Last, as well as this year, I anecnoted the people that come to the meadow to 'look at America'. Lately this happens so often that I have gone into the phenomenon. It is practically interesting to us, because we live here.
The protection of our privacy takes multiple shapes. In German they say that a dog 'bellt'. The dogs of our 'upstairs' neighbors function as our doorbell. But when the wind is out of direction we don't hear them. They merely rise to the ankle. So we more or less keep an eye on the lane, on which we have sight for about a hundred meters. When they come closer we often hear them, but not always, for sometimes they are alone or have nothing loud to share. As soon as we spot them we warn each other: 'Tourist alarm!'.
This meadow is common ground. We are allowed to be here, unless someone makes a just complaint about us. Another good reason to keep things tidy. Further we have as many rights as anyone else. When, like recently on Bank Holiday, people come to camp, then this is not of our concern, even when half a rainy day long they stare straight into our household from their car-shelter. But these are unfortunate exeptions.
A few days ago I came from the shop and walked down the lane just behind some tourists. I imagined to look through their eyes and saw the sea ahead. Could this be a modernized 'Thalassa!' feeling? An irresistible attraction to the great pond? Or even a rudimentary feeling of 'returning to the primeval soup'? They know they cannot go onwards. That every step is two, as they also will have to go back and most of them do this within 5 minutes. Maybe the deeper psychological impulse is to reconcile oneself with the Inevitable. Or even embracing it. The searching and finding of something overwhelming that subsequently can be left behind.
Maybe we ought to be nicer to them, even offer them some moral support, or at least serve seawater tea with bubble weed pastry for those in need. Hand out paper hankies where salty tears must be staunched. Have slings and tourniquets ready for those that misstep on the rocks.
Funny Lane leads to paradise for us, but we cannot accommodate everyone. Sooner or later you run into the restrictions of Happiness.