moving to the country was the best thing i ever did Says author india knight

In uncertain times, when so much of life seems like a hostile environment, it’s hardly surprising that we crave the world of wildlife – with all the joy and awe it brings, says India Knight

Every morning, my serenity is punctured by the Today programme on Radio 4. I mutter darkly over interviews. Sometimes I shout, like a mad person. At a certain point I can take no more, at which point I get up, make a cup of tea and march around the garden, inspecting each individual plant. And just like that, I am soothed and happy again. I bound back into the kitchen feeling everything’s well with the world, even when it isn’t.

The plants are only the half of it. As I write, there are three huge, spectacular buzzards lazily circling overhead. They came last summer too and I can’t begin to convey how they (and all birds of prey) take your breath away with their power and grace, their ferocity and pterodactyl-like ancientness.

There were deer in one of our fields only two days ago. Hares abound, as do rabbits (though I am acquiring some sympathy for Mr McGregor. There is an ongoing situation with the lettuce and spinach). There are wild ducks and geese, goshawks and woodpeckers and owls, and an

If anyone’s wondering where the hedgehogs have all gone: they’re at my house

The countryside is relentless and real and ancient, and I find its rhythms keep me sane

astonishing variety of smaller birds. I didn’t think I was the sort of person who left binoculars by the kettle as well as a bird-identification book, but it turns out I was wrong. And if anyone’s wondering where the hedgehogs have all gone: they’re at my house. Some things don’t change, though. When I lived in London I hated city pigeons; now I hate wood pigeons, who eat everything and crap everywhere – although when one made its nest in a yew tree and I passed it every day, at eye level, looking straight at its face as it sat on its eggs, I did soften a tiny bit.

I am, or was, a very urban person. I lived for 41 years in the capital, and for about 35 of them only thought of nature when I was inexpertly trying to plant up a window box or taking the children to the zoo. The countryside was just a blur of green to me: too few shops, too many mysterious animals, a homogenous mass of – well, if not quite “yokels”, then very much not metropolitan sophisticates, either. But as I got older – from my mid-forties onwards, to be precise – I started noticing nature more and more.

And not only noticing it, but actively seeking it out. I found it fed my senses and affected my soul, without wanting to sound too poncy about it. It made me feel like I could breathe.

Fast forward a bit and, eventually, my family and I moved to the countryside. The proper countryside, surrounded by farmland, not the made-for-tourists-indulging-their-ruralfantasies sort of countryside. The nearest pint of milk is a 15-minute drive away. That was three years ago and I haven’t regretted the move once, for all sorts of reasons. But a very prominent one is that being surrounded by nature is insanely great. It is beautiful, stimulating, comforting – horrifying too, on occasion, but that’s all right. It is relentless and real and ancient, and I find its rhythms keep me sane.

I’m not alone in this new-found love of the natural world. It isn’t just farmers that watch Countryfile religiously, and there’s a reason why Escape to the Country, first broadcast in 2002, is now in its 15th series and syndicated internationally. Country Life magazine goes from strength to strength, and publications devoted to a rose-tinted, prettified, almost fairytale version of living in the country are thriving.

And of course as cities become prohibitively expensive, more and more young people are considering the move traditionally made by people closer to retiring age (another thing I love about where I live: it is incredibly creative. How can London stay cool when cool young people can no longer afford to live there?).

It is not a myth that life is simpler, easier, calmer and healthier deep in the countryside (which also has more than its fair share of poverty, despair and depression, I should say – obviously the countryside has its own pressing issues, and some attitudes remain extraordinarily old-fashioned). But the pace of things is gentle and relaxed. Things that used to matter – your clothes, your handbag – suddenly become almost hilariously irrelevant. The emphasis shifts to living well, eating well, finding deep satisfaction in “little” things, in my case a vegetable patch, chickens, goats and the aforementioned garden.

I hate the fairytale idea of the countryside that some people promote, because to me the whole joy of it is that there’s grit in the oyster – it’s not like everyone you meet is Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, sewing her patchwork quilt (though she absolutely exists). And there’s a resolutely non-fairytale reason for the explosion in interest in country-related matters, which is: we are frightened. The world has become an alarming place in the past couple of years, large chunks of it presided over by people who seem unstable or downright mad. When the world feels like a hostile environment, there is deep comfort to be found in a slower, more nostalgic way of life, where political machinations always come second to the reassuring rhythms of the natural world.

Whatever the reason, I’m so glad

I’m here, and I’m here to stay.