Notes From the River Room
A new housesit in Berkshire is helping me notice things
A bevy of swans greets each other in front of my window. Perhaps neighbours, or siblings, they nod their heads in acknowledgement before proceeding to clean their feathers and search for grubs in the river bed.
In the window pane, a spider constructs an impressively intricate web and at my feet, a black labrador by the name of Lola snores contently.
I’m at a new housesit in Berkshire and the garden backs immediately onto the river Lambourn. When we arrived on a thirty-degree day, it offered a welcome respite to tired hot feet.
On another day we had rain, and huge droplets ricocheted off the surface like thunder.
Some days, the sun gleams upon the surface and reeds from below are illuminated—their hypnotic dance under the currents a satisfying watch.
The same view—changing by the day.
I can imagine how it must feel to sit in this room as the seasons change. To watch the trees that frame the window turn a golden brown and in Spring, the first buds that offer the promises of life and change.
This single view from within a one-metre by one-metre sash window has much to tell.
Just now, a mouse darts across the bank while a dragonfly hovers on the water.
I recently watched a TikTok by Seth Hughes, where he explains how his dog has taught him to be “excited to have a normal day.'“ He has begun searching for newness in the walk they do every day together—something that would be easy to grow tired of, but instead, he’s managed to cultivate the opposite, by finding something new in every visit.
Is there a view or a place you see daily?
Perhaps it’s an office window or a garden shed. Maybe like Seth, it’s the same walk you take your dogs on each morning.
I challenge you to see something different today.
Through housesitting and travelling, I’ve fostered a new outlook on my home country. I’d once felt let down by it. Exhausted by city life and a routine I’d grown unfavourable of—but travel has allowed me to gain a new perspective and fall in love with the UK all over again.
Here in Berkshire and inspired by the river at the end of our new but temporary garden, I re-read The Wind in the Willows for the first time in perhaps over twenty-five years.
I’d expected to be warmed by childhood nostalgia but was taken aback by many passages that almost brought me to tears.
I’d like to share some of my favourites with you:
“When tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.”
“The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.”
“Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!’ ‘Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
Through my travels, I’ve explored places with the same tenacity as a child—with fresh new eyes, a sense of awe and most importantly, imagination.
Perhaps the mouse I just saw running across the river bank was late for an appointment. Or maybe, the swans in front of my window could be conspiring ways to bring down the black labrador that barks at them anytime they near the house.
As adults, we sadly lose our sense of imagination as ‘real life’ gets in the way. We forget, that it is a skill we must nourish and develop. In failing to do so, we lose it.
So my second challenge (I know, I know, I’m asking a lot of you) is that while you are looking upon your usual view, make up a story. Play with the characters you see walking by. Where they might be coming from or where they might be going be they human, animal or inanimate.
Because I’m sure even a photocopier has a tale or two to share…
Beauty is often found in the smallest and most overlooked places. Most of the time it’s right in front of you—it’s your own view you must change to see it.
Life I believe is the same. Through ups and downs, hardship and joy—what we experience is how we choose to react.
One thing I’ve learned from the pets we’ve cared for is how to find joy regularly and thoroughly. Did you know that dogs participate in contentment ceremonies to celebrate moments in their days? Whether rolling on their back or rubbing their muzzles, this display of inner-dog happiness got me thinking—what’s a human version of this?
Lola the lab we are looking after, brings us rocks from the garden and loves nothing more than a belly rub. I’m not going to start mimicking that behaviour, my boyfriend will certainly think I’ve lost the plot—but I suppose I’m learning to stop and take in small moments of pleasure and contentment that I didn’t do before this experience.
And I hope this letter inspires you to notice and enjoy something new today.
Lots of love.
In case you missed it, I had my FIRST piece of writing published inside a national title last month—hurrah! I shared tales of my housesitting journey with The Telegraph and you can sign up for a free trial to read it here.
