Country Living: Trauma issue
Early childhood trauma, adult tragedies and a subsequent mental health breakdown spurred 31 year old father of five, former equine vet Roger to revaluate his priorities in life. Coming from a long line of world renowned veterinary surgeons, the pain on Roger's face is palpable. He is, however, stoic. "I come from humble beginnings," explains Roger, seated next to wife Merriweather, with whom he is so clearly in love. "I didn't have an ensuite until I was 15, for which I was mercilessly bullied at school. My mother thought they were incredibly gauche and wouldn't tie in with the 730BC family farmhouse, but daddy could see how badly I was affected and finally caved in and commissioned a local ethical architect to install one. The damage, however, had been done. But I refuse to call myself a victim, or even a survivor", he reflects, from the linhay, which is usually only used at Michaelmas for singing family carols that were composed by Roger's great-great-grandfather. "I much prefer the term warrior," he explains, whilst Merriweather brushes back the fringe that has fallen over his face. "That way I'm not defined by trauma".
But this certainly wasn't the happy ending Roger was hoping for. After graduating as a vet, anxiety crept in. "Every month, seeing that salary drop into my bank account gave me a lead ball feeling in the pit of my stomach". Roger pauses to summons the strength; I remind him that he doesn't need to relive this pain if he doesn't want to. "It must be done" he insists. "No good will come if I don't tell my story". Merriweather caresses his thigh and reassures him that he is strong, he can do this. "It's hard to explain, but that money felt so wrong, so undeserved, so uncouth. I've always had low self esteem, but I was at an all time low. The only way I can describe how I felt was like a twentieth century Fagan in a modern Dickensian novel. I was the villian. I felt everyone despised me, I depised myself, and everyone else. Merriweather shakes her head, her swooshy hair swooshing back and forth. It is clear how badly this affected her too. "I came to the conclusion that we are living in a rapidly expanding universe that will one day implode into smithereens, and that there is more to life than money. I'm here to make a difference" continued Roger bravely. "The day I resigned from my job I felt the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. I could finally breathe again".
Whilst Roger went on a six month retreat on an island so remote it doesn't even have a name, in order to decide what to do next, Merriweather became the breadwinner. Her job was manning the pony rides at the annual village fete on their beloved miniature Shetland Bongo, who Roger had delivered as a young child. "People might think this is an easy ride" [pardon the pun] laughs Merriweather, "but people simply have no idea of the amount of work that goes on behind the scenes. It's not all fun and games - the feeding, the mucking out, deciding on the perfect macrame brow band to keep the flies out of Bongo's eyes....the list just goes on and on". The night before the annual village fete, Merriweather was lying in bed, fretting over what cashmere top of hers would coordinate with the hand sewn bunting on the pony ride arena, completely unaware of the disaster that was awaiting her. She swallows before continuing.
"I had just taken a 15 minute break from the arena to do some restorative breath work when I heard a loud shriek. Bongo had taken a chunk out of a child's knee," she recalls, visibly going back into the moment. "He had always been a cheeky chappy, but this was completely out of character. I felt as if I was a character in a Dystopian film. If I lost my job how would the family survive?". Thankfully, a local horse whisperer was able to ascertain that it was a complete one off event from Bongo, he had been so cross that the macrame threads on his brow band were 18mm long, the cheeky devil much prefers the 15mm length", Merriweather laughs. "It's amazing what animals can teach us. I will not make that mistake again". That was not the end though...
