Starter Smallholders

Nothing has acted as such a potent reminder of how far I am from home as the death of my grandmother. I was surprised, not by her passing, which, at 93, was inevitable at some point, but by the depth of my own grief. A large part of the picture that is England, my home country, has gone, and left a space that is unlikely to be filled when I am overseas. This event is probably the largest single change to the landscape that is my England, and a harsh reminder that I am increasingly a stranger in my own country, as well as a foreigner here in Latvia where I live. Here, I play the foreigner well, enjoy it even, and have been told by readers of my column that they enjoy this unusual viewpoint. At the same time, each visit to the UK leaves me feeling more discombobulated, as the country that I knew changes and grows. We have a good life here, with many satisfactions that we may not have achieved in the UK, and I feel at home both in the anonymous city and in our sparsely populated area of the countryside. But I cannot help wondering if I will ever feel that I belong anywhere again.