August 22, 2010
This morning, Joshua and I woke up and immediately started packing. Linda and Nick, another neighbor and friend of Lesley's, came over to say goodbye, and we lingered in the living room, eating breakfast and telling everyone about the rest of our trip. At 11, we finally saddled up and headed out, waving to Lesley and Linda as we went.
Thankfully, we didn't have to cycle back up the massive hill to rejoin the Derwent Walk; instead, we rolled down through Rowland Gills and joined the cycle path number 14. Most of our journey today was traffic-free, and for the first 25 miles or so, we navigated our way through Newcastle and Tynemouth just by following our little blue and red signs. The path itself was also pleasant, and we found ourself cycling along the Tyne, through Newcastle's Quayside, and past bustling markets, modern buildings, and a fabulous arched bridge.
In Tynemouth, we stopped on the beach to eat our little plates of baklava and other philo-dough treats. Joining up with cycle route number 1, we finished the C2C route, and again headed North. On the other side of Tynemouth, I recognized the beautiful old buildings high up on the hill and the small, protected beaches down below. When I was a little girl, Lesley took my family down here and I used to swim in the Northern Sea. It was warm today, and there were plenty of people worshiping the sun and salt water, but I can honestly say I felt no desire to swim in the sea. Even at a balmy 80 degrees outside, that water still looks bitterly cold.
Finding our cycle route again after a couple of miles on an A road, we followed the path through the residential streets of Blyth and Ashington. Back on the Coast, we enjoyed miles of level trail and back road. To our right, villages and holiday homes sat nestled in sand dune brush, and to our right, the sea stretched out for as far as we could see.
Our path went off road for a few miles through dunes and a dirt track, and after nearly 60 miles of cycling, we stopped for food in Amble. With the sun setting earlier and earlier, we suspected that we might only have a couple more hours of sunlight. It was already 6, so we forwent pretending that it was lunch and settled on a snack of bread, cherries, and shortbread. Heading back onto the road, we almost immediately punctured a tire and spent minutes of our precious sunlight changing it.
After 10 more miles, we passed my favorite stretch of beach near Alnmouth, and now, we're a mere 3 miles away from Castor, where we were yesterday. We've decided to be rebels today, and rather than stay in a Camping and Caravaning site, we've plonked down in the dunes. It's not legal, but you can't see us unless you're right on top of us. The spot we've chosen is perfectly beautiful, and as we ate the rest of our meal - bread, cheese, humous, and strawberries - we felt like renegades.
Now, I'm writing in the tent, listening to the waves. It's time to go to sleep.
August 21, 2010
I woke up Saturday morning feeling a little bit ill from all of the cheese and wine I had consumed the night before. Apparently, the intense culinary delight of fondue is not without consequences. Don't worry. The consequences are worth it, and I plan to repeat the experience when we go home to Minnesota. Come eat fondue with us!
After fixing breakfast and lunches for a little picnic, Lesley, Linda, Joshua, and I hopped in the car and headed for the beach. The Northumberland Coast is one of my most favorite places on Earth, and I was so excited to share this pretty landscape with Joshua. After a twisty, turny, windy drive, we arrived just North of Castor, situated between a bay, sand dunes, and a beautiful old castle.
Walking along the coastal path, we passed strange and striking rock outcroppings. We paused for photos on one of them, and then we just sat, listening to the waves. Continuing walking, circumnavigated the castle and walked through a field of sheep. In Castor, we stopped by the harbor to eat our sandwiches, and then we headed into town to look at a gallery with pottery, jewelry, and paintings of the seaside.
On our way back along the coast, we wandered through tide pools and over rocks covered in mustard-yellow lichen. Lesley insisted that this was the most beautiful place on Earth, and we agreed that it was very, very beautiful. The last time I came here, I probably would have simply agreed. I thought it was the most beautiful place on Earth. In particular, I had loved the beach just South of Alnmouth, with its long, wide sandy bay, grassy sand dunes, and picture-perfect seaside village. I wouldn't say that this place has become any less beautiful in my eyes, but I've also seen so many new places, and I've realized that the Earth is a really, really, really beautiful place. I don't know if I could pick just one place and call it Most.
Back on the beach, we laid in the sand. While Lesley and Linda acted as sports commentators for the fish-diving sea gulls, Joshua and I read our books. As the sun set, Joshua progressed from reading his book to digging an enormous hole in the sand. When he was finished, we repacked our day sacks and headed back towards the car. On the way home, we took a detour to see the Harry Potter castle in Alnwick, and then I fell asleep as we drove back to Blackhall Mill.
Home again, I took a shower while Joshua went out to the shed to do a little bike maintenance. Lesley made us pasta with zucchini for dinner, and while we ate our last supper together, we talked about the families of our present and our future, and we confirmed that we were all very, very fond of one another. Lesley and I got a bit teary eyed again, and we stayed up far too late, not wanting to end our conversation.
August 20, 2010
On Friday, we all woke up late. For breakfast, we ate fruit, yogurt, and muesli, and before we left, we fixed a lunch with some of the leftover fish.
In Blanchland, less than an hour's drive from Lesley's house, we parked the car and started walking up. Pausing along the way to enjoy views of the valley and the approaching Moors, we walked past sweet stone homes and farms. Just as we crossed the gate into the Moors, it began to rain. Trying to remain upbeat, we surged on through the heather, but within minutes, the driving rain had soaked us through. For the next couple of hours, we leaned into the gale and pulled our hoods over our eyes to avoid the rain. Lesley kept on asking, philosophically, "is this what we decide to do for pleasure?"
Finally, just as we reached the fence where we had begun our Moorland loop, the rain began to let up, and we stopped briefly to eat our fish wraps. The wind, however, did not let up, and after a few minutes of being buffeted, we packed back up and headed for the car. Shedding our soaking garments and changing out of our dripping shoes, we sat in the car with the doors closed for a just a moment. After listening to the wind howl and having hair and rain whipped about our faces, the stillness and silence of the car provided quite a contrast, and Lesley and I started laughing. We agreed that the weather had been a bit extreme.
Back at the house, we changed into dry clothes, and Lesley and I went out to the garden to appreciate the sunshine. Apparently, Blackhall Mill exists in its very own little micro climate, and here, it did not rain all day. With the sun shining, it was actually quite warm, and we began to thaw out. In the shed, Lesley showed me where her clay is, and while she grated cheese for fondue, I molded a scary face. I love making noses, so I spent the most time forming nostrils and an aquiline bridge. For the eyes, I carved deep hollows and adhered two button-sized pieces with slip for eyes. The only thing keeping it from being terrifying is a cute little pout. I couldn't quite manage the Chesire cat grin.
Back inside the house, we tidied and rearranged the living room to fit 6 people. Setting up the fondue set in the middle of the table, we watched while Lesley fiddled with the purple Methylated Spirits. At one point, she nearly burned the whole house down, but she and Joshua put it out quickly, and there was no harm done. (I was absolutely no help under pressure. Apparently, the sight of flames blocks my neuropathways and sends me running in the other direction.)
At 8, Linda, Karen, and Dominic arrived, and we all began drinking wine and snacking, while Lesley warmed the wine. Lesley's neighbors are also some of her closest friends, and dinner with them was so much fun. They are the warmest, most beautiful group of companions, and besides the fabulous company, my first taste of fondue was amazing. We gobbled down little pieces of bread, skewered and dipped in sharp, melted cheese, and when we were done with the bread, we dipped whatever else was on the table. Although Lesley had started with an inconceivable amount of cheese, we finished the whole thing, licking our skewers and fingers when it was all done.
August 19, 2010
Joshua requested a day of relaxation. We've been traveling for nearly two months now, and the last day we took to do almost nothing was in Capiliera, Spain. While I wrote for hours and hours on the couch in Lesley's living room, Joshua finished his impossibly long fantasy novel. Lesley moved about her lovely garden, fixing, weeding, and planting.
After Joshua finished his book, he helped Lesley trim the hedges with power tools, and I completed my writing by posting it online. For lunch, we ate the selection of cheeses Lesley had picked up in Durham with crackers and fruit. While Joshua went upstairs for a little nap, I went on a run along the footpaths behind Lesley's neighborhood. Using my iPod as a timer, I ran up the hill for 25 minutes, and then I turned around and headed back again. Listening to Alexi Murdoch, I thought allowed myself to think about school for the first time in a while. In fact, I had spent most of the morning writing and thinking about teaching, and I was finally starting to think about whether or not I really want to try teaching again. I vacillated between revulsion and compulsion, and once I had returned from my run, I looked up teaching programs in River Falls and Stout. I don't know if I'm a glutton for punishment, or if I'm just drawn to it.
For dinner, Lesley cooked a brown trout that her neighbor, Marlon, had caught in Durham. The zucchini and green beans were from the garden, and it was the Real Deal: local and delicious. For a special treat, Lesley poured us all shots of her home-made cherry brandy, and we sipped the sweet liquor, listening to her describe how she pitted the cherries, layered them with sugar, and then drowned them with brandy. We talked until late, and when we were too tired to talk anymore, we went to bed.
August 18, 2010
A long time ago, the Romans conquered England. The curly, bearded emperor of Rome ruled the vast majority of Europe, but when his army encountered Scotland, they found a surly race unwilling to relinquish an inch of heather. In the end, whether to keep the marauding Scots in or out, the Roman's built a wall along the Northern most border of England.
Although I've been to the Northeast when we've visited Lesley in the past, we've never made the trip to Hadrian's Wall. With Joshua the History Buff in tow, we decided to make the journey. Less than an hour away from Blackhall Mill, Hadrian's Wall still runs nearly from sea to sea, and a hiking trail accompanies the length of it. Beginning at a National Trust gift and tea shop, we snuck inside to look at the souvenirs and wait out a torrential downpour. Lesley donned a Roman helmet and a Scottish short sword, and she and Joshua engaged in a re-enactment of Roman-Scottish hand-to-hand combat in the middle of the gift shop. I browsed through a series of kitchen accouterments designed to perfect the poaching and boiling of eggs. One egg-shaped appliance used mercury to judge the temperature and solidity of the yolk, and another claimed to produce square poached eggs (all the better for square pieces of toast).
