Together without being joined at the hip

When we first explained to a friend what we were hoping to create at the Long Barn, we were standing in what were then still semi-derelict farm buildings, trying to describe the sort of groups we imagined coming to stay.

He stopped us mid-flow.

“Go away with my family? I can’t think of anything worse.”

Not quite the ringing endorsement of our fledgling business idea that we had hoped for.

Luckily, most of the guests who have stayed with us over the years haven’t shared quite the same view. Although we do sometimes wonder whether a few arrive with a degree of trepidation at the thought of several days ahead with their nearest and dearest. Because however much you love people, it doesn’t necessarily follow that you want to spend every waking hour with them.

Going your separate ways

Over the summer we’ve had a number of multigenerational families staying, and one thing we notice again and again is that time apart can be just as important as time together.

One part of a family might head off to Dalby Forest for bikes and zip wires, while another chooses a much more leisurely wander around the independent shops in Helmsley, probably with coffee and cake somewhere along the way. Someone else might make for Thornton-le-Dale to see the home of Bangers and Cash for themselves.

Then, later in the day, they all find their way back to the Long Barn garden, compare notes, have a drink in the sunshine and decide what is happening for supper.

We sometimes see the same thing much closer to home. We’ll bump into one part of a group striding out of the village for a proper hike, perhaps taking in a couple of villages and a pub along the way, while later we might meet another branch of the same family on a much gentler stroll around Appleton and the leafy back lanes.

There doesn’t have to be one plan.

When our own family comes to stay

We see this even more clearly when our own family stays at the Long Barn for our annual get-together. With five great-nieces and nephews under nine, all with slightly different sleeping, eating and energy levels, going with the flow is fairly essential.

On their last visit, Jackie wandered around the village with the two eldest girls, spotting animals, exploring the back lanes and talking about the things they saw on the way. The thing that fascinated them most wasn’t particularly picturesque or rare. It was the old red telephone box. Neither of them had ever heard a dialling tone before.

Meanwhile, back at the Long Barn, the littlest ones could have a nap while their parents caught up with their own siblings. Someone managed to get out for a run on the Moors for the first time in months, while someone else sat in the courtyard with a cup of tea.

Nobody needed to persuade everyone else to do the same thing.

Space to spread out

That ability to drift apart matters indoors too. Sometimes a group settles into the living room, with different conversations happening around the room. Someone reads, someone watches a film, others disappear to the West Barn for table tennis, table football or a fiercely competitive game of cornhole.

The West Barn is often where the children and teenagers head first, although not always the children and teenagers. Having a completely separate space means one part of the group can be noisy and competitive without everyone else having to join in. When the weather turns wet, there is still room for different things to happen at the same time rather than everyone feeling they have to occupy one communal room together.

But the Long Barn is also very good at bringing people back together again.

The things that bring everyone back together

Our breakfasts are a good example. Most mornings they stretch over several hours, with people drifting in and out of the kitchen, making another flat white, putting some toast on and sitting down for a while before someone else appears.

Sunday tends to be different. Someone starts making pancakes and suddenly everybody seems to want breakfast at exactly the same time.

Our eldest niece is also busy creating another family tradition. She has started putting on “a show” during each visit, currently drafting in her eldest cousin and a couple of obliging grown-ups as fellow performers. We can already see the cast expanding as the younger cousins get older, while the rest of us sit dutifully in the living room waiting for the entertainment to begin.

Another night usually sees us all walking up through the village to the Moors Inn, where we take over the dining room for a big family meal. The children are relaxed, which means their parents are relaxed, and despite the famously generous portions everyone somehow finds room for pudding.

And most evenings, however scattered we have been during the day, we eventually end up around the dining table together. There is supper, talking and catching up. The children gradually disappear upstairs, with various members of the family taking their turn at bedtime-story duty, and then the adults migrate to the living room.

Sometimes, if we still have enough energy, there are charades. More often it is music, another drink and a chance to talk.

Perhaps our friend had identified something important all those years ago. Going away with a large family, or a big group of friends, probably would be hard work if everyone had to agree on one plan, one pace and one way of spending every day.

What seems to work is having enough space to do your own thing, and enough reasons to keep coming back together again.

Together, without being joined at the hip.