarket and she tells me repeatedly to grab anything I think we need.
"Do you have coffee? I have a bit of a coffee addiction."
"Lovely! You'll match me, cause I have a bit of a tea addiction!" Cath exclaims, laughing, and the tone is set. We've hit it off.
Cath is 61, a farmer, a grandmother, divorced, a bit scattered, admits her downfall is thinking she's superwoman, and has me rolling with laughter in the hour it takes us to wind back down into the Dale she lives in. Her stories all contain mishaps, misadventures, and misfortunes, but the humorous air with which she recounts the tales would hit anyone in the funny bone. She tells me story after story of schemes gone wrong.
"Stick with me, Maia, and I'll teach you all the things NOT to do!"
My last day in France was simply perfect weather...cool, but sunny. Managed to break a sweat rushing for the train. Sweet, spring is coming, I thought. Lovely.
And thennnn...I decided to go to England. Deep into the country side. Where snow flurries are blowing into my face as I slip and slide on the mud up the hill after feeding the shivering sheep. Cause that seemed like the best move.
Yet I find myself laughing through chattering teeth. The weather's not ideal, but I'm here for experience, and it's definitely that.
I decide to write regret out of this story. My whole story. There's no point in ruining my time with what if and could have been. I'm here now and I've come to work and learn and experience life in all it's shapes and forms, sizes and speeds.
I pour a cup of hot tea, build the fire, and settle in.
In the morning, the sun is shining.
Life on the farm is never still. From the outside it may seem slow at times, but it certainly never stops.
My first full day in Low Row finds me chasing a baby lamb about the field, sliding around in the mud, while the mother bleats at me with indignation. It's the first lamb of the season and once it's caught and examined, Cath is beaming with satisfaction. It should be a good lot, she reckons.
The days that follow go in a similar fashion, always with something to do. Whether I'm feeding sheep, scrubbing toilets in the guest house, trimming alpaca toe nails, pissing off the seven mean geese by stealing their eggs, mucking out sheep shelters, spreading mulch in the garden, helping keep the grandchildren (5 and 3 years old) reigned in, or faking my way through visitor tours of the lambing shed*, the work is always there.
Cath is an easy and flexible host, and encourages me to schedule days off for myself, but with so much to do, and only really her to do it, that doesn't quite seem right...she never takes a day, and it's not like the animals needs disappear just because you want to relax.
I do take time to do The Swale Trail, but that's a whole other story.
*Turns out I'm very convincing when giving visitor tours. My first one, a woman came with 7 children. By the end of the tour, she turns to me, "You must have helped with hundreds of lambs being born! Is it great??"
I don't have the heart to tell her I've only been on the farm 5 days...
When we're not working, we're drinking tea. Always. And talking. This is the kind of experience I hoped to have by coming to stay in people's homes and work for them. To truly get an insight into different ways of life.
Cath is full of fascinating historical information and stories that seem to never run out. When talking about current events, our thoughts run parallel and this has made me even more comfortable. Though whether it's the age gap or the country, we've had some very different experiences.
She tells me she's heard a story on the news about young people in London feeling the need to carry knives. She tells me as though she can't fathom this reality.
"I carry a knife at home," I respond. "Absolutely."
Her eyes well up. "I can't imagine feeling so unsafe that I would want to."
I can't imagine feeling so safe I wouldn't want to. "It's just how it is..." I don't have any encouraging words left. This is the way my country has gone. But life goes on.
It's funny how something so close to my culture can feel so foreign. I think I've repeated, "Sorry, but I don't understand" and "I'm not sure what that means" more times in my first 24 hours in Swaledale, England than I did in my two weeks in Italy and France. It's very slight, but there's still a bit of a language barrier.
A few terms I worked out;
Everyone is so familiar in village life. We drive along winding roads, watching stunning views, mossy green walls on either side, and Cath tells me who each person is that we pass. Whether they're in a car, walking along the road, or on their porch, she knows their name and lists out their information for me as we drive. Every story she tells me is full of names and how each person is connected to everyone else, and I can't really fathom knowing so many people as thoroughly as she seems to.
The villagers smile and wave always, even to me, acknowledging those living around them. They stop and chat in the road, always busy with their own farms and lives, but never too busy for their neighbors. They check on each other and show a level of care and support you'd be hard pressed to find in a city.
Villagers whom I've been introduced to stop me in my work when we cross paths and ask how I'm liking it here. There seems to be an actual interest in my answers, and when I say I've loved it but I'm leaving soon, they seem genuinely sorry to see me go.
Having been here now for two weeks, and being told by Cath that the average age of farmers in the Dale is 65, I wonder partly if they're not just happy to see young people learning their ways. I wish I could stay and invest in this honest way of life. It calls to me.
Cath says the alpacas like me. "They are really calm with you, it's almost strange."
"Wait, are they not always well behaved?" I laugh with some uncertainty, thinking that I was so comfortable with them right away because I thought they were calm animals.
"Oh no..." She laughs and starts recounting tales of people coming to help on the farm and doing the opposite.