Outside, the rain finally subsided, and we began our walk. Having woken up a bit late and gotten out of the house a bit later, it was already 1:30 by the time we started, and most of our hiking companions appeared to be going in the other direction. Does a wall conjure up visions of flat land to you? I had imagined that the Romans would sensibly take up the path of least resistance and build a wall on level ground. In fact, this assumption had even led Joshua and I to consider crossing England along Hadrian's Wall, rather than the Pennines, with the thought that we might avoid epic hills.
It's a really good thing that we didn't make that assumption, because the wall is HILLY. There's hardly a flat stretch for miles and miles, and in fact, the whole thing looks a little bit like a roller coaster. Climbing up, we got warm and unzipped our jackets. At the top, the wind blew hard, and we zipped back up as we carefully navigated our way down over haphazard, rocky steps. At the bottom, the wind would cease, and climbing up, we'd get warm again.
Despite the fickle weather, the views were spectacular, and we enjoyed cliffs, heather, sheep, and rocky climbs. At a Roman rest-stop, we found a sheltered corner and ate our sandwiches. Lesley described what it's like to be a Social Worker, and I considered the possibility that the jobs that matter the most are valued the least. Why is that?
Over the wall, we turned to make our loop, and we crossed a few fields with cows. Apparently, my fear of cows isn't entirely unfounded - people have been trampled on footpaths before - but these pooping heffers left us alone. while I tried to entice sheep to let me pet them, we enjoyed the sunshine and more views of hills and a cliffs. Unable to interest the sheep, I demanded that Lesley teach me French. I learned my numbers one through ten, hello, goodbye, my name is Ellie, I'm hungry, and ice cream. I discovered that, although French people are generally really, really mean, their language is completely beautiful and even more fun to speak. Se la vie.
After four or five hours, we arrived back at the car park and bundled in. At home with Lesley, we had a delicious dinner of roasted root vegetables with wine, and for dessert, we ate Scottish strawberries and chocolate. It was the perfect day.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
"Whatchya thinkin' about?"
If I were you, I'd be wondering what you think about when you're biking for hours and hours day after day. I wanted to ask the man who's hiking from end to end, but I thought it might be too personal. We didn't even exchange names. People have asked me what I think about when I'm running, and it's always hard to come up with a list. Instead of mentioning the little odd things that flit through my mind, I end up saying, "not much" or "nothing, really." But when I sat down and really catalogued the things that cross my mind, I guess that couldn't be further from the truth. Here's my top 50:
1. FOOTWEAR
I don't have sensible footwear for a Minnesotan winter. Whenever I go home, I have these little flimsy slipper-flats, and my feet always get cold. I think I'll purchase a couple pairs of Dansko's off ebay. I can get two pairs for about 60 dollars, and then I'll have a black pair for my black outfits and a brown pair for my brown outfits. Red would work too. Red's very versatile.
And now that I'm on the subject, I've always coveted a nice pair of rain boots. I like the ones with fun patterns, and I once saw a pair with cute little penguins. And, If I'm being honest, I've always fantasized about owning a pair of soft mukluks (think UGGS, but so, so much better), and speaking of which, I'll need a sensible pair of winter boots to go traipsing through the snow with.
2. CUTE HUSBAND
It's true. He may be the nerdiest cyclist alive, but even with a do-rag and keen-clad feet, he's still good looking. He's got these fancy prescription sunglasses, and their shiny green reflection make him look like a cross between a fly and a super-serious German mountain climber. When it's warm outside, he breaks out a sleeveless cycling jersey that zips down to his belly button and screams yellow. He calls it his Gunther euro jersey.
When we cycle past fields of sheep, he bleats loudly and convincingly, trying to instigate a domino effect, and sometimes, he's quite successful. He says that he wants us to own sheep because he loves the way they sound. He's a city boy who wants to farm, and although he's never grown a thing in his life, he's desperate to try. He wants me to name the different pieces of farm equipment when we cycle by, but although I lived in the country, I can only supply the names like, "thresher," "grain auger," "plow," and "tractor thingy" indiscriminately.
3. NEXT MEAL
When we're cycling, I'm pretty much always hungry, and meals always have the added bonus of being our next rest stop. What's not to look forward to? Before we arrive in the city or village where we plan to eat, I wonder whether I might like something pre-made from the ready-to-go rack or maybe a loaf of bread with humous or cheese or both. I'll have a piece of fruit, and maybe Joshua and I will share a bag of crisps.
Once we've finished lunch, I immediately start cooking up a plan for dinner. Tortellini? Something with rice? We love those jars of Indian sauces, and most of the grocery stores have these handy little bags of fresh mixed veggies. English berries are in season now, and the isles are stuffed with punnets of super sweet raspberries and strawberries. I love the fresh apricots, and a banana is always cheap and good for energy. I think I'll have a flapjack for dessert.
4. INDIA
I'm a big fan of anticipation, and at this point, my tools of anticipation are an itinerary and a collection of images and stories I've seen and heard through our guide book and the internet. I'm looking forward to spicy, savoury food, brightly colored textiles, and big, bangly jewelry.
I'm so excited to see the Himalaya, and I can't wait to hike the Annapurna Circuit. What's the weather going to be like? What kind of clothing will I need? What will the Teahouses be like?
Joshua and I talk about whether or not we're going to bring our tent, and we wonder if maybe we'll rent a little studio in Dharamsala for a couple of weeks while we listen to the Dali Lama and volunteer. Leh should be fabulous, and I intend to buy a shalwar kameez and beautiful scarves to bring home. What's it all going to smell like? I'm at this stage where we have plans, but really, I have no idea what we'll discover once we arrive.
5. MY BLOG
I'm sure this comes as an enormous surprise to most of you, but I think about my blog - what I've written, what I'll write, and what people have commented - all the time. I love it. I love writing everything down, and I love knowing that someone out there reads it. I've always written e-mails when we've traveled, and although those were probably better written because I belaboured over them - sitting in little internet cafes, fretting about syntax and wit - writing every other day is so much better. I feel like I'm making something I can keep, and I feel so proud of myself for sticking with it. I've always known that I love writing, but I never wrote with any consistency. It's satisfying to know that I still love it - that I love it even more - when I really sit down and commit.
6. NAMES
This is going to sound very girly and perhaps baby-crazed, but what's a blog for unless it's used to embarrass yourself? I've always loved names, and although I've made efforts to elevate this interest to an intellectual level, it's a bit of a stretch.
I love old names: Josephine, Louise, Myrtle, Tallulah, and Emmeline. I like Georgia because I love Ms. O'Keefe, and I like hippy names like Grey, Fiona, Arrow, and Violet. For boys, the old biblical names - Ephraim, Ezekiel, Mordecai - appeal to me, but I also like Oliver, Henry, Luca, Huckleberry, and Liam.
Every once in a while, I'll ask Joshua if he likes one of the names, and so far, the only ones we both like are Grey for a girl and Huckleberry for a boy. Yup, girly, girly, girly.
7. WHAT TO DO WITH MY HAIR
Don't laugh. This is serious business. If you had hair like mine - fine, thin, straight in the middle, curly by the hair line, and oily after just 24 hours - you'd wonder too. If I keep it short, it looses its curl but has more oomph... If I leave it long, it's curly but stringy. I might like to have an edgy style, but I worry that my head is too small and my jaw isn't strong enough for a really close crop. To make matters worse, I don't like too much product, and I can't be bothered to blow dry my hair every day. Should I dye it? Should I cut it? Should I leave it? You can see my predicament.
8. THE MEANING OF LIFE
Just when you were thinking that my days are filled with frivolity and stuff and nonsense...
To be honest, I think Joshua asks himself this question more often than I do, but whenever he does, he likes to double check that our world views mesh. When he whips out the big questions like, "what's the point," and "why are we here," I have to admit, I get a little miffed, but then - realizing that perhaps a bit of reflection is called for - I try to give him a good and honest answer.
Usually, I'm quiet for so long that he thinks that I've forgotten the question or maybe I'm thinking about something else, but truthfully, I just don't know. Really serious answers like, "to love one another," and "to mend that which is broken," don't feel completely genuine either; if they were, why would I spend any time writing or loving art or drinking wine and traveling the world?
In the end, I don't think I'm much good at the serious questions or serious answers. I guess I know what I like and what's important for right now, but if I'm pressed to think bigger and broader, I loose my bearings and I get lost in the landscape.
9. WHETHER OR NOT TO BECOME A VEGETARIAN
At Catherine and Donal's, I made my big vegetarian debut, but I've been dithering about this decision for quite some time now. Joshua raises a good point: animals eat each other. Hyenas eat deer and wolves eat caribou, etc. How can it be unethical to eat animals when even animals eat each other?
At this point, knowing what I know about the amount of resources that go into raising livestock and the practices that are used in industrial meat production, it sort of goes without saying that I won't be eating just any kind of meat. But even when I consider humanely raised and slaughtered local livestock, I still think I might not want anything to do with it. Is it ok to eat pulled pork or bacon if I can't stand the thought of slaughtering a pig? I don't know.
10. OUR FUTURE FARM
We've cooked up all sorts of plans to buy and build a farm, and we have thought of a couple options: 1) we buy land (15 or more acres) and we build an Earth Ship (a semi-sub-terranean home built out of earth-rammed tires) 2) we buy land with a home already on it, and we renovate. Either way, we want a big garden with a huge berry patch. I want to keep bees, can and preserve, and learn how to make goat and sheep's cheese. We want to learn how to shear, card, dye, and spin fibres, and mostly, I just want a home in the country with animals and things that grow. I want snowy winters with roast root vegetables, and I want to eat big old watermelons in the sunny summer. I want to rake leaves in the fall, and I want to live near family.
