Why Died and Gone to Devon? "I've died and gone to Devon" were the words uttered from my Wife's mouth a few days after moving to Devon. A start of a new life, seen as a ludicrous decisions by many, a gamble by some, but a realisation for me, supported by my family.
The start of the Dream
For as long as I can remember, I have been interested in growing my own food. This isn't for the pleasure of growing, but because I marvel at how you can grow something to eat from virtually noting with little cost apart from a bit of effort.
Just before my teens I was given 'The Complete Book of Self Sufficiency' by John Seymour. This was a pivotal point in my life and came at a time when I had a morbid fascination of surviving nuclear war, and survivalism.
Although my teenage interest in survivalism diminished, it is still of interest and pertinent as we become more reliant on technology, further distancing ourselves from those basic skills needed to survive as our ancestors had.
After graduating from University with a Computing Degree and a Masters in Business, I continued to grow my food, whether it was bean sprouts by the window, or tomatoes on the patio of my rented house, growing my own food was important.
Suburban Good Life
Becoming more settled, and buying my own house, came the opportunity of obtaining an allotment. This was when allotments weren't in vogue, so were easy to obtain. One allotment evolved into two, then three. Working in an office for long hours, the allotment became my sanctuary, and unfortunately my wife a bit of an allotment widow!
Fortunate to have the allotments, bees and chickens in our small suburban garden, I was living the suburban Good Life, but rapidly running out of space.
Ever since starting work, I had fantasied about escaping to the county to buy a house with a plot of land. With the advent of the internet, this would often involve searching for dream property during my lunch time at work.
Pursuing the Dream
Just after the birth of my son, a job opportunity presented itself in a rural location where house and land was potentially affordable. At the interview and the point of discussing salaries, I naively realised that in rural locations, I could not command the salary I was accustomed to. Subsequently, a lower salary meant the dream property was out of reach. Perhaps this wasn't the right time in life to make the move.
It wasn't until 15 years later, that the opportunity presented itself and the decision was made to go for the dream. This is my story and blog about buying a neglected Victorian farm house and land in Devon, England.
What started as a childhood dream of self sufficiency, is happily becoming a midlife reality of self reliance.