Whimsy on a Wednesday Bringing you Village Life: Unexpected Perks, Peculiar Perils & The Odd Pheasant

“You’ll like living in a village,” they said.

“Hmm, don’t know about that. We’ll have to see,” I muttered, peering at the charming cottages and suspiciously clean air.

Truth be told I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d like village life beyond the obvious allure of not inhaling city fumes every time I stepped outside. It seemed like a reasonable enough plan to move somewhere quieter, more picturesque, where nature does its thing without concrete getting in the way. Seemed logical. Sensible. Maybe even romantic.

Then I spent my first night here.

Nightfall in the Village: Where Monsters Lurk in the Dark

That first evening as I lay in bed I realised something truly unsettling: it was dark. Not just “turn off the lights” dark, but “I can’t see my own hand in front of my face” dark. Rural dark.

I lay there for a moment, listening to the silence. Except, of course, it wasn’t silent. Because the countryside has its own brand of horror soundtrack with mysterious rustlings, unidentified screeches, and the distant hoot of an owl plotting something. My city brain immediately translated this as: Something is coming to get me.

I did what any rational person would do. Pulled the duvet up to my nose, debated moving back to civilisation, and eventually fell into a sleep so deep and uninterrupted that I woke up actually rested. It was unnerving.

Adapting to the Village Life 

Settling in has taken time. At first, I walked around feeling like a slightly rebellious outsider. My usual volume didn’t quite fit in. My attitude of “What do you mean the post office has inconsistent hours?” clashed somewhat with the village rhythm. But the thing about villages is they absorb you. You resist at first. You scoff at the village noticeboard and the local pub quiz. You raise an eyebrow at the hollyhocks framing every doorway looking quintessentially perfect. You roll your eyes at the back end of a horse as you stay in second gear for what seems like forever.

And then, one day, you find yourself talking about the best way to plant wildflowers. You nod approvingly at someone’s front garden like you’re on the judging panel of “Village in Bloom.” You sit in the local pub and sip a gin and tonic while listening to the church bells ring across the road. And suddenly, it’s just nice.

The Magic of Everyday Village Nonsense

“It’s very rare for people to leave here,” said my neighbour one day, eyeing me over the hodge-podge wall. “I mean, why would you?”

“Well, I quite fancy a stint as a pirate on the Cornish coast…” I mused.

She didn’t even blink. “No. People usually leave here feet first.”

Right. Good to know.

But she had a point. Why would you leave? The village has a charm that creeps up on you. It’s not in-your-face delightful but it’s in the small things. The allotments bursting with fresh vegetables. The winding country walks where pheasants strut like they own the place. The quiet contentment of people who seem to know something you don’t.

And the birds! I swear there are more of them here, or maybe I just hear them now. Their chatter fills the crisp air, mingling with the scent of damp earth and early blossoms. I am almost poetic with the discovery! The crocuses push up their purple heads and the world shifts into spring.  I slowly breathe it all in despite the possible mood poisoning that March can bring.

A Village is More Than Just a Village

It’s just a place, isn’t it? Just a street with a slightly erratic post office, two pubs and a church. A pretty place, sure, but just a village.

And yet somehow it’s more than that. It feels like a slow Sunday morning stretching into eternity. It’s a moment of stillness with a hot cup of tea. It’s waking up to golden light and birdsong and thinking, yes, this will do.

I met a friend at an event the other day.

“I hear you moved to a village nearly a year ago,” she said, sipping her drink. “I’ve always wanted to live there.”

“Oh, you should,” I told her, smiling. “You’d like it in a village.”