Leo and I went to visit my Aunty Ruth last week. She lives in a small picturesque village in Oxfordshire, surrounded by fields and farmland.
It was a gorgeous morning, the vivid glow of orange leaves lining the road as we drove through the woodlands.
“Look at the trees Leo,” I said.
“Wow, it’s beautiful mummy,” he replied, as I wished I could record his sweet response, take a photo of the trees and drive simultaneously.
The Chilterns are a stunning sight, and I had to resist stealing glances out of the window as we headed through the impressive landscape.
Having been delighted with my miraculous time-keeping (it’s rare that we leave the house on schedule), I was mildly annoyed when I was forced to stop the car abruptly.
I’d turned into the road leading to my aunty’s house and there it was. A puddle. A large puddle. Or more accurately, a small lake which had formed in the road.
Slightly in awe and rather intimated, I turned off the engine, exited the vehicle, took a photo and called Joel to ask if he thought it’d be safe to drive through this vast expanse of muddy water.
“Oh, go for it,” he said, not the anxious type.
Nervous of flooding the engine, getting stuck or damaging the car somehow, I hesitantly drove through the small reservoir.
I noticed Joel call as I was driving but couldn’t pick up. It later transpired he was calling to say “don’t do it”.
After a safe and dry arrival, I was informed that the other two roads leading to the village also had water-logged areas of this size, (to be clear it was rather more than a puddle, think: flooding, Noah’s Ark could have floated through it) so another route would not have helped.
Lunch came in the form of tomato soup, which went down a treat with Leo, who slurps it from a mug like a hot chocolate.
My aunty leads an enviably quiet life out in the countryside, and I could not think of anywhere more suited to who she is and how she enjoys spending her time; being outdoors.
We took Leo for a short stroll to see the farm animals nearby; horses, sheep and a selection of ducks with species names I cannot recall. He marvelled at tractors and caravans, then listened as my aunty pointed out various flora and fauna.
The scenery was lovely, but what made my day was the company. As Leo raced ahead on his balance bike, my aunty and I talked about everything; life, death, the state of the world, society, books, the importance of friendships, the pressure on women to build successful careers and raise children. A kind, deep-thinking and highly intellectual person, I love hearing what she has to say and greatly admire her views.
One of my favourites points of discussion was our creativity. She shared her poetry with me and asked about my writing. A hugely creative individual, (a talented artist, her paintings and illustrations are brilliant) it was my Aunty Ruth who introduced me to “The Artist’s Way” a book about rediscovering your creative self. I adored it and now tell anyone who will listen about this sacred text.
When I think of how I want to raise my children, and the values I’d like to instil in them, I think of my own parents, but also of my Aunty Ruth. To whom kindness and compassion are paramount. How lucky we are, to have her.
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind
