The Barn by Gillian Silverthorn, free spirit mocktail

She moved to mid Wales with her husband, children, two bloodhounds and a saluki, rescued cats, giant rabbits, tortoises, snakes, chickens and a cockrell, some petite quails, and not to mention all the smaller inhabitants of their barn and the wildlife that is welcomed into the house. Their only neighbours are the elderly sheep farmer and his wife who seem to love their flock, although we all know their destiny.

Staying in their field in my camper van for a few days whilst on my travels it dawned on me how happy and content they seem to be, the beauty around them has to help. They walk slower and more relaxed than most folk I know, they take little interest in social media or the outside world.

 

She apologised on behalf of her husband as soon as we arrived in the field, as he adores the clover so much that he cannot bear to mow it. I thought this wonderful and remembered forty years past when I first had a small home and went against my natural feeling, ignoring my desire for a wild garden and instead keeping a perfect green lawn, continually pulling out the odd weed or any flower in the wrong place.

It seems you can't go five minutes here without hearing an animal noise or a bird soaring above you, sweeping in and out of the trees that surround their barn. Their two children play in the garden naked, splashing through water and special rocks found on the ground, and then their mum brings out a large container of slime made from agar agar that they can catapult their trucks into.

 

Waking in my camper the next morning, I stepped down into the uncut dewy field, walking across to their waking world. It seemed no more hectic or rushed than the previous day despite the kitchen floor being strewn with cooked noodles that the youngest had thrown out of her high chair and the casual mention from husband to wife that you can't vacuum up yesterday's slime jelly. Maybe on a school day it's different but somehow I can't see these two getting stressed over the small things that most parents do. I believe I possessed this attitude to life when I was eighteen with my first born but gradually the times change along with us.

 

Their youngest is taken out of her highchair where she has a quick wipe over with the wet tea towel and is left to wobble about, having just learnt to walk and inquisitively check everything out in sight. She climbs up onto a chair at the old piano and lifts one leg up, bashing out a tune with her foot, Jerry Lee Lewis style, while her mum tells her to be careful but leaves her to work it out herself as little harm would come if she tumbled.

 

These small beautiful beings seem to be as carefree and not that different from the gentle animals around them. Like the animals they are learning survival from a young age, a fine balance between taking risks and being tethered.

 

About the author

 

Gillian Silverthorn grew up in a village in Hampshire before moving later in life to Cornwall where she lives with her husband Kevin. In the last few years she has taken up writing short stories and poems. 

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