Wholeweal Community

The celebration spills across a broad valley clearing ringed by ancient oaks, their gnarled roots anchoring the revelry to the earth. Strings of bare bulbs stretch between the trees, their weak yellow light pooling onto a rough-hewn dance floor made of weathered planks. A fiddle’s sawing rhythm and a banjo’s twang rise above the shuffle of boots, the music leaping from bonfire to bonfire that claw at the darkening sky. Long trestle tables sag under barrels of ale and platters of thin bread and salted meat, the smells of smoke, sweat, and spilled drink thick in the cool evening air. The Doctor stands apart from the circle of dancers, his yellow roadster Bessie idling like a metallic island beside the celebration. Around him, Nancy and Benton sway in time with Jo and Jones, their laughter lost in the general tumult. The valley walls echo back the revelry, sending it back reduced to a faint, joyous murmur as Bessie’s engine growls and pulls away under the dying sun.