HerriotThis picture is not England.

I’ve been thinking a lot about James Herriot lately and how special his books are — in a good way. There is something about the love that he has for the rural folk around him and the wonderful beautiful country that he lives in that makes me feel nostalgic for a place I’ve never been.

I realized recently that, though I’ve never been to rural England and met those strange superstitious farmers I did grow up in rural Colorado surrounded by strange superstitious farmers. I discovered that much of the nostalgia that I feel for James Herriot’s England may actually be for my own home that, despite always being short of water, is so much more verdant and alive than a great deal of New Mexico that it feels like an oasis.

This is my English countryside. The rivers and valleys, the mountains jutting into the sky and stabbing at the clouds, all are the background for my origin story. This is why I love the outdoors.


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