11. WAYS TO MAKE MONEY WITHOUT GOING CRAZY
I can work very, very hard, and I'm extremely goal-oriented, but I just can't think of many jobs that I would be willing to do 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year. What do you look forward to? When do you have time to do all the things that are really important, like making things and writing and raising kids and being with animals? I suppose the only answer is to find something that I love so much that it doesn't feel like a task or chore, but I can't imagine what that would be.
Sometimes, I just think of a million and one ways to make a little bit of money, and I fantasize that when I add them all together, they would be enough to live. I'm not sure if they are realistic, but they ARE things that I think about: 1) growing an extensive berry patch, and then preserving tons of jam to sell at farmers markets and local food stores, 2) cultivating bees and selling their honey, 3) making good-smelling soaps and lotions and cosmetic thingys to sell, 4) making skeins of different kinds of fibres from the animals that we own, 5) building a bed and breakfast or some kind of retreat for people to come and stay, 6) writing grants, 7) boarding animals, etc, etc, etc.
12. WHETHER OR NOT I WANT TO BE A TEACHER
It might come as a surprise to everyone, but my experiences teaching in New Orleans have made me more than a little bit wary. Sometimes, I think I might just need distance, but other times, the more distance I get, the more I think: why in god's name would I ever, ever, ever want to do that again? Every day, I wake up and I realize that I don't have to do anything that makes me miserable today, and I feel so, so thankful. I don't have to go to fourth block. I don't have corral students into my classroom and pretend like mad that they're all learning. I don't have to be yelled at by behavioral specialists or made to feel like I'm a piece of shit by anyone walking by who sees a student out of their seat or their head down. I don't have to create lessons and watch them fall to pieces every day, and I don't have to be surrounded by hopelessness. I don't have to see my students fail and know I could have done something better, something more, but just not know what it is or how to do it. I don't have to feel guilty every single day that I didn't try hard enough and my students didn't learn, but most of all, I don't have to go into a classroom in a school where students who need everything are given nothing.
When I think about it, and I actually, I try not to, I don't know what was worse: at the time, I hated and dreaded the personal things like being yelled at, cussed at, threatened, and demeaned. And now, it's the guilt that sticks, because really, the most awful part was watching kids who despite everything, I actually really, really loved, fail and flounder and die over and over again. And really, the two of them were always connected. When students or staff treated me poorly, I felt miserable and helpless to defend myself because I knew that I really wasn't helping. It's hard not to believe the bad things people say to you when everything around you is going to shit and nothing you do or don't do makes it any better.
I don't want to absolve myself or make it seem so impossible that no one could possibly hold me accountable for my actions. I do wish that someone could have come in and seen it all fairly. I wish someone could have seen the ridiculous things that were so wrong and so not ok, but also see what was really within my control. Perhaps this isn't very professional, and this really isn't how things work in the grown up world, but I think what I really needed was someone who I really respected and trusted to come in and say, I know you're trying really hard, and I know that you really care. Let's see what you can do to make things better. Some things aren't within your control, and that's not right. That's not how it should be, but here's what you can do. I'm afraid that maybe someone did come in and say these things, and I was just so sorry for myself that I didn't listen.
I don't know how I can go back and teach. I'm afraid that I've learned nothing and I'll cause my students to fail and then I'll be evaluated and they'll tell me that I really am shit and that's why my students are failing. I don't want to do something I'm not good at, and I really don't know if I can be good at teaching. I know that the people who love me want to tell me that I'm good at teaching and that things will be different, but I also know that they want to make me feel better and they don't want me to feel guilty about the last two years.
I guess the next natural question is, why are you even thinking about it then? And there are a couple of answers: 1) it's one of the only jobs I can imagine doing. I can't be in an office, and I'm not qualified to do much else. Even if I went back to school to qualify myself for something else, what would it be? I would do Social Work, but really, I would do it for the same reasons that I would teach. I want to work with people, and I want to do something that matters. 2) I do love being a part of that moment when students begin to think on their own. I love teaching them skills and then watching them create something that they're proud of. 3) It's one of the only jobs I can think of that would also give me enough time to do all the other things I also want to do: keep bees, can, preserve, spin, cook, write, and read.
13. WHERE WE'LL LIVE WHEN WE GET BACK TO MINNESOTA
I'm not sure whether we'll be living at Yvonne and Dave's for a while or if we'll rent our own apartment or if we'll do something crazy like live in trailer or buy an old farm house, but beyond that uncertainty, I'm already decorating. I'm sewing big, droopy curtains the color of ochre, and I'm draping them in front of sheer lace curtains. I'm printing out our best photos, framing them, and painting the rooms using their colors. I'm buying posters of paintings that I love and hanging them all over the walls. I'm cooking in the kitchen, and holding dinner parties for family and friends. I'm cuddling with my husband, my dog, and my cat on the couch, and we're watching a movie. Outside, I'm starting a garden, and we're walking on paths through the snow (not at the same time, of course).
14. MAKING NEW FRIENDS
Lesley says I need to ask the Universe for the kind of friends that I want, so here goes: I want funny, artsy friends who'd rather come over or go walking and skiing than go out to a restaurant or go to a show. I want homey people who live in the same city and want to be more like family than acquaintances. I know I'm asking for a lot, so I'll leave it at that :)
15. SPANISH
This is my BIG GOAL. I want to learn Spanish. I want to be able to have a real conversation. Ideally, I'd like to find a Spanish-speaking someone who speaks about as much English and I speak Spanish. We could it would be nice to exchange skills.
Once I've learned Spanish, I'm going to use it all the time. I'm going to think in Spanish, and I'm going to watch Spanish movies without subtitles. When I have kids, I'm going to teach them Spanish, and when we go on vacation, we're going to go to Spanish speaking places. I'm going to teach ESL again, and when we're done with class, I'm going to speak to my students in Spanish (and English). I want to learn Spanish!
16. BLACKSMITH
I also want to learn how to Blacksmith. I want to be able to make big metal sculptures and put them all over my garden. I like the idea of wearing a big protective hat and holding a blow torch.
17. WRITING A BOOK
I've had a story cooking in my head for years, but I just haven't summoned the gumption to set aside the time and write it. Wouldn't it be awful to really take a stab at what you know you love to do and what you think you might be better at than anything else and then realize that you're rubbish? Yup. It's enough to prevent me from trying so far.
18. TEACHING ADULT ED CLASSES
When we lived in Tacoma, I was a teacher's assistant in an ESL class, and I LOVED IT. I wish I could make enough money doing it, because I'd do it in a heart beat.
19. A TRIP TO TAKE WITH MY SISTER
My sister is probably one of the most beautiful, wonderful women alive, and she wants us to go on a trip together! I think we'll start small: I'll take her to the North Shore or something when we go back to Minnesota, but after that, the sky's really the limit, isn't it?
20. THE CARAVAN I WANT TO BUY SOME DAY
I've always called them trailers, but when I explained to Ruth that I'd like to have a trailer some day, she looked very perplexed. Apparently, here in the UK, they call them CARAVANS.
While I'd love a sleek, silver-bullet airstream trailer, I'd settle for just about anything. I love the vintage trailers, but really, anything under 3,000 dollars would do. I'm going to rehaul the interior, and it's going to be the cutest little trailer you've ever seen. We'll take it to Glacier and Yosemite, and we'll have long, inexpensive vacations wherever we please.
21. THE OUTDOOR GEAR I WISH I HAD
When I walk into REI, I seriously covet everything. I want the big puffy jacket, the fuzzy fleece sweaters, the hard-core mittens, the sensible pants, and the fun work out clothes. I want a new pair of fish-scale skis, and I'd love a new bike and some flattering cycling clothes. A kayak would be fantastic fun, and I'd also love a canoe. I'd buy a fleece liner for my sleeping bag, and a proper camping pillow that had some fluff to it. I might even want an attractive, sporty watch (if they exist). Yup, if I had loads of money to spend on myself, I think I know where I would spend it :)
22. WHY I LOVE MY HUSBAND
As most of you already know, I'm pretty much the luckiest woman alive, and I have the most wonderful husband ever. He keeps my ibuprofen in his front pocket, and he pops them out and hands them to me when my knee starts to get a bit sore. He gives me big hugs in the morning, and when we're biking, he wants to know what I think about almost everything. He tells me I'm beautiful all the time, and he seems to think all my contradictions and quirks are just fine, even grand :) He's good at so many things, but most of all, he wants to grow and change and be better all the time.
23. WHAT I'M GOING TO WEAR WHEN I'M A STUDENT AGAIN
I'm a big fan of tights and lots of layers, but I've yet to perfect the look. I know that there will be lots of scarves, and of course, big bangly earrings, but I need the boots to finish the look. I'm going through thrift store withdrawal.
24. RETIREMENT
Namely, the retirement of my parents. I want them to all live on a great big farm with me :) If they won't do that, then I want a nice little guest house where they can come and stay all the time.
25. KIDLETS
Although I'm sure you'd never be able to tell by this posting, Joshua is actually the one who wants kid's tomorrow. Actually, he wanted them yesterday, but since that's come and gone, he'll settle for tomorrow. And while I might be a bit terrified by little children (what do you TALK about with them?!), raising kids with Joshua sounds like one of the best ideas so far. I want to take those kids on the best adventure ever, and I want to make a really happy home.
26. THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE
I'm in the market for more ridiculous adventures, and I think hiking the Continental Divide might do it for me. It's crazy, it's big, and it would be so very beautiful. When could we do it? Can you do it with kids? What about kids that are half grown? Could we do it when we're old and they're grown?
27. IF WE CAN'T HIKE THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE, WHAT OTHER CRAZY THINGS CAN WE DO?
We could hike the Superior Trail. We could bike across the United States. Could we learn how to kayak and do something crazy with that? What about snowshoeing? Skiing? I want to something big.
