It was the antithesis of Silicon Valley.
A farm on the edge of a village. Close enough to a small grocery shop with the hours of a 7-11. An ATM. A breakfast and lunch restaurant in a beautiful country park. A butchers with fresh meat and organic eggs. And of course, in a place this small, three pubs.
We stayed in a former coach house, a relatively small place but with everything we needed – kitchen, TV, wireless connection. Outside were the fields, miles and miles of them. Cows, wheat, and hedgerows. Church spires. Public footpaths for us to wander all through.
To me, this was heaven. I had everything at my fingertips. Even the mobile library came once a week. The fish and chip van, too.
Imagine. The boys went out searching rabbit warrens, avoiding cows who were so interested, skimming stones on the lake. They could run to the shops on errands.
We could eat out. We could take-out in. We could tweet and Facebook. We could walk for miles in the sun.
I know this was a vacation. The weather was good and the responsibilities nil. The only downer was the performance of the soccer team and even that was half-expected. But still.
I got a glimpse of what I wanted: farmland views on three sides; walking distance to basic amenities; someone to hear me if I yell.
I love living in California. I love the weather, the innovation, the critical mass of very smart people. And I love the green fields, the walking and the cosiness and peace of the English countryside.
So it’s time. It’s time to start putting some heavy attention on my long-standing goal of living a transatlantic lifestyle. I’ll start by booking another trip in the Fall.