"One lad got physical with one cause it wouldn't stand where he wanted...can you imagine? Trying to fight an alpaca?"
I literally can't. They are tall and strong and, you know, on four legs. They are always gonna win. Plus...that's just plain silly. Who tries to get physical with a farm animal?? That is an excellent way to get them to do exactly what you don't want.
But not with me, we're homies ;) (See above image)
"You're well suited for farm life. You seem comfortable here. I'm not always okay letting people take the animals on their own, but I trust you with them."
I'm glad for the comfort she feels, since it is her livelihood, but I laugh at myself for the complete 180 that has occurred in three weeks.
Later it comes out that I was modeling before I left home.
"The corporate jobs weren't really healthy for me," I tell her. "People telling me how to look and who to be, what I could eat, what I could do with my hair...plus all the girls comparing themselves constantly. It was crap."
"Well goodness, if they could see you now! Let's send them a picture!"
I laugh in earnest. If they could see me now. I'm filthy. Covered in dirt...alpaca hair... manure...coal smudges on my face...bright yellow iodine stains on my hands...fingernails packed with dirt...oversized jeans I've borrow, grubby and sagging off my frame...but my smile is clean, and that's all I wanted to find again.
Turns out it didn't take much. Just had to get back to nature.
Made a short video for Cath to advertise Hazel Brow (the farm I've been on). Here's some footage of what I've been up to! :)
"Sorry, what?" I'd only stayed a night and had a couple conversations with the guy.
"Well, yeah. You're always smiling. How do you do that?"
"Oh, well..." I don't want to tell him I'm here to escape the hate in my heart. "I've been angry for a long time...it's not worth it. Life is better when you smile."
After a day and a half of transit, I'm finally in Ripon waiting to meet my first Workaway host. Having been in four countries yesterday between breakfast and dinner I'm looking forward to settling in to something for a few weeks. I'll be working on a farm in Low Row, Swaledale, which is in the Yorkshire Dales National Park in England. It's a tiny, tiny village. With one inn, a church, and a population of at least 100 sheep per person. At least. Let's do it.
"Hi there! Are you Mia?"
Introductions, fluttering hands, fast words...kind of exactly the type of awkward, friendly uncertainty I expected from meeting a stranger who's home I'll be living in by tonight, knowing nothing about each other.
We've met in a supermarket and she tells me repeatedly to grab anything I think we need.
"Do you have coffee? I have a bit of a coffee addiction."
"Lovely! You'll match me, cause I have a bit of a tea addiction!" Cath exclaims, laughing, and the tone is set. We've hit it off.
 |
| The ruins of Easby Abby, 30 minutes from the farm |
Cath is 61, a farmer, a grandmother, divorced, a bit scattered, admits her downfall is thinking she's superwoman, and has me rolling with laughter in the hour it takes us to wind back down into the Dale she lives in. Her stories all contain mishaps, misadventures, and misfortunes, but the humorous air with which she recounts the tales would hit anyone in the funny bone. She tells me story after story of schemes gone wrong.
"Stick with me, Maia, and I'll teach you all the things NOT to do!"
My last day in France was simply perfect weather...cool, but sunny. Managed to break a sweat rushing for the train. Sweet, spring is coming, I thought. Lovely.
And thennnn...I decided to go to England. Deep into the country side. Where snow flurries are blowing into my face as I slip and slide on the mud up the hill after feeding the shivering sheep. Cause that seemed like the best move.
Yet I find myself laughing through chattering teeth. The weather's not ideal, but I'm here for experience, and it's definitely that.
I decide to write regret out of this story. My whole story. There's no point in ruining my time with what if and could have been. I'm here now and I've come to work and learn and experience life in all it's shapes and forms, sizes and speeds.
I pour a cup of hot tea, build the fire, and settle in.
In the morning, the sun is shining.
 |
| The view from the house...hills in the fog |
My first full day in Low Row finds me chasing a baby lamb about the field, sliding around in the mud, while the mother bleats at me with indignation. It's the first lamb of the season and once it's caught and examined, Cath is beaming with satisfaction. It should be a good lot, she reckons.
The days that follow go in a similar fashion, always with something to do. Whether I'm feeding sheep, scrubbing toilets in the guest house, trimming alpaca toe nails, pissing off the seven mean geese by stealing their eggs, mucking out sheep shelters, spreading mulch in the garden, helping keep the grandchildren (5 and 3 years old) reigned in, or faking my way through visitor tours of the lambing shed*, the work is always there.
Cath is an easy and flexible host, and encourages me to schedule days off for myself, but with so much to do, and only really her to do it, that doesn't quite seem right...she never takes a day, and it's not like the animals needs disappear just because you want to relax.
I do take time to do The Swale Trail, but that's a whole other story.
*Turns out I'm very convincing when giving visitor tours. My first one, a woman came with 7 children. By the end of the tour, she turns to me, "You must have helped with hundreds of lambs being born! Is it great??"
