A Southern Girl’s Dream of the English Countryside
I have lived in the same corner of North Carolina my whole life. It’s the place I grew up, and it’s the place I still wake up every morning. My life doesn’t stretch very far in miles — most weeks I go to work, make the 30-mile round trip to town for groceries, and that’s about it. I don’t travel much. In fact, I’ve only been to the beach a handful of times in my entire life, even though Nags Head and Kitty Hawk aren’t all that far away.
Some people might say that sounds small, but to me it’s just life. And within this quiet rhythm of staying close to home, I’ve always carried a dream that feels far bigger than my little town: the dream of the English countryside.
The Landscape I Know
When I think about North Carolina’s charm, it’s not mountain hikes or bustling cities that come to mind, because I’ve never really experienced those. My world looks different. Here, the land is flat and green, dotted with fields, old farmhouses, and tree-lined backroads.
Our trees tell a story of their own. Towering pines rise up everywhere, but mixed among them are oaks, cedars, cypress, gums, and even a few pecan trees. In the spring, yards burst into bloom with ornamental pears, their white flowers as delicate as snow. Later in the season, the crape myrtles come alive with color, splashing pinks and purples against the summer sky.
The forests here aren’t the kind you stroll through for leisure — the ground is thick with growth, tangled and wild, and you always have to remember what else might be in there with you: snakes, coyotes, skunks, even bears if you go far enough. These woods are beautiful in their own right, but they’re also a reminder of how untamed the land really is.
The England I Imagine
In contrast, the English countryside I dream about feels safe, gentle, and almost storybook-like. I picture rolling green fields stitched together with hedgerows, narrow lanes lined with wildflowers, and little stone cottages where roses climb the walls. Instead of dense forests you can’t walk through, I imagine open meadows, woodland paths, and gardens that invite you in.
In my mind, the pace of life there moves differently. People gather at small village pubs, walk to the market, or sit by the fire with a cup of tea when it rains. Seasons seem softer, less dramatic. Spring comes with mist and wildflowers. Summer is mild instead of sweltering. Autumn is golden and crisp, with leaves falling quietly instead of whole forests exploding into color. Even winter feels cozy — cold, yes, but softened by the glow of old cottages and the promise of tea and blankets by the fire.
Two Different Kinds of Charm
What I know of North Carolina and what I dream of in England couldn’t be more different, but maybe that’s exactly why I hold both so close. My home is plain and familiar. The trees outside my window aren’t part of a postcard view, but they are the same trees I’ve watched all my life. The rhythms here are steady: work, home, the changing of seasons, the small-town patterns that repeat year after year.
England, on the other hand, feels like an escape into beauty and tradition. It represents a gentleness I don’t see much in my daily surroundings — not because my home isn’t beautiful, but because its beauty feels tougher, less delicate — something you live with more than you stroll through. Where my North Carolina world feels practical and untamed, the English countryside I dream of feels orderly and peaceful.
A Dream That Shapes the Everyday
I think part of being human is longing for something beyond what we see every day. For me, the dream of the English countryside makes me notice my own landscape differently. When I see a line of trees silhouetted against the evening sky, I imagine what it might look like if they were willows leaning over a stone wall. When rain falls heavy and steady, I picture myself in a cottage across the sea, listening to the same sound on a different kind of roof.
My life here is small in distance, but my imagination carries me far. And maybe that’s the beauty of it: I don’t have to go anywhere to find a sense of wonder. I can live with the familiar rhythms of a Southern girl in coastal North Carolina while holding close the dream of another countryside altogether.
One day, maybe I’ll see those English fields and villages for myself. Until then, I’ll keep them in my heart — alongside the flat fields, pine woods, and blooming crape myrtles of the only home I’ve ever known.
Until next time,
Amy
