I am very fortunate in that I have a lot of favourite moments I can look back on. My graduation, my wedding day, the birth of my son…they are the obvious main ones but there are many, many smaller ones that I look back on with such fondness.
One of those is the time I spend with my son at a stream near our house. We have a bit of a walk to get to it, but it is located in an area that many people in the village are unaware of. Selfishly, I would like to keep it that way. In the summer, the water is very low but it still runs pretty fast. I love the musical sound it makes as it flows along – where it originates from and where it ends up, I do not know. It is entirely possible that it comes from the River Stour or Deben and ends up in the River Stour or Deben, but we are never concerned about that. We just enjoy the snapshot that is the stream.
In our favourite place, there is a little bridge over it. It is surrounded by trees in a small woodland area in a walk that links together our small village with the much larger one nearby. A shortcut that is only really viable in late spring, summer, and early autumn. It’s certainly not viable in the winter. So, it feels extra special when we are there. We sit on the bridge, our legs dangling over, and just listen to the water as it wends its way over stones and rocks, wearing them away over time. We take our dog with us as well, and he seems to appreciate the stillness of the moment as he happily lies down and watches us just watching the water.
It’s at this place that my son first confided in me that he was unsure about the school he was attending. That he didn’t feel like he fit in there and that he wasn’t comfortable with the teachers. That he felt they didn’t properly understand him and that he felt he didn’t feel he could talk to them. We talked about this at length, and it ended up him leaving the school because his admissions began to reveal a significant mental health struggle. It was also by this stream that my son and I chatted about what had happened in my life, when he asked me how I was feeling and he told me how much he looked up to me for the way I was sticking with my dream of writing. Clearly, it is a place where he feels relaxed enough to talk to me in ways he doesn’t always at home.
The land is owned by the local farmer. It is in no way productive land for him, nor is it viable for housing development sitting as it does in the middle of some very productive land, with a protected public footpath as well – and with a stream that does have a tendency to flood when we have prolonged downpours. So, it will always be there. As it has always been. I love the sense of timelessness there, with the huge trees shading it, the insects lazily flying around near it, the vey tiny water creatures that exist in it (we have never seen a fish swimming in it). I love the clarity of the water, as clear as glass as it trips and runs along. The leaves it carries away with a surprising speed, the little sticks that traverse its length perhaps ending up in the vast rivers the stream might flow to. The rustling in the hedges and undergrowth around us from the rabbits and other little animals as they go about their business. On a hot day, it is a perfect place to seek respite as the sun’s rays penetrate through the trees casting shafts of light, providing warmth but not so much as to be uncomfortable.
The time I have spent here, in this idyllic spot, with my favourite person on the planet and my favourite animal on the planet has been, and will always be, one of my very favourite moments.
Louisa Simpson 