28. GOAT'S CHEESE
Is it easy to make? How do you milk a goat? Where do you buy the bacteria? How much can you sell it for?
29. ARE SHEEP STUPID?
People say they are, but some of them have such soulful, wise eyes.
30. BEE KEEPING
How much does it cost? Where do you get the bees? How do you get the honey out? What do they do in winter?
31. A FABULOUS GARDEN
I want tons of vegetables and things that grow up lattices. Although I used to think that I would only prefer plants that you can eat, I think I might like some flowers too. I'd love to be able to cut them like Lesley does and put them in little vases all throughout the house.
32. HOW I WILL DECORATE OUR HOME
I've already discussed my grand plans for picture frames and curtains, but I'd also love a kitchen with brightly painted cabinets. I like walls with wainscoting, and lots of blue paint. I might like to create funky tile mosaics and nail up strange architectural details like floating fireplace mantles and broken wooden chairs. I'd like to have shelves for all of my tins and I'd love to collect vintage cookware. Wallpaper is my favorite, and I can't wait to find old flea market furniture to fix and decorate.
33. WINTER SPORTS
I haven't had a snowy winter in over six years, and I'm excited to move back home and live in the cold. I love swishing through the snow in skis and plodding through snow-heavy trees in snowshoes. I love the crunch and how cold air is the freshest air you've ever breathed. I love the wintertime.
34. ADVENTURE RACING/ ORIENTEERING/ SCAVANGER HUNT
Joshua and I have been planning on designing fun adventure races for our family and friends. We love to watch the Amazing Race, and we want to put up different courses in state parks and on our farm. We'll have prizes and good food, and afterwards, we'll have a bonfire.
35. MONEY
I'm a thrifty lady, and I'm always thinking of ways to thrift more and spend less. Before I go to the check out counter, I count up our purchases in my head and make sure that we don't spend more than 15 pounds a day on food. When we plan our campsites, we go for the ones that will be cheaper, and try not to spend more than 30 pounds a day, total. We've done pretty well so far, but I am always looking for corners to cut. Joshua's a bit more moderate, and he keeps me sane. I never want to be so thrifty that I can't be generous with others.
36. PRETTY, PRETTY ENGLAND
First, we cycled through Dartmoor, through misty moors, heather, and cows. Then, we pedaled through Cornwall, appreciating seaside vistas and sweet little homes near the beaches. In the midlands, we relaxed on the flat plains and loved the square hedged plots with sheep and bucolic villages. The Peak District was impossibly striking, with huge rock formations and great sweeping valleys, and in the Lake District, we loved the mountains and dales with sparkling lakes. In the Penines, we sweat through moors and mountains, loving the treeless landscape, and now we're in the valley again, surrounded by green things.
37. WHETHER OR NOT WE'LL MAKE IT TO JOHN O'GROATS
I'm not going to lie; at first, I had serious, serious doubts. After the first week of pedaling through Cornwall and Devon, I thought the hills and rain might kill me. Once it stopped raining every day and the land leveled out, I became concerned with my knee. It ached so badly that by the time we arrived in Bath I wasn't sure if we were going to be able to continue. Ever so slowly, the knee's been on the mend, and in the Peak District, I began to think for the very first time that we actually might make it. The Ibuprofen seemed to work wonders, and we were able to do some very impressive hills.
I don't want to get ahead of ourselves, because I know that Scotland will be a beast, but I think it just might be possible :)
38. HOW THE ARCHITECTURE CHANGES IN EACH TOWN
It's true; it started with grey stone, turned to a cheddar-colored brick, moved to semi-timber and thatch, then went back to stone. Near Liverpool, the homes were a red brick, and then in the Lake District, they became grey and stony again. I think it's fascinating that people use what's available to them, and their homes reflect the resources surrounding them.
39. WHETHER OR NOT I'LL EVER GET TO BE A WRITER
I'm writing now, and that's a start, but I'd love to be a real writer. I know most people never do, but I'd love to make money by writing. That would be the best job in the whole world.
40. WHO I AM
This is probably one of the most upsetting questions that I ask myself, because I can never supply a satisfying answer. It's true that sometimes I'm very nice to myself, and I have a hard time figuring out what is being honest and what is being paranoid and mean. I find myself wishing that I had a tidy personality that I could identify and deal with efficiently. I wish I knew all of my strengths and all of my faults and I could play to the former and squelch the latter.
Joshua loves the TV show Dexter, and while some episodes make me cringe, I've liked others. In particular, there's this line where Dexter's sister Deb says, "you just decide who you want to be and you go after it. There's no point in worrying about what you've done wrong." (Or something like that.) I love that attitude, because I find it so much easier to identify what I'd like to be than who I really am. I'd like to be a creator, a friend, a confidant, and a cook. I'd like to be someone people want to be around because they feel valued and safe when they're with me. I want to live a life that's interesting and full and a little bit crazy. I want to be like Joshua; I want to always grow and be better.
41. NEW ORLEANS
Most of the time, I try not to think about New Orleans. She makes me upset, and I can't help but feel like I failed for two long years. But sometimes, I think about how much I loved those creole cottages and pulled pork sandwiches. I loved the smell of jasmine at night, and I liked living close to Sarah and making friends with my new sister in law. Our house was beautiful, and our landlords were so nice to us. It wasn't all bad.
42. GUATEMALA AND BOLIVIA
I want to go there! I want to volunteer in an orphanage, and I want to speak Spanish. I want to fly down a zipline in the rainforest, and I want to see the hotel made of salt.
43. WHAT WILL HAPPEN AFTER WE'RE DONE WITH OUR TRIP
Will I get a job right away? Should I substitute? Where will we live? What will Joshua do? Would this be a good time to write my book? Will I start school immediately? Should I intern and learn how to write grants? Can I take arts and crafts classes to learn all the things I've been dreaming about learning?
44. APPLICATION ANXIETY
I should really apply to school. Should I go for my Masters in Art Education at the University of Minnesota, or should I just get another bachelor's in Education from University of Wisconsin River Falls or Stout? Should I try to be certified in something other than art? How can I do that?
45. HOW UNFLATTERING BIKE SHORTS ARE
I don't care how muscular or skinny your legs are. Bike shorts are the most unflattering pieces of apparel. They pinch in all the wrong places, and they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Once they come off, you have these stark tan lines, and when you put them back on, the little elastic grippers pull at your sun burn. I feel compelled to tell Joshua that he's only allowed to take pictures of me from the waist up, even though my legs are more toned now than they've ever been. Who made bike shorts? I'm sure it wasn't a woman.
46. HOW TO BE A BETTER DAUGHTER/ NEICE/ SISTER/ WIFE/ FRIEND
I'm so terrible at keeping in contact with people, and I feel horrible about it. The blog helps, but I know that relationships require a little bit more than a blog. I've been trying to send post cards, and when we get home, I've resolved to never miss a birthday ever again. I still hate the phone, but maybe there are ways to get over that? Most importantly, I want all the people I love to know that I love them.
47. THE FIVE YEAR PLAN
Joshua is much more scientific about The Five Year Plan. He has a little note book, and he draws charts and graphs showing me how we'll make money, when we'll build our home, and when we can have kids. I think we're both a little impatient to start living the life we want NOW, but sometimes, we're just a bit too impulsive and spontaneous to stick to The Plan. Either way, it's fun to think about all the things we want to do and all the ways we could make it happen.
48. THE BOOKS I'M READING
Yup, I'm a day dreamer.
49. OTHER TRIPS I'D LIKE TO TAKE
I need to go to North Africa some day. Of course, Guatemala and Bolivia have already been discussed, but it's also a shame that I've never even been to Mexico. In terms of Europe, I'd love to go to Croatia, and I have to see Tuscany, Florence, and Venice. Some day, I'd love to see Scandanavian Fjords, and I'd really like to see the Northern Lights. I've never been too fussed on Asia, but I think I might really like to go to Thailand and maybe even Mongolia.
50. WHAT KINDS OF GIFTS I SHOULD BRING BACK FOR MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS
Don't be shy; if you know you'd like something, just tell me what it is! I'm going to buy you something anyway, so there's no harm in asking. I'd much rather give you something I know you'll love. If you don't ask, I'll just have to guess, and more often than not, I'll end up getting you something I've already gotten you before or something I'd like to get for myself :)
1. FOOTWEAR
I don't have sensible footwear for a Minnesotan winter. Whenever I go home, I have these little flimsy slipper-flats, and my feet always get cold. I think I'll purchase a couple pairs of Dansko's off ebay. I can get two pairs for about 60 dollars, and then I'll have a black pair for my black outfits and a brown pair for my brown outfits. Red would work too. Red's very versatile.
And now that I'm on the subject, I've always coveted a nice pair of rain boots. I like the ones with fun patterns, and I once saw a pair with cute little penguins. And, If I'm being honest, I've always fantasized about owning a pair of soft mukluks (think UGGS, but so, so much better), and speaking of which, I'll need a sensible pair of winter boots to go traipsing through the snow with.
2. CUTE HUSBAND
It's true. He may be the nerdiest cyclist alive, but even with a do-rag and keen-clad feet, he's still good looking. He's got these fancy prescription sunglasses, and their shiny green reflection make him look like a cross between a fly and a super-serious German mountain climber. When it's warm outside, he breaks out a sleeveless cycling jersey that zips down to his belly button and screams yellow. He calls it his Gunther euro jersey.
When we cycle past fields of sheep, he bleats loudly and convincingly, trying to instigate a domino effect, and sometimes, he's quite successful. He says that he wants us to own sheep because he loves the way they sound. He's a city boy who wants to farm, and although he's never grown a thing in his life, he's desperate to try. He wants me to name the different pieces of farm equipment when we cycle by, but although I lived in the country, I can only supply the names like, "thresher," "grain auger," "plow," and "tractor thingy" indiscriminately.
