Everyone should have a favourite view. I love the Manhattan skyline coming into view from onboard the Staten Island ferry, and the Amalfi coast has me weak at the knees. But if I had to choose just one place, this would be mine.
It may just look like a field. It IS just a field. But it’s one I could stare at forever and never tire of. It represents summer and during the long winter months back in London I dream of it.
This view embodies years’ worth of memories that are more precious to me than any others because they are tied to my Swedish family and all the summers I have spent with them here.
Some years the baa-ing of sheep grazing out in the field has woken me up earlier than I would have liked. (Sheep rise VERY early in case you didn’t know). Others it’s become a verdant jungle covered in maize growing taller than me. This year it’s been a sea of barley, dancing in tune to whatever the wind has orchestrated. This view has seen a lot, and is strewn with memories.
When I arrived this summer the crop in the field was a shy, pale mint green. As the weeks passed it grew in confidence and stature and acquired a golden tan to match it. At its bronzed peak only a couple of days ago it was harvested and the hay turned into round bales.
My daughter who is four calls these roundels marshmallows because she’s seen other ones in the surrounding fields covered in white and pink plastic to protect them from moisture. As she grows up she may well have her own field of dreams, be it this one or someplace else. For now I am thrilled that the view I hold so dear is already fuelling her imagination.