WE WALK

        When we arrived in England and began looking for a place to live in the country our friends in London said,

     “Get a car!  You simply must have a car!”
     “But we don’t want a car!”
     They rolled their eyes in exasperation.
     “But we have a spare,” they added, “Please… you really must use it!  We insist.”
     “We really, really, really want to walk,” we said, “be green.  Leave no carbon footprint.  Get exercise.  Breathe fresh air.”
     They laughed at our simple ways, an unspoken, ‘you’ll soon see' hung in the air.

Our Hood

     Truth be told, another factor in our decision to remain carless was that neither husband nor I have driven on the opposite side of the road, and spending a month amidst the skilled but terrifying drivers in London convinced us we'd be facing vehicular manslaughter charges if we got behind the wheel.

A Somerton Chook

     “Oh you silly chooks,” our friends laughed.  We thought ‘chook’ was an affectionate British word for Canadians.  Instead, it is an Australian word for chickens. 
     We found our village, and it is fairly remote.  There is only one store in the immediate vicinity.  It’s a pet store, so fairly useless to us unless we’re buying snacks for Penny the Peahen, or contemplating gold fish or budgerigars for dinner. We walk everywhere for nearly everything.  It is three miles in either direction to the towns where we shop for fresh farm produce and groceries.  It’s a mere two miles over the striking Polden Hills to our nearest convenience store.  
     We order staples on line from a grocery store.  They have an excellent delivery service and we can get basics and beverages delivered seven days a week.   When the sun set earlier, we received desperate calls from lost drivers hauling Elderflower Presse, toilet paper, Cabernet Sauvignon and Persil Laundry detergent up and down our lane.  Through rain and sleet and snow, they searched for The Pink Cottage.  We'd stand in the dark in the lane, and wave them in by flashlight.
                                                                                 Shortcut to the convenience store

      In the winter we had wide berth on the droves and lanes for our lengthy walks.   Now that summer is here and nature is out of control, the vegetation has exploded.  Some of the old easily navigable paths are crowded with grass and nettles reaching our waist.  Laneways are so tight that we have to dive into the ditches for safety when tractors speed past like they're competing at Le Mans; another reason not to drive.

                Off to the hairdresser

      With the arrival of summer our shopping horizons have expanded.  There are a couple of farm shops that sell local cheeses, seasonal vegetables, jams and chutneys, eggs and butter.   One farm, about a fifteen minute walk down the hill is particularly excellent.  The main road that fronts it was easily navigable a few months ago.  Now we dart in and out of hedges, hugging close to the side of the road to avoid ending up like the flattened badgers we see everywhere.  The farmer suggested we take a shortcut through their fields to our road, and then remembered that their bull Freddie was out and it might not be so safe.  

                Off to the bakery

     One night we went to the local pub because it was rumoured to contain a store, just a local shop for local people (see League of Gentlemen).  When we arrived we found the shop had closed.  The pub is ancient and there were two men at the bar.  We had a drink and a chat. One of them  squinted across at us and said, ‘I know you… you’re the walkers.’  Our reputation had preceded us.  We recently found out some neighbours wagered we wouldn't last here two weeks without a vehicle.  It's been three months so far, and every walk is an education.  Now people smile and wave as they drive past... either that or they're laughing at the freaks without a car. 

             Off to the butcher                                    Homeward Bound

  

      



                          

    We’re inching closer to accepting the idea of having an automobile in the future.  Two sets of friends arrived from California, each of them rented cars.  One drove beautifully, the other was so petrified that in the face of oncoming traffic he would simply slam a foot on the brake and stop in the middle of the road, uttering a silent primal scream, his eyes half-way out their sockets. Never have I seen husband so frightened in a car, not even when I am behind the wheel.  We figure our driving skills might lie somewhere between the two.  If they can do it and survive...