3. NEXT MEAL
When we're cycling, I'm pretty much always hungry, and meals always have the added bonus of being our next rest stop. What's not to look forward to? Before we arrive in the city or village where we plan to eat, I wonder whether I might like something pre-made from the ready-to-go rack or maybe a loaf of bread with humous or cheese or both. I'll have a piece of fruit, and maybe Joshua and I will share a bag of crisps.
Once we've finished lunch, I immediately start cooking up a plan for dinner. Tortellini? Something with rice? We love those jars of Indian sauces, and most of the grocery stores have these handy little bags of fresh mixed veggies. English berries are in season now, and the isles are stuffed with punnets of super sweet raspberries and strawberries. I love the fresh apricots, and a banana is always cheap and good for energy. I think I'll have a flapjack for dessert.
4. INDIA
I'm a big fan of anticipation, and at this point, my tools of anticipation are an itinerary and a collection of images and stories I've seen and heard through our guide book and the internet. I'm looking forward to spicy, savoury food, brightly colored textiles, and big, bangly jewelry.
I'm so excited to see the Himalaya, and I can't wait to hike the Annapurna Circuit. What's the weather going to be like? What kind of clothing will I need? What will the Teahouses be like?
Joshua and I talk about whether or not we're going to bring our tent, and we wonder if maybe we'll rent a little studio in Dharamsala for a couple of weeks while we listen to the Dali Lama and volunteer. Leh should be fabulous, and I intend to buy a shalwar kameez and beautiful scarves to bring home. What's it all going to smell like? I'm at this stage where we have plans, but really, I have no idea what we'll discover once we arrive.
5. MY BLOG
I'm sure this comes as an enormous surprise to most of you, but I think about my blog - what I've written, what I'll write, and what people have commented - all the time. I love it. I love writing everything down, and I love knowing that someone out there reads it. I've always written e-mails when we've traveled, and although those were probably better written because I belaboured over them - sitting in little internet cafes, fretting about syntax and wit - writing every other day is so much better. I feel like I'm making something I can keep, and I feel so proud of myself for sticking with it. I've always known that I love writing, but I never wrote with any consistency. It's satisfying to know that I still love it - that I love it even more - when I really sit down and commit.
6. NAMES
This is going to sound very girly and perhaps baby-crazed, but what's a blog for unless it's used to embarrass yourself? I've always loved names, and although I've made efforts to elevate this interest to an intellectual level, it's a bit of a stretch.
I love old names: Josephine, Louise, Myrtle, Tallulah, and Emmeline. I like Georgia because I love Ms. O'Keefe, and I like hippy names like Grey, Fiona, Arrow, and Violet. For boys, the old biblical names - Ephraim, Ezekiel, Mordecai - appeal to me, but I also like Oliver, Henry, Luca, Huckleberry, and Liam.
Every once in a while, I'll ask Joshua if he likes one of the names, and so far, the only ones we both like are Grey for a girl and Huckleberry for a boy. Yup, girly, girly, girly.
7. WHAT TO DO WITH MY HAIR
Don't laugh. This is serious business. If you had hair like mine - fine, thin, straight in the middle, curly by the hair line, and oily after just 24 hours - you'd wonder too. If I keep it short, it looses its curl but has more oomph... If I leave it long, it's curly but stringy. I might like to have an edgy style, but I worry that my head is too small and my jaw isn't strong enough for a really close crop. To make matters worse, I don't like too much product, and I can't be bothered to blow dry my hair every day. Should I dye it? Should I cut it? Should I leave it? You can see my predicament.
8. THE MEANING OF LIFE
Just when you were thinking that my days are filled with frivolity and stuff and nonsense...
To be honest, I think Joshua asks himself this question more often than I do, but whenever he does, he likes to double check that our world views mesh. When he whips out the big questions like, "what's the point," and "why are we here," I have to admit, I get a little miffed, but then - realizing that perhaps a bit of reflection is called for - I try to give him a good and honest answer.
Usually, I'm quiet for so long that he thinks that I've forgotten the question or maybe I'm thinking about something else, but truthfully, I just don't know. Really serious answers like, "to love one another," and "to mend that which is broken," don't feel completely genuine either; if they were, why would I spend any time writing or loving art or drinking wine and traveling the world?
In the end, I don't think I'm much good at the serious questions or serious answers. I guess I know what I like and what's important for right now, but if I'm pressed to think bigger and broader, I loose my bearings and I get lost in the landscape.
9. WHETHER OR NOT TO BECOME A VEGETARIAN
At Catherine and Donal's, I made my big vegetarian debut, but I've been dithering about this decision for quite some time now. Joshua raises a good point: animals eat each other. Hyenas eat deer and wolves eat caribou, etc. How can it be unethical to eat animals when even animals eat each other?
At this point, knowing what I know about the amount of resources that go into raising livestock and the practices that are used in industrial meat production, it sort of goes without saying that I won't be eating just any kind of meat. But even when I consider humanely raised and slaughtered local livestock, I still think I might not want anything to do with it. Is it ok to eat pulled pork or bacon if I can't stand the thought of slaughtering a pig? I don't know.
10. OUR FUTURE FARM
We've cooked up all sorts of plans to buy and build a farm, and we have thought of a couple options: 1) we buy land (15 or more acres) and we build an Earth Ship (a semi-sub-terranean home built out of earth-rammed tires) 2) we buy land with a home already on it, and we renovate. Either way, we want a big garden with a huge berry patch. I want to keep bees, can and preserve, and learn how to make goat and sheep's cheese. We want to learn how to shear, card, dye, and spin fibres, and mostly, I just want a home in the country with animals and things that grow. I want snowy winters with roast root vegetables, and I want to eat big old watermelons in the sunny summer. I want to rake leaves in the fall, and I want to live near family.
11. WAYS TO MAKE MONEY WITHOUT GOING CRAZY
I can work very, very hard, and I'm extremely goal-oriented, but I just can't think of many jobs that I would be willing to do 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year. What do you look forward to? When do you have time to do all the things that are really important, like making things and writing and raising kids and being with animals? I suppose the only answer is to find something that I love so much that it doesn't feel like a task or chore, but I can't imagine what that would be.
Sometimes, I just think of a million and one ways to make a little bit of money, and I fantasize that when I add them all together, they would be enough to live. I'm not sure if they are realistic, but they ARE things that I think about: 1) growing an extensive berry patch, and then preserving tons of jam to sell at farmers markets and local food stores, 2) cultivating bees and selling their honey, 3) making good-smelling soaps and lotions and cosmetic thingys to sell, 4) making skeins of different kinds of fibres from the animals that we own, 5) building a bed and breakfast or some kind of retreat for people to come and stay, 6) writing grants, 7) boarding animals, etc, etc, etc.
12. WHETHER OR NOT I WANT TO BE A TEACHER
It might come as a surprise to everyone, but my experiences teaching in New Orleans have made me more than a little bit wary. Sometimes, I think I might just need distance, but other times, the more distance I get, the more I think: why in god's name would I ever, ever, ever want to do that again? Every day, I wake up and I realize that I don't have to do anything that makes me miserable today, and I feel so, so thankful. I don't have to go to fourth block. I don't have corral students into my classroom and pretend like mad that they're all learning. I don't have to be yelled at by behavioral specialists or made to feel like I'm a piece of shit by anyone walking by who sees a student out of their seat or their head down. I don't have to create lessons and watch them fall to pieces every day, and I don't have to be surrounded by hopelessness. I don't have to see my students fail and know I could have done something better, something more, but just not know what it is or how to do it. I don't have to feel guilty every single day that I didn't try hard enough and my students didn't learn, but most of all, I don't have to go into a classroom in a school where students who need everything are given nothing.
When I think about it, and I actually, I try not to, I don't know what was worse: at the time, I hated and dreaded the personal things like being yelled at, cussed at, threatened, and demeaned. And now, it's the guilt that sticks, because really, the most awful part was watching kids who despite everything, I actually really, really loved, fail and flounder and die over and over again. And really, the two of them were always connected. When students or staff treated me poorly, I felt miserable and helpless to defend myself because I knew that I really wasn't helping. It's hard not to believe the bad things people say to you when everything around you is going to shit and nothing you do or don't do makes it any better.
I don't want to absolve myself or make it seem so impossible that no one could possibly hold me accountable for my actions. I do wish that someone could have come in and seen it all fairly. I wish someone could have seen the ridiculous things that were so wrong and so not ok, but also see what was really within my control. Perhaps this isn't very professional, and this really isn't how things work in the grown up world, but I think what I really needed was someone who I really respected and trusted to come in and say, I know you're trying really hard, and I know that you really care. Let's see what you can do to make things better. Some things aren't within your control, and that's not right. That's not how it should be, but here's what you can do. I'm afraid that maybe someone did come in and say these things, and I was just so sorry for myself that I didn't listen.
I don't know how I can go back and teach. I'm afraid that I've learned nothing and I'll cause my students to fail and then I'll be evaluated and they'll tell me that I really am shit and that's why my students are failing. I don't want to do something I'm not good at, and I really don't know if I can be good at teaching. I know that the people who love me want to tell me that I'm good at teaching and that things will be different, but I also know that they want to make me feel better and they don't want me to feel guilty about the last two years.
I guess the next natural question is, why are you even thinking about it then? And there are a couple of answers: 1) it's one of the only jobs I can imagine doing. I can't be in an office, and I'm not qualified to do much else. Even if I went back to school to qualify myself for something else, what would it be? I would do Social Work, but really, I would do it for the same reasons that I would teach. I want to work with people, and I want to do something that matters. 2) I do love being a part of that moment when students begin to think on their own. I love teaching them skills and then watching them create something that they're proud of. 3) It's one of the only jobs I can think of that would also give me enough time to do all the other things I also want to do: keep bees, can, preserve, spin, cook, write, and read.
