16.03.17

My partner and I have just had our first 24 hours away together since our daughter returned home a few months ago. We felt it was finally time to take ourselves off, recharge our tired batteries, and have a break from life as we know it, however briefly.  We were confident that our girl would be well cared for at home by her growing team of supporters who are by now all too familiar with her routine, and that they would give her a jolly time in our absence.

We left her favourite food, kissed her goodbye and set off on our adventure, looking forward to a little “time out of time”.  We headed west, not too far, but to countryside inaccessible to us when with our non ambulant daughter. She’s not that impressed by views, rolling hills and big skies anyway, let’s be honest. She likes to see things up close and personal and focus on them. A bleating sheep fleetingly would do I guess, but she prefers to watch people really. At least I think so.

The next day, after an uninterrupted night’s sleep and with a good breakfast under our belts, we checked the map, tied our boots tight, zipped our jackets and started out on our 10-mile circular walk up onto the Downs. “The sun will soon burn away the mist,” we were told by various walkers who we encountered on our way as we peered ahead looking for the path in the foggy gloom that surrounded us.

It’s true the sun came out in fits and starts during the morning at least, but it never stayed out long enough to uncover the spectacular views that we had been promised. They must have been there, just hidden by the murkiness that remained with us all day. On we strode, determined to make the most of our walk, but forced to concentrate mainly on the immediate terrain and only glimpse our shadowy surroundings in passing. Fortunately we didn’t get too hopelessly lost. Not really lost. And while the mist was wet, it only rained a little.

As we approached what seemed to be from our by now crumpled and soggy map the halfway mark, to our delight we came upon several clumps of bright primroses growing beside a sodden, slippery, squelchy and muddy track. Then we were surprised by a couple of pheasants hurtling past us on their way into the woods where velvety green moss covered the trunks of some ancient looking beech trees. Later through the misty haze we watched a herd of cows spread out across a dim dark field, grazing impassively. Later still we came across horses. And then sheep.

On our way home we wondered how our daughter was and what she had been up to. We hadn’t called home to enquire after her and had tried hard not to talk about her while we were away. It was our time after all. But it’s hard to ignore the centre of your world.

She was thrilled to see us. After a long night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, she’d gone to a nearby nature reserve and wildfowl park. One of her carers showed us a short video she had taken of her laughing at someone sneezing as they walked past the ducks. By all accounts she’d had a happy day, pottering around in gloriously warm sunshine. And we too had enjoyed our day in the fog and mist.

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