As gulls soar above the valley, they blend into the vibrant colors of the setting sun over the north Atlantic. Their white feathers gradually transition to a pale red hue as they ascend into the sky where the colors are most intense. With graceful wingbeats, they fly westward towards the coast.
“DId you see the seagulls, Eli? Did you see them?” I ask my four-year-old son, who moments ago was by my side but is now twirling in circles with a yellow bucket on his head. “Eli, Eli…” I call out, but he either doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore me. He darts off towards the house, tossing the bucket into a patch of tall grass. I watch him go with as much fascination as I had for the seagulls as their feathers turned red in the sunlight. Both are wonders.
In my mind, I am transported to the events that led us to our new home in north Cornwall. I observe the river while occasionally glancing up at the vibrant sky and its ever-changing clouds. My thoughts wander to the journey that brought us here, to a place that I hoped would provide solace and new beginnings after the loss of our daughter Elowen in 2017.
Before Elowen’s birth, I had envisioned all the places I wanted to take her. These were places that held deep meaning to me, locations that I wanted to share with her. When we were ready to bring her home from the hospital, I planned to hold her in my arms and walk through the heath near our home in the New Forest. I wanted to show her a special oak tree that we had named Elowen’s Oak. I envisioned sharing with her the beauty of its twisting branches and the way sunlight flickered through its massive leaves. I also longed for her to experience the sight and sounds of geese flying over Keyhaven Marshes. The mountains of Snowdonia, where we once had a hostel and called home before moving to the New Forest, held a special place in my heart. I wanted to sit on a particular boulder, nestled on the shoulder of Clogwyn-Mawr, and watch the ravens soar, imagining Elowen by my side at different stages in her life. I had already given my heart and life to her, even before she was born. As her father, I wanted to share cherished places with her and create lasting memories through our adventures together.
However, the tragic loss of Elowen shattered our world. She never made it home, her room remained empty, and she never had the opportunity to see the places I held dear or experience the world. But the map I had drawn in my heart, the dreams of a father, persisted. Yet, I had no desire to revisit these places. Living without her felt unbearable.
So, my wife Amy and I had to find another path. We sold our business in Snowdonia and eventually our home in the New Forest. We chose to take a different direction, not to start anew, but to bring Elowen’s memory with us and seek a place where darkness and pain didn’t grip us so tightly. After losing Elowen, every decision we made felt like stepping into the unknown. I was terrified of life and the potential anguish that awaited at every turn. Yet, we took the risk, and that risk led us here, to this secluded river valley on the border of Devon and Cornwall.
As we explored the area, guided by the estate agent, we knew very little about this place. We drove down a sunken lane that twisted and turned until we reached the Marsland valley, as indicated by a sign on a cob wall of a Devon Wildlife Trust building. I marveled that a house existed in such a secluded pocket of the land. After viewing the house, our curiosity led us to the coast. Following the river’s meandering course, we passed through a dense wood framed by summer oaks and sycamores adorned with vibrant foliage. The air resonated with the sounds of insects and birdsong. Eventually, we reached the edge of the wood, and there before us stood imposing cliffs covered in bright yellow gorse. Beyond them, the blue water of the ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see. A buzzard gracefully soared overhead, and as we ventured into the high-grass meadows, we were greeted by horseflies. We ran, with 18-month-old Eli bouncing in the carrier backpack strapped to my shoulders. Breathless, we paused at a gate along the path to take in the breathtaking view. The valley unfolded before us, revealing its layers and contours reminiscent of Snowdonia. The narrow path led us to a black beach, its tide far out, exposing a dazzling array of rock pools shimmering in the sun. Beyond the pools, the Atlantic Ocean sparkled and surged.
Eli and I crouched by one of the pools, him wriggling and dipping his toes in the water. Amy engraved Elowen’s name onto a stone, placing it in the clear water among seaweed and pink sea anemones. Her name glistened. Amy and I sat close to each other, sharing a smile.
As darkness falls, Eli returns, waving a torch across the river’s surface and into my eyes. “Eli!” I exclaim, momentarily blinded. He kneels beside me, and together we gaze into the dark river flowing towards the black beach that shone brightly on the day we made the decisive choice to move here. I am immensely grateful that we did. This is a safe haven where I can rekindle the spirit of small-scale outdoor adventures and memory-making that I had envisioned for my heart’s map. Bug hunting, butterfly chasing, pond building, tree climbing, and rock pooling…
Kneeling beside the river, my heart overflows with love for our son, but it also aches for the daughter who should be with us. The human heart, vast and deep like this valley, has an incredible capacity to hold itself together.
Elowen…