13. WHERE WE'LL LIVE WHEN WE GET BACK TO MINNESOTA
I'm not sure whether we'll be living at Yvonne and Dave's for a while or if we'll rent our own apartment or if we'll do something crazy like live in trailer or buy an old farm house, but beyond that uncertainty, I'm already decorating. I'm sewing big, droopy curtains the color of ochre, and I'm draping them in front of sheer lace curtains. I'm printing out our best photos, framing them, and painting the rooms using their colors. I'm buying posters of paintings that I love and hanging them all over the walls. I'm cooking in the kitchen, and holding dinner parties for family and friends. I'm cuddling with my husband, my dog, and my cat on the couch, and we're watching a movie. Outside, I'm starting a garden, and we're walking on paths through the snow (not at the same time, of course).
14. MAKING NEW FRIENDS
Lesley says I need to ask the Universe for the kind of friends that I want, so here goes: I want funny, artsy friends who'd rather come over or go walking and skiing than go out to a restaurant or go to a show. I want homey people who live in the same city and want to be more like family than acquaintances. I know I'm asking for a lot, so I'll leave it at that :)
15. SPANISH
This is my BIG GOAL. I want to learn Spanish. I want to be able to have a real conversation. Ideally, I'd like to find a Spanish-speaking someone who speaks about as much English and I speak Spanish. We could it would be nice to exchange skills.
Once I've learned Spanish, I'm going to use it all the time. I'm going to think in Spanish, and I'm going to watch Spanish movies without subtitles. When I have kids, I'm going to teach them Spanish, and when we go on vacation, we're going to go to Spanish speaking places. I'm going to teach ESL again, and when we're done with class, I'm going to speak to my students in Spanish (and English). I want to learn Spanish!
16. BLACKSMITH
I also want to learn how to Blacksmith. I want to be able to make big metal sculptures and put them all over my garden. I like the idea of wearing a big protective hat and holding a blow torch.
17. WRITING A BOOK
I've had a story cooking in my head for years, but I just haven't summoned the gumption to set aside the time and write it. Wouldn't it be awful to really take a stab at what you know you love to do and what you think you might be better at than anything else and then realize that you're rubbish? Yup. It's enough to prevent me from trying so far.
18. TEACHING ADULT ED CLASSES
When we lived in Tacoma, I was a teacher's assistant in an ESL class, and I LOVED IT. I wish I could make enough money doing it, because I'd do it in a heart beat.
19. A TRIP TO TAKE WITH MY SISTER
My sister is probably one of the most beautiful, wonderful women alive, and she wants us to go on a trip together! I think we'll start small: I'll take her to the North Shore or something when we go back to Minnesota, but after that, the sky's really the limit, isn't it?
20. THE CARAVAN I WANT TO BUY SOME DAY
I've always called them trailers, but when I explained to Ruth that I'd like to have a trailer some day, she looked very perplexed. Apparently, here in the UK, they call them CARAVANS.
While I'd love a sleek, silver-bullet airstream trailer, I'd settle for just about anything. I love the vintage trailers, but really, anything under 3,000 dollars would do. I'm going to rehaul the interior, and it's going to be the cutest little trailer you've ever seen. We'll take it to Glacier and Yosemite, and we'll have long, inexpensive vacations wherever we please.
21. THE OUTDOOR GEAR I WISH I HAD
When I walk into REI, I seriously covet everything. I want the big puffy jacket, the fuzzy fleece sweaters, the hard-core mittens, the sensible pants, and the fun work out clothes. I want a new pair of fish-scale skis, and I'd love a new bike and some flattering cycling clothes. A kayak would be fantastic fun, and I'd also love a canoe. I'd buy a fleece liner for my sleeping bag, and a proper camping pillow that had some fluff to it. I might even want an attractive, sporty watch (if they exist). Yup, if I had loads of money to spend on myself, I think I know where I would spend it :)
22. WHY I LOVE MY HUSBAND
As most of you already know, I'm pretty much the luckiest woman alive, and I have the most wonderful husband ever. He keeps my ibuprofen in his front pocket, and he pops them out and hands them to me when my knee starts to get a bit sore. He gives me big hugs in the morning, and when we're biking, he wants to know what I think about almost everything. He tells me I'm beautiful all the time, and he seems to think all my contradictions and quirks are just fine, even grand :) He's good at so many things, but most of all, he wants to grow and change and be better all the time.
23. WHAT I'M GOING TO WEAR WHEN I'M A STUDENT AGAIN
I'm a big fan of tights and lots of layers, but I've yet to perfect the look. I know that there will be lots of scarves, and of course, big bangly earrings, but I need the boots to finish the look. I'm going through thrift store withdrawal.
24. RETIREMENT
Namely, the retirement of my parents. I want them to all live on a great big farm with me :) If they won't do that, then I want a nice little guest house where they can come and stay all the time.
25. KIDLETS
Although I'm sure you'd never be able to tell by this posting, Joshua is actually the one who wants kid's tomorrow. Actually, he wanted them yesterday, but since that's come and gone, he'll settle for tomorrow. And while I might be a bit terrified by little children (what do you TALK about with them?!), raising kids with Joshua sounds like one of the best ideas so far. I want to take those kids on the best adventure ever, and I want to make a really happy home.
26. THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE
I'm in the market for more ridiculous adventures, and I think hiking the Continental Divide might do it for me. It's crazy, it's big, and it would be so very beautiful. When could we do it? Can you do it with kids? What about kids that are half grown? Could we do it when we're old and they're grown?
27. IF WE CAN'T HIKE THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE, WHAT OTHER CRAZY THINGS CAN WE DO?
We could hike the Superior Trail. We could bike across the United States. Could we learn how to kayak and do something crazy with that? What about snowshoeing? Skiing? I want to something big.
28. GOAT'S CHEESE
Is it easy to make? How do you milk a goat? Where do you buy the bacteria? How much can you sell it for?
29. ARE SHEEP STUPID?
People say they are, but some of them have such soulful, wise eyes.
30. BEE KEEPING
How much does it cost? Where do you get the bees? How do you get the honey out? What do they do in winter?
31. A FABULOUS GARDEN
I want tons of vegetables and things that grow up lattices. Although I used to think that I would only prefer plants that you can eat, I think I might like some flowers too. I'd love to be able to cut them like Lesley does and put them in little vases all throughout the house.
32. HOW I WILL DECORATE OUR HOME
I've already discussed my grand plans for picture frames and curtains, but I'd also love a kitchen with brightly painted cabinets. I like walls with wainscoting, and lots of blue paint. I might like to create funky tile mosaics and nail up strange architectural details like floating fireplace mantles and broken wooden chairs. I'd like to have shelves for all of my tins and I'd love to collect vintage cookware. Wallpaper is my favorite, and I can't wait to find old flea market furniture to fix and decorate.
33. WINTER SPORTS
I haven't had a snowy winter in over six years, and I'm excited to move back home and live in the cold. I love swishing through the snow in skis and plodding through snow-heavy trees in snowshoes. I love the crunch and how cold air is the freshest air you've ever breathed. I love the wintertime.
34. ADVENTURE RACING/ ORIENTEERING/ SCAVANGER HUNT
Joshua and I have been planning on designing fun adventure races for our family and friends. We love to watch the Amazing Race, and we want to put up different courses in state parks and on our farm. We'll have prizes and good food, and afterwards, we'll have a bonfire.
35. MONEY
I'm a thrifty lady, and I'm always thinking of ways to thrift more and spend less. Before I go to the check out counter, I count up our purchases in my head and make sure that we don't spend more than 15 pounds a day on food. When we plan our campsites, we go for the ones that will be cheaper, and try not to spend more than 30 pounds a day, total. We've done pretty well so far, but I am always looking for corners to cut. Joshua's a bit more moderate, and he keeps me sane. I never want to be so thrifty that I can't be generous with others.
36. PRETTY, PRETTY ENGLAND
First, we cycled through Dartmoor, through misty moors, heather, and cows. Then, we pedaled through Cornwall, appreciating seaside vistas and sweet little homes near the beaches. In the midlands, we relaxed on the flat plains and loved the square hedged plots with sheep and bucolic villages. The Peak District was impossibly striking, with huge rock formations and great sweeping valleys, and in the Lake District, we loved the mountains and dales with sparkling lakes. In the Penines, we sweat through moors and mountains, loving the treeless landscape, and now we're in the valley again, surrounded by green things.
37. WHETHER OR NOT WE'LL MAKE IT TO JOHN O'GROATS
I'm not going to lie; at first, I had serious, serious doubts. After the first week of pedaling through Cornwall and Devon, I thought the hills and rain might kill me. Once it stopped raining every day and the land leveled out, I became concerned with my knee. It ached so badly that by the time we arrived in Bath I wasn't sure if we were going to be able to continue. Ever so slowly, the knee's been on the mend, and in the Peak District, I began to think for the very first time that we actually might make it. The Ibuprofen seemed to work wonders, and we were able to do some very impressive hills.
I don't want to get ahead of ourselves, because I know that Scotland will be a beast, but I think it just might be possible :)
38. HOW THE ARCHITECTURE CHANGES IN EACH TOWN
It's true; it started with grey stone, turned to a cheddar-colored brick, moved to semi-timber and thatch, then went back to stone. Near Liverpool, the homes were a red brick, and then in the Lake District, they became grey and stony again. I think it's fascinating that people use what's available to them, and their homes reflect the resources surrounding them.
39. WHETHER OR NOT I'LL EVER GET TO BE A WRITER
I'm writing now, and that's a start, but I'd love to be a real writer. I know most people never do, but I'd love to make money by writing. That would be the best job in the whole world.
40. WHO I AM
This is probably one of the most upsetting questions that I ask myself, because I can never supply a satisfying answer. It's true that sometimes I'm very nice to myself, and I have a hard time figuring out what is being honest and what is being paranoid and mean. I find myself wishing that I had a tidy personality that I could identify and deal with efficiently. I wish I knew all of my strengths and all of my faults and I could play to the former and squelch the latter.