I don't have the heart to tell her I've only been on the farm 5 days...
 |
| Putting iodine on the belly button to stop infection |
 |
| Our first lamb of the season! |
 |
| All the mommas waiting to have twins |
When we're not working, we're drinking tea. Always. And talking. This is the kind of experience I hoped to have by coming to stay in people's homes and work for them. To truly get an insight into different ways of life.
Cath is full of fascinating historical information and stories that seem to never run out. When talking about current events, our thoughts run parallel and this has made me even more comfortable. Though whether it's the age gap or the country, we've had some very different experiences.
She tells me she's heard a story on the news about young people in London feeling the need to carry knives. She tells me as though she can't fathom this reality.
"I carry a knife at home," I respond. "Absolutely."
Her eyes well up. "I can't imagine feeling so unsafe that I would want to."
I can't imagine feeling so safe I wouldn't want to. "It's just how it is..." I don't have any encouraging words left. This is the way my country has gone. But life goes on.
It's funny how something so close to my culture can feel so foreign. I think I've repeated, "Sorry, but I don't understand" and "I'm not sure what that means" more times in my first 24 hours in Swaledale, England than I did in my two weeks in Italy and France. It's very slight, but there's still a bit of a language barrier.
A few terms I worked out;
- tea = dinner (but only sometimes..??)
- call in = to visit
- dust men = garbage men
- to put you on = something to eat
- wellies = rain boots
- pudding = anything sweet eaten after dinner. for example, fruit, toast and jam, or actual pudding
Everyone is so familiar in village life. We drive along winding roads, watching stunning views, mossy green walls on either side, and Cath tells me who each person is that we pass. Whether they're in a car, walking along the road, or on their porch, she knows their name and lists out their information for me as we drive. Every story she tells me is full of names and how each person is connected to everyone else, and I can't really fathom knowing so many people as thoroughly as she seems to.
The villagers smile and wave always, even to me, acknowledging those living around them. They stop and chat in the road, always busy with their own farms and lives, but never too busy for their neighbors. They check on each other and show a level of care and support you'd be hard pressed to find in a city.
Villagers whom I've been introduced to stop me in my work when we cross paths and ask how I'm liking it here. There seems to be an actual interest in my answers, and when I say I've loved it but I'm leaving soon, they seem genuinely sorry to see me go.
Having been here now for two weeks, and being told by Cath that the average age of farmers in the Dale is 65, I wonder partly if they're not just happy to see young people learning their ways. I wish I could stay and invest in this honest way of life. It calls to me.
Cath says the alpacas like me. "They are really calm with you, it's almost strange."
"Wait, are they not always well behaved?" I laugh with some uncertainty, thinking that I was so comfortable with them right away because I thought they were calm animals.
"Oh no..." She laughs and starts recounting tales of people coming to help on the farm and doing the opposite.
"One lad got physical with one cause it wouldn't stand where he wanted...can you imagine? Trying to fight an alpaca?"
I literally can't. They are tall and strong and, you know, on four legs. They are always gonna win. Plus...that's just plain silly. Who tries to get physical with a farm animal?? That is an excellent way to get them to do exactly what you don't want.
But not with me, we're homies ;) (See above image)
"You're well suited for farm life. You seem comfortable here. I'm not always okay letting people take the animals on their own, but I trust you with them."
I'm glad for the comfort she feels, since it is her livelihood, but I laugh at myself for the complete 180 that has occurred in three weeks.
Later it comes out that I was modeling before I left home.
"The corporate jobs weren't really healthy for me," I tell her. "People telling me how to look and who to be, what I could eat, what I could do with my hair...plus all the girls comparing themselves constantly. It was crap."
"Well goodness, if they could see you now! Let's send them a picture!"
I laugh in earnest. If they could see me now. I'm filthy. Covered in dirt...alpaca hair... manure...coal smudges on my face...bright yellow iodine stains on my hands...fingernails packed with dirt...oversized jeans I've borrow, grubby and sagging off my frame...but my smile is clean, and that's all I wanted to find again.
Turns out it didn't take much. Just had to get back to nature.
Made a short video for Cath to advertise Hazel Brow (the farm I've been on). Here's some footage of what I've been up to! :)
Got my alpaca homie/ chilling at the farm
ReplyDeleteGot me some over sized jeans/ and my wellies (rock on!)
Your posts make me smile.
Keep on keeping on!
The ruins of the cathedral must have been fun exploring.
XOXO
I'm glad you like them! It's been quite the experience already!!
DeleteYes, I love the ruins, I was glad to find some I could actually touch and explore instead of just look at from behind a fence.
I love you!
What your dad said ^^^ only in my case, I'm laughing through my tears...beautiful...you are...inside and out
ReplyDeleteI don't want you to cry, but I guess as long as you're still laughing. This is what I came to do!
DeleteThanks, mom. I love you!
I'm so envious ! I love to walk in the misty hills of the Yorkshire Moors, with rain, sheep, lambs, and copious cups of teas. I'm glad you've got to experience this: not many Americans have. And I love your writing - keep it up ! -- Nigel J.
ReplyDeleteYes, it was lovely there!! I'm glad to have had the experience :)
DeleteThank you, Nigel!