Welcome to Our Country Life.
This little corner of the internet is my way of bringing a touch of countryside calm to your Sunday mornings. Each week, just as the kettle’s boiled and the day’s still quiet, a new post lands in your inbox at 7am — something gentle to read with your first cup of tea.
I started Our Country Life as a bit of an escape — a place to slow down, notice the smaller things, and soak up the charm of rural life. I hope it brings a moment of peace to your weekend, and maybe even makes you smile.
I’m starting to think Hooty is toying with me.
Every evening, I head out into the garden hoping for a glimpse of him, this magnificent, elusive owl who’s stolen my sleep and my sanity. But he never plays it straight. One night he turns up late, another he just flashes past like a shadow. Sometimes, he doesn’t show at all. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just me, standing in the garden at dusk in my pyjamas, wondering if this will be the night I get a good photograph.
Tonight, though - tonight feels different. I’ve got that prickling anticipation that only comes when you know something's going to happen. The camera's ready, I’m bundled up in my big coat, and I’ve convinced myself that Hooty is finally going to give me the show of a lifetime.
This is being written in real time. If this turns into a magical night, you’ll feel it with me. If it’s another wild goose chase - well, you'll feel that too.
8:30 pm
The garden is alive. A full-blown avian uproar. Birds are shrieking over each other in a frenzy that borders on hysteria. I pull my coat tighter and try not to think about how ridiculous I look with pyjamas underneath my coat. It’s cold, but I’m warm enough - physically, at least.
The noise makes it hard to concentrate. It’s like the whole ecosystem is sending out alerts: The owl is coming. Hide your young. Guard your nests. Reinforce your twigs!
9:05 pm
Silence.
The kind of silence that feels deliberate.
The rabbits, two of them, are grazing at the far end of the garden without a care in the world. I’m tempted to yell at them to hide. Do they not realise they’re practically putting themselves on tonight’s menu?
I feel on edge, flitting my gaze from the wooded area to the left, where he sometimes emerges, to the electric post on the right, where he often perches. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve looked up to find him already sitting there, smug and silent like a ghost. Every time, he outmanoeuvres me.
9:15 pm
The light’s slipping fast. I fumble with camera settings, pretending to understand what I’m doing - switch to manual, widen the aperture, lower the ISO, adjust the shutter speed - clicking at random and hoping for the best. Last night’s Instagram video was a blurry disgrace. Tonight has to be better.
I walk over to the garden gate, scanning the oak trees. Nothing. The only soundtrack now is the distant roar of engines on the main road. So much for rural tranquillity.
9:17 pm
I hear him! A low, gurgling call from the shadows.
Not the soft hoot I’ve come to expect - more like a broken gurgle. Hooty? Is that you? Suddenly, the name feels wrong. Squarky, perhaps.
The blackbirds erupt again, their frantic chatter breaking the stillness. A robin lands on the fence, sitting like some tiny feathered security guard, ready to defend its turf. He knows what’s coming.
9:27 pm
Another call. This one is higher pitched, unmistakably youthful.
A young owl? Already? Surely not - it feels early. But nature, apparently, doesn’t care what I think. Now my heart is racing. This could be a family affair.
9:30 pm
This is getting ridiculous, even the damn bats are out now and not an owl in sight. The last few songbirds whip through the trees and dart into their nests. It feels like one of those horror films where the townsfolk quickly bolt their doors before the monster arrives. Except in this case, the monster is beautiful and has feathers, and I’m the idiot still standing outside, camera poised.
The silence is deafening once again. I’m cold. My fingers are stiff. And I’ve got absolutely nothing to show for it. I fiddle with the camera settings once more to adjust to the serious lack of light. I know that these next couple of minutes are going to be crucial.
9:35 pm
It feels far too dark for the camera now, but I still have my phone. Night Sight to the rescue, I whisper to myself like it’s some kind of spell. But NO! No more half-baked images, Jenna. I’ve spent too many nights uploading blurry blobs and calling them “artistic”. There’s nothing artistic about trying to edit a photo that still looks like I’m having another episode of Optic Neuritis at the end of it.
I tell myself five more minutes. Just five. Then I’m going in.
9:40 pm – Well, well, well...
I’m calling it a night. I sigh with disappointment and clip my lens cover back on the camera. I take one last hopeful scan of the trees, and then something flickers in the corner of my eye.
Hooty?
He’s here!
Not soaring through the trees or perched in his usual regal spot. He’s on the ground, beneath the oaks, pecking away at the bugs. I don’t even think - just grab my phone and start snapping. He turns and stares, dead-on, like he’s posing. Except he isn’t really - it’s more of a sarcastic pose. Like he knows none of these photos taken on my phone will turn out well, and he wants me to know that he’s in control of my success.
9:45 pm
He flaps lazily up to the electricity post. That hideous, wooden and grey metal thing that ruins every shot - but it’s the closest I’ll get. He stares down at me, solemn and still, like some feathery overlord surveying his servant.
We lock eyes.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s sizing me up. Those talons, that beak… if he fancied pecking out my eyeballs, it wouldn’t take him long. I looked into his eyes and, for a moment, everything fell away - the cold, the silence, even time itself. Those jet black discs held something ancient, something utterly unbothered by my presence. It wasn’t curiosity I saw, nor fear - just a quiet calculation, as though he were weighing up my worth in the grand scheme of things. The stare was so unwavering that I felt like the one being watched with the expectation to perform. It was both haunting and oddly grounding, like being acknowledged by the wilderness itself.
It’s nearly pitch black. I know it’s time to go inside. I feel cheated, in a way, but also grateful for the encounter I’ve just had. I didn’t get the photo I wanted, but I did see him, and he saw me. And I’m a firm believer that everything happens when it’s meant to.
Tonight just wasn’t that night.
But one day soon, it will be.
And when it is, you’ll know.
Part 2 is coming…
Eventually.
Thank you for reading – your interest really means a lot to me! If you’ve enjoyed this little segment of my journey, why not join me for more? By subscribing, you’ll have my free weekly newsletters delivered straight to your inbox at 7am every Sunday. It’s the perfect way to start your day with a warm cup of tea (or coffee!) and a cosy read. I’d love to have you along for the adventure. Simply click subscribe, and I’ll see you next Sunday!
Catch up on my last post…
Hey, I’d love to stay connected with you! If you enjoy what I share here, you’ll find even more everyday moments, creative snapshots, and heartfelt musings on my Instagram.
It’s where I share little bits of life, inspiration, and things that make me smile — and I’d love for you to be part of it.
Looking forward to connecting with you there! Take care and see you soon! 🫶✨
I know the summer solstice is here, but where do you live? I’m in North Carolina and don’t have daylight as late as you. We did see a lot this week though. Green snake, tad poles and box turtle in our pool in the woods just out the back door. Much rescuing. I love your suspenseful writing.
Loved this Jenna, the suspense had me on the edge of my seat! I think Hooty is definitely playing a game with you! 😊 Can't wait for the next instalment.x