Joshua loves the TV show Dexter, and while some episodes make me cringe, I've liked others. In particular, there's this line where Dexter's sister Deb says, "you just decide who you want to be and you go after it. There's no point in worrying about what you've done wrong." (Or something like that.) I love that attitude, because I find it so much easier to identify what I'd like to be than who I really am. I'd like to be a creator, a friend, a confidant, and a cook. I'd like to be someone people want to be around because they feel valued and safe when they're with me. I want to live a life that's interesting and full and a little bit crazy. I want to be like Joshua; I want to always grow and be better.
41. NEW ORLEANS
Most of the time, I try not to think about New Orleans. She makes me upset, and I can't help but feel like I failed for two long years. But sometimes, I think about how much I loved those creole cottages and pulled pork sandwiches. I loved the smell of jasmine at night, and I liked living close to Sarah and making friends with my new sister in law. Our house was beautiful, and our landlords were so nice to us. It wasn't all bad.
42. GUATEMALA AND BOLIVIA
I want to go there! I want to volunteer in an orphanage, and I want to speak Spanish. I want to fly down a zipline in the rainforest, and I want to see the hotel made of salt.
43. WHAT WILL HAPPEN AFTER WE'RE DONE WITH OUR TRIP
Will I get a job right away? Should I substitute? Where will we live? What will Joshua do? Would this be a good time to write my book? Will I start school immediately? Should I intern and learn how to write grants? Can I take arts and crafts classes to learn all the things I've been dreaming about learning?
44. APPLICATION ANXIETY
I should really apply to school. Should I go for my Masters in Art Education at the University of Minnesota, or should I just get another bachelor's in Education from University of Wisconsin River Falls or Stout? Should I try to be certified in something other than art? How can I do that?
45. HOW UNFLATTERING BIKE SHORTS ARE
I don't care how muscular or skinny your legs are. Bike shorts are the most unflattering pieces of apparel. They pinch in all the wrong places, and they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Once they come off, you have these stark tan lines, and when you put them back on, the little elastic grippers pull at your sun burn. I feel compelled to tell Joshua that he's only allowed to take pictures of me from the waist up, even though my legs are more toned now than they've ever been. Who made bike shorts? I'm sure it wasn't a woman.
46. HOW TO BE A BETTER DAUGHTER/ NEICE/ SISTER/ WIFE/ FRIEND
I'm so terrible at keeping in contact with people, and I feel horrible about it. The blog helps, but I know that relationships require a little bit more than a blog. I've been trying to send post cards, and when we get home, I've resolved to never miss a birthday ever again. I still hate the phone, but maybe there are ways to get over that? Most importantly, I want all the people I love to know that I love them.
47. THE FIVE YEAR PLAN
Joshua is much more scientific about The Five Year Plan. He has a little note book, and he draws charts and graphs showing me how we'll make money, when we'll build our home, and when we can have kids. I think we're both a little impatient to start living the life we want NOW, but sometimes, we're just a bit too impulsive and spontaneous to stick to The Plan. Either way, it's fun to think about all the things we want to do and all the ways we could make it happen.
48. THE BOOKS I'M READING
Yup, I'm a day dreamer.
49. OTHER TRIPS I'D LIKE TO TAKE
I need to go to North Africa some day. Of course, Guatemala and Bolivia have already been discussed, but it's also a shame that I've never even been to Mexico. In terms of Europe, I'd love to go to Croatia, and I have to see Tuscany, Florence, and Venice. Some day, I'd love to see Scandanavian Fjords, and I'd really like to see the Northern Lights. I've never been too fussed on Asia, but I think I might really like to go to Thailand and maybe even Mongolia.
50. WHAT KINDS OF GIFTS I SHOULD BRING BACK FOR MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS
Don't be shy; if you know you'd like something, just tell me what it is! I'm going to buy you something anyway, so there's no harm in asking. I'd much rather give you something I know you'll love. If you don't ask, I'll just have to guess, and more often than not, I'll end up getting you something I've already gotten you before or something I'd like to get for myself :)
Lake District to Alston
Date: August 15, 2010
Route: Chapel Stile to Alston
Distance: 52 miles
I woke up this morning when Joshua tapped me on the shoulder. I had zipped up and cinched in my mummy bag so tightly that only my nose and mother were exposed. Underneath, I was wearing two long sleeve shirts, pants, hiking socks, and my hat. Beneath my hat, I had shoved ear plugs deep into my ear canals.
I don't want to give the impression that I'm a light sleeper, because it simply isn't true. I can sleep in cars, airplanes, and buses. I can sleep on all sorts of beds, the ground, and on hard planks of wood. I fall asleep swiftly, and once I'm asleep, I can tune out the sounds of thunderstorms, Joshua getting in and out of bed, and the sounds of small warfare going on outside our bedroom window. It's a serious gift, and I am seriously grateful.
That said, I have found something through which I cannot sleep: the snorts and fits of a receding palate. Last night after we had returned from Ambleside, we saw that a family had pitched their enormous tent right next to ours. In comparison, ours looked like it might be a little seedling that theirs had planted. Just as we set down our bikes, we heard the high pitched squeal and howl of a baby getting ready for a good late afternoon cry. Joshua and I made eye contact, and in that moment, we saw our night flash before our eyes.
The baby didn't wake me once. As far as I'm concerned, the baby slept like... Well, a baby. Its father, however, snored like a teamster. I know this because, even though I had ear plugs, a hat, and my sleeping bag encasing my head, I could still hear him. As I lay awake, I contemplated the misfortune of his wife.
When I woke up this morning, I told Joshua that I had a plan. Should he ever develop a snore, we would immediately seek medical attention. He would go to a specialist, and whatever surgeries they recommended - tightening the palate or shifting the deviated septum - he would get. We would put him on a diet, and we would give him breathe right strips. If worse came to worse, he would wear a ventilator. In the mean time, I would wear the best ear plugs money can buy, and we would drown out the sounds of his great, gurgling snores with the sound of a thousand fans and calming music. If that didn't work, I would work up some kind of muffling, music playing contraption that I could strap around my ears.
After I told him all of this, I patted him on the arm and said, "so I wouldn't have to leave you after all." He looked a little confused.
Once we had packed up our camp, we hopped on our bikes and headed out of Braysbrown Farm at 8:30. We had planned to make an earlier start, and rolling out of Chapel Stile on our way to Ambleside, we felt pretty self-congratulatory. Everyone else was still wiping sleep from their eyes, hopping in their cars, and driving up to the bathrooms just to have a little piddle, brush their teeth, and smooth back their riotous hair. Not us. We're biking bad-asses, and today, we're going to take on the bad-ass biking world.
As soon as we change Joshua's front tire. Forty-five minutes later, we had learned two things: number one, don't get too self-congratulatory (you're just asking for fate to intervene), and number two, tire patches go orange side down and black side with the orange ring up. You might be wondering: umm... Haven't you guys already patched a few tires? Well, yes, if you're asking, we have, and before you ask, no, they were not patched correctly, and yes, that's probably why we have to pump up our tires twice a day, because, yes, they all have slow leaks.
Oh. So now you're wondering how we figured out that we were doing it the wrong way? Well, the answer is very simple, really. Ellie read the directions in the patching kit, and Joshua realized that sometimes, when you're teaching yourself how to do things and no one has ever shown you how to do them, it might be a good idea to maybe look at the directions.
Some people might let an hour-long tire ordeal get them down, but not us. While we weren't feeling quite as bad-ass, we were still feeling pretty chipper. Once we cycled through Ambleside, we turned right onto the road leading for Kirkstone Pass, and yes, since you're asking, we are aware that the word 'Pass' usually means that there will be a very big hill, which there was.
Almost immediately, the road went straight up hill. Signs warned us: 20 percent grade! Dangerous while wet! Driving conditions in winter may be impossible! One sign simply named that which we were about to undertake, 'The Struggle.' For the next twenty minutes, we heaved and pulled up the hill in lowest gear.
Some of you may remember back to Glendalogh when my body chose a most opportune time to remind me that I am a woman. Never one to let the moment pass, my body chose half way up 'The Struggle' to remind me that, yes, indeed I am a woman, and I would like a bathroom now, please.
There wasn't a bathroom, but I hopped over a stile, ran through a field, and chose a scenic spot beneath some trees and away from any one's view. Anyone, that is, except for a whole heard of cows that stopped chewing long enough to look over at me while I did my business. A couple of them even pawed the ground, which made me very nervous indeed.
Safe from a stampede and other womanly accidents, we continued up the 3 mile long hill. Did I mention that we ascended nearly 500 meters in that distance? Well, it's true, and although we had to hop off and push our bikes up most of it, when we reached the top, I felt very, very bad ass. People clapped. People stared. We took a picture next to the warning signs, and then, we started the long cycle down.
From the Pass to Penrith is about 21 miles, and the first 6 are pretty much down hill. As we descended into the valley, we were greeted by even more beautiful views. Here, fields and lakes were cupped on every side buy wrinkly, soft mountains that reach up to the sky, and the weather was phenomenal. Above, everything was shining and blue, and below, the grass and lakes sparkled with it. Even the buildings looked tinged in buttercups and roses. The sheep were munching happily, warming their backs in the rays, and the English came out en masse, stripped down to their white, white skin and worshipped the Sun (who so rarely deigns to visit).
Riding into Penrith, we decided that we like the Lake District a lot, and we would like to return. One little hike and another little bikeride are not enough to explore a fraction of it. After 30 miles of cycling, we entered the historic market town of Penrith and headed for the Tourist Information Office. Although our maps and guides gave us a route through the Penine Mountains, none of them indicated whether or not we would be able to find camping once we got there. The man in the office was very helpful, and we exited the building armed with a whole list of campsites between Penrith and Allenshead.
For lunch, I went off to find a shop, and I returned with a bagload full of food for lunch, dinner, and breakfast. Absolutely starving from our morning trek, we wolfed down four baguettes, a round of Laughing Cow cheese, a punnet of strawberries, four apricots, a tub of couscous, a tub of pesto pasta, and a really disgusting candy bar called a Crunchie. Joshua strapped the rest of the food to his bike, and we headed out.
