The labour ward is filling up, with two cows currently occupying the stalls, it’s a busy day in Hearthill. Our Chief Gynocologist came in to grab forty winks (long night in the labour ward too) and I decided to run to the village for supplies. Here is what I love most about the village.
- I get the local gossip. I have little or no interest generally in gossip but other peoples’s fortune/misfortune is currency in rural Ireland! (I’m sure there will be more of that anon – stay tuned).
- People in the village love my children too. They know where Philip got his name and knew the Philip that came before him. They’re interested in how they’re growing and it feels somehow like they have a vested interest in my boys. In the words of Hilary Clinton, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’.
- I grew up in the city and didn’t know many people. Here, I’m the Corkwoman. A quick trip to the village means a guarenteed chat for this naturally chatty girl. My escape means I get to chat to other adults(!) about any subject under the sun, once we’ve dispensed with the obligatory weather talk that is.
- I feel part of a community, that I am among friends and know where there is a network of support nearby should the need arise.
People often ask me ‘How do you like it around these parts?’ While there is much that I miss of my life as a city girl and there are the days when living in a rural community is trying, honestly, I can often reply; ‘I like it very much.’
Back in Hearthill, our farmer, despite being pounced upon by two small boys during my absense, needs awakening. He’s back out into this lovely March day to care for the two cows bellowing in the haggard. Another fine Spring day.