Two years later, just as Merriweather was getting over the Bongo/injured child saga (there was still no sign of Roger), she received a phone call from her five year old son Ivo's boarding matron, Venezuela, to say that she had been trying to contact her for the last 6 months about Ivo. Merriweather laughs as she swooshes her hair and explains "these urban dwellers simply don't understand the stresses of Country Living. I told her I had been very busy dealing with the stress of a past trauma and I couldn't bear to answer the phone. Obviously when she told me that Ivo had gone mute I was very worried, but I couldn't leave Bongo to drive the 45 minute journey to see him. I did the obvious thing, which was to instruct my neighbour Jilly, who had a new business of offering pregnant cow therapy to traumatized children to drive straight there. I was out of my mind with worry" she recalls, as a single tear drops down her smooth, unbotoxed cheek. I ask her about the pregnant cow therapy, and she explains that the aggressive, unpredictable behaviour of late stage pregnancy cows induces a fight/flight response in young children, when they are confined in a small space with the cow. This in turn releases chemicals in the brain, which make the mind forget because it's so traumatic, so it's essentially resetting the brain, making it start from scratch. It might sound cruel, but it's nature's own medicine" she assures. She goes on - "Jilly phoned me that night to say that after 7 hours of the therapy that Ivo managed to speak. The relief was immense," she says, whilst gasping. It transpired that poor Ivo was deeply scarred by the salt pig in the boarding house not actually being in the shape of a pig!". Both Roger and Merriweather erupt into fits of laughter at this embarrassing discovery. "You see, in recent years there are many 100% bursary children in their boarding school, and we are really seeing the negative consequences. Our other four children would never have made the same mistake!". This inspired Merriweather to set up her own business, making pig shaped salt pigs out of sustainable pig poo. "I simply cannot bear the thought of the same thing happening to another child" she says sadly. "The world outside of our 500 acre home is a cruel place, and we, as responsible adults have to leave a legacy".
So, where does Roger come back into the story, I ask. "Oh him," laughs Merriweather. "I was adjusting the macrame brow band on Bongo's new handmade artisan leather bridle made from recycled Moroccan moccasins one day (she tells me she purchased this on a 3 month break in Fez to restore her central nervous system after the trauma of salt-pig gate) and Roger just returned, like the prodigal son". They both hoot with laughter, but Roger is more bashful.
"It was something I had to do" he explains. "My lymbothoracic system just couldn't take anymore of modern consumerism. It was literally killing me". "Yes darling, that's what stress does" Merriweather affirms. Roger tells me whilst on his island-so-remote-it-doesn't-have-a-name, he had a flashback to a holiday his family went on when he was 9 months old to a peat bog in Ireland. "That was it" he exclaims confidently, "I knew what I had to do". He produces a small, wooden tapered dowel, finer than a pencil but as smooth and sleek as the pebbles I used to skim over the lakes of Tuscany as a child. "It's for removing dirt from the inside of spring onions" he tells me, lovingly fingering the length of it like a baby's face. "I've finally found my purpose" says Roger, the tension now fully lifted from his face. As we look out from the linhay, Roger points out the second linhay he had built for his business, and the workshop that was comissioned for Merriweather's salt pigs-in-the-shape-of-pigs, in the shape of a Moroccan tagine dish. Merri felt she needed complete immersion in order to create the perfectly imperfect product. Salt pigs originate from Casablanca, and Merri she wanted to pay homage to that" Roger tells me.
And what do the children (Ivan 17, Ivor 15, Ivy 12 and now 9 year old Ivo) think of the shift? "Oh them", Merriweather reassures. "They are so incredibly engrossed with boarding school life, they don't want to even come home". They both erupt again into fits of laughter. "No, seriously," says Roger. "They know Bongo comes first. We are both so incredibly busy with Country Living to be tied up with the monotony of homework, teenage acne and underage sex. "They are very in tune, they know the score. The boarding mistress tells us they are all doing exceptionally well though. They know the trauma I went through, and don't want to add to my stress". Merriweather nods. "Absolutely not" she says.
Just then, a long legged figure with even swooshier hair than Merriweather's strides into view, with the sun behind her back. "It's Jilly!" they both exclaim, Roger more enthusiastically than Merri though. "Rog has been helping Jilly out since the sudden death of her late husband three weeks earlier" Merri explains. "Something about thrusting therapy, I've no interest really, it's something Roger picked up whilst away. We have to repay Jilly for the trauma work she did with Ivo, and she's feeling so much better now". I look over at Jilly, who looks down coyly, but has a definite blush spreading across her face. "What can I say", she whispers, "Country Living is all about helping out neighbours in their time of need". "It's not about me" Roger offers, "it's about giving back to the land, the cosmos and the soul. A life worth living is a life of giving". A cheeky spaniel frollicks in the distance, attempting to mount Merri's leg. Parakeets sing in the trees and the wild salmon leap periodically out of the nearby stream. I have no idea how I will ever leave.