Sometimes it seems as though the rain will never stop… and when it does, the sky is still grey and the air is still damp.   This is Wales.  A near constant drizzle crescendoes into a generous downpour, followed by curtain of relentlessly grey clouds, interrupted by occasional bouts of meek sunshine before the drizzle washes in again.  The brief moments of bright blue skies and sun come as a welcome relief, (amidst disbelief), and is relished like a temporal/fleeting gift from above – always borrowed, never permanent.  It becomes precious.  Growing up in the Sunshine State, I’ve practically had an overdose of sunshine and warmth (the Welsh seem to think this is impossible).  Because of Florida’s humidity, I’m used to moisture in the air, so the damp doesn’t bother me (yet).  Because of the 6-month Atlantic hurricane season, I’m accustomed to daily rain showers.  But not on this scale.  The main difference is that in Florida, after the rainy spell subsides, there is the fail-proof promise of perfect skies and soul-warming sunshine.   I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen the sun here.   Today there was an article on WalesOnline declaring this to be The most miserable August on record - receiving only “about 90 hours of sunshine over the past 3.5 weeks”.  So we’re not just imagining it – the weather really is gloomy!

Sometimes I miss the ease and convenience of reliable sunshine, but on the whole it doesn’t phase me terribly.  I see this inclimate weather as an opportunity to look inward, instead of outward, for comfort and entertainment.  It offers an excellent opportunity for further creative explorations and soul-searching ruminations.  Perhaps due to the relative luxury of a tropical upbringing, I’m still in the phase where I see ”bad” weather as a novelty.  For a long time I’ve harboured romantic notions of what it must be like to spend time in Antarctica, Alaska, Iceland, or Tibet (for example, just a few places on my extensive “must-experience” list), and the weather in those places is far more extreme than what I’ve experienced here.  (Hmm, maybe I’d change my mind after living through a Welsh winter?  Although I did easily spend 3 weeks in the Himalayas over December and January in a hotel room with no heat except the miniscule warmth elicited from a tiny candle… so that’s something, eh?)  Growing up, I’ve always loved reading accounts of mystics, saints, yogis, monks and nuns who endured harsh environmental and climatic conditions for the sake of spiritual growth.  It’s part of the package of looking inward and facing reality.  It’s the appeal of asceticism and living in tandem with the rhythms of nature.  Although I’m inspired by those who have done it, I must admit that I’m not extreme enough at this point in my life to feel inclined to live in a barren cliffside cave in a remote mountain range for any length of time - I do like sitting next to cozy fireplaces!

Wales is a remarkably, stunningly beautiful place of rolling green hills of amazing hues, dotted with flocks of grazing sheep; small villages tucked in snug corners; narrow, winding lanes lined by high hedges.  It is a country imbued with a quaint, untainted sense of authenticity.  It is simply one of the most beautiful and charming places I have ever been.  As a child growing up in Florida, I used to daydream about a magical, distant setting of green fertile fields and meandering rivers, where I could run free and be alone with nature, believing that such places only existed in the past, or in fanciful imaginations.  I’m delighted and enchanted to see my childhood daydreams materialize before my eyes in the form of this tiny country. 

A couple months ago I was lucky to view a showing in Aberystwyth of Sleep Furiously, a wonderful documentary about life and change in rural Wales, which I would recommend to anyone with an interest in either Wales, the pace of rural life, or the decline of small-scale agriculture and its effects on communities.

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