The neighbor's pasture.

It has occurred to me that I have never really described for you guys the area in which we live. And since I really love it very much, I think I should share a little about our neighborhood, or “buurt” as they say in Dutch.

As you know, we live in a small town in Northern Belgium. Besides the quaint city center, most of the area is rural. We live in a wooded area, which is surrounded by farms.

A roadside poppy.

Each morning we wake to the sound of what must be hundreds of singing birds and the faint call of roosters in the distance (we don’t have one of our own…luckily). The air is mostly fresh and clear, but is very often tinged with the not-so-pleasant, yet not-entirely-unfamiliar (to me), smell of the manure the local farmers use to fertilize their fields. Sometimes the dogs’ fur sucks up this lovely aroma, but they mostly just smell of the trees among which they romp and grass upon which they sprawl out to soak up the sun (when we have it).

Out for our morning stroll.

Almost every day, I jog with Finn and Seeley (and then walk all three dogs) and almost every day we encounter at least one, but often two or three tractors. Generally, we jog in the middle of the road, but, since the roads here are so incredibly narrow, we are forced to remove ourselves from our path in order to make space for the giant machines as they pass on their way to some unknown (by me, of course) destination.

On sunny days, we also often share the road with bikers. Some are making their way to a popular local restaurant, while others are out either to enjoy the sun or to take a ride through the shady woods (which are situated within walking distance of our house).

One of our favorite country roads.

Our neighborhood itself is heavily wooded, but we don’t live “in the middle of nowhere” as my Dutch family often claims. I don’t think Europeans have any grasp of the meaning of that phrase. This observation isn’t meant as a comment on the intelligence of my Dutch friends and family, of course. It’s just that I’m pretty sure “the middle of nowhere” doesn’t exist here. We, at least, live only 5 minutes from town. And, though our neighborhood is quiet and peaceful and we have a lot more land than most people we know, we have many neighbors…nice, quiet neighbors, who enjoy the tranquility of the woods as much as we do.

Sounds ideal, right? Well, it kind of is. I think our house and the neighborhood in which it is situated have made the move well worth the trouble…and the trauma. :-)

Roadside rhododendron.

Of course, Belgium/Holland is possessed of nowhere near as much natural beauty as Virginia. I will always miss the Blue Ridge Mountains and, as our anniversary nears, I really miss the Shenandoah Valley, where we used to celebrate that occasion every year. I’m told by one of the innkeepers at our favorite B & B there that this spring was particularly beautiful in the Valley.

My beloved Valley

But, alas, we live here now and we can’t fly to the States just to spend a few days at a B & B in the Valley. Still, there’s plenty of beauty here if you just adjust your perspective a little. There is a bounty of trees and birds, lots of beautiful fields full of fledgling crops. There are quaint country roads lined with lovely silvery trees, whose branches create a canopy that shades the lane. So, really it’s not so bad. It’s actually kind of nice. :-)

Nearby field, with baby crops. :-)

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