By: Blonde Two
Like many Dartmoor lovers, I dream of one day living on the moor itself; in cosy isolation, surrounded only by tors and sheep. My recent trip to Scotland (I am almost returned) was an opportunity to dip a toe in the water of isolation and test whether or not I liked the temperature.
The Cottage (let’s leave its name at that) sat in the ‘Folds of Corryhabbie’. Access was off the road, about a mile down a lane, onto a rough track, through a ford and through a gate (gates in Scotland, I have decided, are for keeping things out rather than for keeping them in.) Had I needed to, I could have walked to the road for help, but it would have taken me a while. I had two visible neighbours, both across the valley and through fords of their own. On three sides were hills steep enough to make even a Blonde think twice about walking up them; but they were there and I could and did if I wanted to.
There were some wonderful things about being so separate:
The noise was the first. I had imagined that silence would be complete, but in this I was very wrong. Nature is a vociferous creature, and the variety and constancy of sound was a surprise. The wind, the trees, the sheep, the birds (such a variety of odd bird calls); all combined to produce a most relaxing melody; one I could tune in and out of at will and one that made me feel very peaceful.
The air came next. Rarely have I smelt air so fresh and clear. It couldn’t be described as empty because of the notes (guess who has been whisky tasting) of pine and peat that hovered on it; but it was lovely air and you could see right through it.
And finally the freedom. In a world where nobody else is watching, you really can do what you want; maybe wander ‘en deshabille’ out of the house to watch a sunrise, or sit on your garden bench at midnight, or stroll around the garden in a towel as you drip-dry from your shower. I did all of these, it was liberating and very relaxing.
Of course, on holiday you don’t need to get to work on time and it doesn’t matter if you have to shop at the little Coop on the corner. Would the isolation work in real life or not? I am not sure, but a little taste of it has made me want to try it and find out. Maybe it is time to put ‘Plan Dartmoor’ into action!
Hmm. Before you do, strongly recommenfd you spend a week in the cottage in November and another week in February – always supposing you can actually get up the road / path /ford/gate to the front door – – –
Have to admit I enjoyed wandering round the lower levels in the Cairngorms in snow – in fact it was extraordinarily beautiful – but living there in winter must be an artform learned from birth for most folk, I think.
We really want to go back in the winter. Apparently sometimes you need a tractor to do the shopping! The winter photos dotted around the cottage look beautiful.
‘the only place where you can be truly isolated is to be alone in a big city’ – read somewhere:
in ‘the nature’, one can never be lonely or isolated, provided you embrace it as being exactly that – ‘natural’.
obviously one needs survival and hence for most of us the possibility of shops and human contact – not of the Ocado and internet kind, but flesh and blood – but beyond that, loving and living close to nature is the ultimate life enhancement – revealing truths about life itself one never suspected.
You know that anyway, from your leadership education activity ‘at home’, showing the way to the next generations, but maybe what you are talking about here is the next stage in what the dreary industrial psychologists call ‘self-actualisation !
Not hermitry, but apotheosis!
Funnily enough Gimmer, I was considering the ‘self actualisation’ thing while I was away. For me it occurs when I am outside with our youngsters, under a bit of pressure but not with insurmountable problems. Then I feel that I am the person that I was designed to be.
exactly
My experiences of true isolation are limited but I can see its charm. All the same I imagine a rural/urban mix represents the best compromise. For one thing a mix re-sharpens the contrast; in the city one longs for the whipoorwill, in the cottage for a hot bath that doesn’t involve planning.
This is a very thoughtful piece you’ve written, sophisticated in its choice of detail. Would it be wrong of me to suggest that the viewpoint you have taken is strongly influenced by the time you have spent in urban surroundings? In the remote countryside there are limitations to what one may relate to, in the city the omni-present variations are based mainly on people. People – especially young people – are essential to your interests, you’ve taught people, guided them and got on with them. Despite your out-of-doors life you are – I suspect – gregarious. The transition to hermit would come at some cost.
In fact your blog goes on to prove the point. Your tone is extrovert, quite rightly you presume readers and address them. Of course you have your private moments but you are blessed with a desire to communicate. From what little I know of you I don’t see you as a solitary, a contemplative. I do see you as a romantic, tempted by the very real pleasures of remoteness – but not as an unremitting diet.
You are right of course, I am definitely a people person. I started to add the disadvantages of solitude but the post was in danger of becoming too long and unwieldy. The lack of connection with people through the internet was an interesting one, I missed it more than I thought I would, and then felt that this had some deep meaning about my state of mind, a negative implication maybe. One thing I didn’t do was stay a night on my own in the cottage, this would have been a bit of a test although, being so far north, it didn’t really get dark.