Green hills, tasty stew, and also some sheep

People come and go in our lives. As we get older, we move, friends move, friends and family pass on. Gain and loss in some form are universally felt emotions. Some of these thoughts though, for me, are more of a byproduct of my current lifestyle. The reality of spending a lot of your time on the road, bouncing between different places and jobs, is that you meet a lot of people. Some of these people can turn into lifelong friends, but most of them you will not see anytime soon, or you will not see them again at all.

More often than one might guess, you will meet someone, and you will connect instantaneously. They feel like someone you’ve known for years, despite having just met. This connection can also be deepened by the openness that sometimes comes from the knowledge of the temporality of your relationship. Two people who are both in a city for only a few days can talk and share very deeply if they like each other, because there are no stakes. There’s little to no effect to the rest of their lives by divulging deep and vulnerable emotions, emotions that they otherwise might be more hesitant to share. They both know that whatever their friendship is, however they would describe it, the chances are very high that it will only last a moment anyway.

This is equally heartbreaking and beautiful stuff, and it would not be possible to extricate one emotion from the other. Heartbreak and beauty are often thus intertwined. So, when I do have these friendships that transcend years and countries and eras of life, I really cherish them, because in general, and for me especially, they are rare.

It would be difficult for me to fully express the specific type of deep comfort one feels in seeing an old friend, but I think perhaps I do not need to. I am sure that you may also have a friend like this in your life, someone who knows you and has known you for such a long time that you rarely need to explain things, you rarely need to feign interest or politeness, you only need to exist and enjoy each others’ company.

The road is narrow, barely big enough to fit a car, and it zigzags across the rolling hills in a maze-like network that I imagine the locals know quite well, but I certainly don’t. Theoretically it’s two lanes, although that feels to me a tad optimistic. I can see it snaking back and forth across the hills for miles, but I can’t see around the corner. Too many grasses and sheep and little stone houses. The Welsh countryside is really quite nice. It reminds me of how much culture comes from this part of the world. The origin of so many children’s stories, so much of the fantasy and fairytale and folklore that many of us in the west grew up with comes from the British Isles. I’m pretty sure Tolkien basically just borrowed Welsh when he wrote the Lord of the Rings. (don’t quote me on that).

I expect most of these country roads were previously gravel tracks and before that dirt paths. Wales is overflowing with medieval history and lore. Countless peasant farmers occupied these hills and glens for centuries. Knights and kings rode through and stopped at a church here or a town there, or supposedly ate a meal in this or that tavern. I have heard a few of these stories, I imagine some of them are even true.

It seems that conflict among various nations and dynasties has been a steady occurrence here over the past several thousand years. A king usurps an old king, that king is later usurped by another king, the people who supported that king then switch loyalties, and then later usurp the king who they previously supported for a different king they now support. That sort of thing. Many of the stories of medieval times in western folklore are told with some significant creative liberties taken, but a lot of it seems to have at least originated from truth. Doubtlessly there are acres of intricacies and subtleties far past my somewhat reductionist understanding of it all, but aren’t there always?

The hills are deep and vivid shades of light green, fed in their vivacity by the general raininess that this part of the world is known for. Cattle and sheep roam around, many of them wander nearby the roads but seem to have a good sense that cars are a bit dangerous and they probably should keep to the grass. Connected by this maze of country lanes are a series of coastal towns, many of which have a castle, and all of which have a heap of history as well. Most of the towns are spotted with fish-n-chips joints and cute little cafes with tasty brown stews and pastries and coffee. You can learn a lot about the history of the places by talking to locals, many of whom know quite a lot, and they’re usually more than happy to share it, especially over a pint or two.

The coastline here is powerful. The cliffs are sheer and jagged, huge titans of brownish rock that inspire great humility in the beautiful and slightly scary way that the ocean often does. The wind feels consistently strong. It reminds me of the Pacific Northwestern U.S. more than I expected. Aside from the castles, and the thousands of years of European history, and I guess all the evergreen trees, and okay fine, it’s not the same. But there’s lots of little coastal towns and it’s very green and it rains a lot. Sue me.

I’m pretty excited to be in the fall actually. I think the fall is like going to sleep; when I was a kid, I didn’t really care about it. In my adulthood (if it can be called that) however, I’ve come to love the moment the air has that nip again, when the days are a little shorter, when I burn the first fire in the hearth (if I have a hearth, which in this rented farm cabin, I do). The turn of the seasons also means the end of summer, but I think these days I’m a bit more in embrace of these bittersweet moments.

I like fall things, the squashes and pumpkins, the warm drinks and little markets, the cloudy days and winds that start to pick up. I like the spices that suddenly every coffee shop puts in every latte and cookie and bagel. It can be a bit kitchy, but who cares? I love allspice and cloves and nutmeg, and this is their time to shine in the northwestern hemisphere.

I think I will finish this little rambling with a bit of deliberate autumn gratitude. I am warm and by the fire. I am grateful for the comfort of old friends. I am grateful for good food, and for the warmth and kindness of so many strangers. I am grateful to have been given whatever this little slice of life is, and I am especially grateful that I have the capacity, in my more centered moments, to express this gratitude. That is a true blessing in and of itself.

Also, here’s a picture of some sheep.

Bye!