The Derry countryside is lovely and quiet, almost all the time
Back in Derry, my son finds his form as a country man. With the baby strapped to my chest, we go out hunting for nature in the green, hilly surroundings around my dad’s house. My family home is really in the sticks, set in miles of open farmland, quite a distance from the city. The nearest village is over the border in Donegal, the nearest pub about a 45-minute walk. Not much happens here. There was that bombing at the top of our road in the 80s, but since then the only noteworthy events on this stretch of countryside have been the installation of broadband (still pending) and that time last year when my sister encountered Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen, Scarlett Moffatt and one of the dragons from Dragon’s Den taking part in a BBC documentary.
Absent the opportunity to spy a bombing or some oddly situated light entertainment figures, we limit ourselves to the bucolic joys of genteel nature walks. He picks flowers and proffers them to me. This he does in an officious, off-handed way that feels less like a token of affection and more like a country gent handing weeds to his gardener. We point at bees and say, ‘Look, bees!’ and inspect trees while he tells me what they are, one by one. He doesn’t know any names for trees, so this is simply a process of him saying, ‘Tree, tree, tree,’ while I make a mental note to get better at identifying them myself so I can correct him some day. We also keep a vigilant eye out for cows, rabbits and birds, while walking a very grateful dog.
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