Early February is a strange time for the Nap, it’s normally fairly quiet, bookings are coming in, in dribs and drabs mainly for the spring and summer with a fair few late bookings as well.
Last weekend was one that we didn’t fill, fortunately. It gave us the chance to be a guest at the Nap, a delightful holiday away from normality, with the shortest journey ever!
I know we built it ourselves, a labour of total love, and we would say this, but it really is a truly magical experience up there, even in the depths of the February mizzle. The warmth from the fire, the views across soggy valleys, combes and moors, a game of Yaatzee with the family, spag bol, a fine glass of rich Tempranillo and some very agreeable tunes – it’s a heady family mix.
Sometimes I try to put my finger on what it is that is so special…I think it’s the sense of being cut off from the world, no cars, no roads, no paths, this off grid feeling but contrasted with a cabin that exudes, light, air and warmth, with high ceilings and endless views to expand your horizons; cedar wood oozing freshness, colours modern, furnishings to sink into…Scandi cool, even a spot of hygge, you just breath better, deeper, longer, and each breath, tensions and the modern world start to disperse.
Yup, it’s about breathing. Better breathing. Each exhale, those knots, those pains dissipate.
At the end of our stay, we pottered down to the farm to feed the animals, and then down into Ash Park, a 17 acre field that dips down to the Taw Valley, here, the rest of our cattle are happily over-wintering, chewing the final goodness from the grass supplemented by haylage, fresh as a June day recently unwrapped.
On our way back we stopped at the shed to pick up some more hay with the tractor. Becky waited at the gate, while I swapped over the bucket to the forks on the tractor to pick up the hay. And that’s when it happened. And now, it doesn’t work and I can’t do anything and I never realised how important it was.
It’s pretty simple, my big toe is broken, as I took the bucket off by pulling a lever, the loader wasn’t properly positioned and it came crashing down on my toe. Cracked the right-hand bone straight off.
There, that split second, our son’s birthday and Christmas present to go to skiing, gone in a flash, all his hopes and dreams, taken by his stupid father. He was so close, only 3 days to go after a wait of 400. Gone.
I screamed and screamed, but Becky couldn’t see me, she thought it was the cows mooing over the grinding of the tractor engine, I realised she couldn’t help to raise the loader, somehow I pulled my foot out. I yelped, tears rolled. All I could think of was the holiday was ruined.
A bit later, sitting in the hospital, it dawned on me that this wasn’t just about a frivolous holiday, it was about being completely incapacited for many months. No driving, no animal feeding, no trips to the Nap, all of these responsibilities handed over to Becky, while I sit, bored and frustrated, scrolling and key tapping, huffing and puffing.
One second bouncing around like a cub, the next Herman Munster dragging his feet across the carpet.
The moral of the story, is: be thankful of what you have.