Feeling like I had a bit of a food baby in my belly, I climbed the hill out of Penrith slowly, but after about a mile of climbing, lunch was a memory, and I felt much better. Descending through Edenhill Valley, we passed bucolic farms and hundreds of sheep and cows. Feeling a little high from all of the sunshine, Joshua and I raved the entire time over how pretty everything was, how nice the weather was, and how the hills didn't even seem that bad when the sun is out.
Riding through Langwathby and over streams, we had a perfect view of the climb to come. The Penines run down the middle of England, and their bumpy terrain serve as the country's backbone. While our guide book had hemmed and hawed about how difficult the pass would be, the view from here didn't look half bad. After the climb out of Ambleside, we felt like we could do pretty much anything.
After a little detour on a very bumpy off-road section, we began the climb in earnest, but since North Englanders have the sense to build roads with switchbacks up mountains, our 2 mile climb wasn't bad at all. Finally, we feel like big strong cheeky bulls again. At Hartside Pass, we took a break in the parking lot of the highest cafe in England, and as we looked out over the fading English countryside, we felt very proud of our day's accomplishments.
The last 6 miles led us gently downhill, and in Alston, we found a Caravan Park (which actually looks a lot more like a trailer park) that would let us set up camp. We pitched out tent quickly, and then I headed off to take the creepiest, scariest shower of my life.
The building that the showers are housed in can only be reached by a tunnel. This tunnel is formed out of what must have been a huge sewer or septic tank, and the walls are rusty and curved. Inside, the building looks like an asylum with frosted, grated windows, and peeling blue walls. The women's bathroom has the most rudimentary plumbing. I'm pretty sure I could have installed the sinks, toilets, and showers, and that's saying a lot. I have zero experience being house-handy.
The shower was pretty much a pipe with electrical tape fuzzing up the part where the water came out. I bolted the rusty lock and then took the quickest shower of my life, looking up at the sides of stalls the whole time to see if an axe murderer was about to leap over. Once I had toweled off and gotten dressed, I bolted. As I was walking out, I saw an old room with a ton of junk in it, but first and foremost, I saw woodshop implements. Things for sawing and drilling and cutting. CREEPY.
Back at the campsite, we met our camp neighbor, a gentleman from Edinborough who had just hiked from a small town on the border. We chatted for a while about camping equipment and our journeys, and we all agreed that Lands End is a tourist trap, Millet's (the camp store) is cheap, and it's the journey that counts. When Joshua went off to take his shower, I began cooking the rice, and I asked him what he does for a living. Right now, he mends railway machines, but after he got out of the airforce and the military, he just started a system of working for three years and then taking a year off. He called it constructive loafing; I called it smart planning.
Comparing seats - his, a fold up chair, and mine, a plastic garbage bag - he gave me a little inflatable seat pillow which I first refused and then gave in when I realized that it would actually be really nice to sit on something other than the hard ground. When Joshua came back, we ate rice, green beans, and baby corn with Korma sauce. On the side, we snacked on sugar snap peas, and for dessert, we ate flap jack. To wash up, I went with Joshua back to the scary place. I wasn't about to have him murdered while he was doing the dishes.
Date: August 14, 2010
Route: Chapel Stile to Ambleside and Back; The Fairfield Horseshoe
Distance: 11 miles biking; 8 miles hiking
When we woke up, the clouds were rolling off the valley, and with a little bit of sun shining through, I was feeling a bit more optimistic about the Lake District. After a breakfast of rice pudding and bananas, we hopped on our bikes and cycled into Ambleside.
Locking up in the heart of the village, we wandered into the Tourist Office to find out where to hike, and after we gave one guidebook a cursory glance, we figured we could make sense of the trail as we went. How hard could it be?
Climbing the hill out of Ambleside, we quickly crossed a stile and found a well-trodden public footpath. Following a rushing stream and a tree-filled valley, we hiked up. After a couple of miles, we emerged from a gully and found ourselves in a treeless dale surrounded by enormous mountains on either side. From where we stood, we could see our path run up where the two mountains met, and although the sky threatened rain, it was impossibly beautiful.
Tramping through fields filled with sheep, we enjoyed the valley to ourselves, and when we made it to the top of mountain, we could see miles of the Lake District on the other side: more mountains, more lakes. Atop a hilly craig, we stopped for a lunch of bread, humous, and cheese, and getting cold from the powerful wind, we trundled on.
The next stretch of trail was extremely steep, but once we got to the top, we were taller than most of the mountains surrounding us. Far below, Ambleside glittered next to Lake Windmere where a hundred sailboats glided across. The hike and the scenery were easily as beautiful as the Peak District, and we resolved to find a way to come back some day. We want to explore more.
Back in Ambleside, we wandered through the many outdoorsy shops. At first, we only purchased the most sensible items: batteries for my dead headlamp, butane for our empty stove, ibuprofen for my knee, and ear plugs. But once our sensible purchases were complete, I lusted after a super-soft, super-light Mountain Hardware T-Shirt I had found for 10 pounds as well as a blinding-bright, neon cycling windbreaker for 12 pounds. Both were on super clearance, and tired of hearing me dither, Joshua led me back to each store and bid me purchase. (Today, I wore both items, and they were totally worth it. The only drawback is that the cycling jacket is so bright that bees flock to me, thinking I'm the mother hive.)
A few pounds poorer, we figured we may as well break the bank, and we splurged on dinner at a restaurant. Joshua ordered a Rainforest Pizza with jalapenos and bright colored fruits and veg, and I ordered eggplant Parmesan. We split the two, and although they were delicious, they were unable to completely quench our formidable appetites. Heading over to a Free Wifi Cafe, we ordered a pastry with ginger and lemongrass tea, and we surfed the web while we ate.
Weary from walking and shopping, we cycled back to our campsite at 7 PM. The midges were nasty outside, so we burrowed inside our tent to escape their pesky stings. Both of us read until we fell asleep.
Route: Chapel Stile to Alston
Distance: 52 miles
I woke up this morning when Joshua tapped me on the shoulder. I had zipped up and cinched in my mummy bag so tightly that only my nose and mother were exposed. Underneath, I was wearing two long sleeve shirts, pants, hiking socks, and my hat. Beneath my hat, I had shoved ear plugs deep into my ear canals.
I don't want to give the impression that I'm a light sleeper, because it simply isn't true. I can sleep in cars, airplanes, and buses. I can sleep on all sorts of beds, the ground, and on hard planks of wood. I fall asleep swiftly, and once I'm asleep, I can tune out the sounds of thunderstorms, Joshua getting in and out of bed, and the sounds of small warfare going on outside our bedroom window. It's a serious gift, and I am seriously grateful.
That said, I have found something through which I cannot sleep: the snorts and fits of a receding palate. Last night after we had returned from Ambleside, we saw that a family had pitched their enormous tent right next to ours. In comparison, ours looked like it might be a little seedling that theirs had planted. Just as we set down our bikes, we heard the high pitched squeal and howl of a baby getting ready for a good late afternoon cry. Joshua and I made eye contact, and in that moment, we saw our night flash before our eyes.
The baby didn't wake me once. As far as I'm concerned, the baby slept like... Well, a baby. Its father, however, snored like a teamster. I know this because, even though I had ear plugs, a hat, and my sleeping bag encasing my head, I could still hear him. As I lay awake, I contemplated the misfortune of his wife.
When I woke up this morning, I told Joshua that I had a plan. Should he ever develop a snore, we would immediately seek medical attention. He would go to a specialist, and whatever surgeries they recommended - tightening the palate or shifting the deviated septum - he would get. We would put him on a diet, and we would give him breathe right strips. If worse came to worse, he would wear a ventilator. In the mean time, I would wear the best ear plugs money can buy, and we would drown out the sounds of his great, gurgling snores with the sound of a thousand fans and calming music. If that didn't work, I would work up some kind of muffling, music playing contraption that I could strap around my ears.
After I told him all of this, I patted him on the arm and said, "so I wouldn't have to leave you after all." He looked a little confused.
Once we had packed up our camp, we hopped on our bikes and headed out of Braysbrown Farm at 8:30. We had planned to make an earlier start, and rolling out of Chapel Stile on our way to Ambleside, we felt pretty self-congratulatory. Everyone else was still wiping sleep from their eyes, hopping in their cars, and driving up to the bathrooms just to have a little piddle, brush their teeth, and smooth back their riotous hair. Not us. We're biking bad-asses, and today, we're going to take on the bad-ass biking world.
As soon as we change Joshua's front tire. Forty-five minutes later, we had learned two things: number one, don't get too self-congratulatory (you're just asking for fate to intervene), and number two, tire patches go orange side down and black side with the orange ring up. You might be wondering: umm... Haven't you guys already patched a few tires? Well, yes, if you're asking, we have, and before you ask, no, they were not patched correctly, and yes, that's probably why we have to pump up our tires twice a day, because, yes, they all have slow leaks.
Oh. So now you're wondering how we figured out that we were doing it the wrong way? Well, the answer is very simple, really. Ellie read the directions in the patching kit, and Joshua realized that sometimes, when you're teaching yourself how to do things and no one has ever shown you how to do them, it might be a good idea to maybe look at the directions.
Some people might let an hour-long tire ordeal get them down, but not us. While we weren't feeling quite as bad-ass, we were still feeling pretty chipper. Once we cycled through Ambleside, we turned right onto the road leading for Kirkstone Pass, and yes, since you're asking, we are aware that the word 'Pass' usually means that there will be a very big hill, which there was.
Almost immediately, the road went straight up hill. Signs warned us: 20 percent grade! Dangerous while wet! Driving conditions in winter may be impossible! One sign simply named that which we were about to undertake, 'The Struggle.' For the next twenty minutes, we heaved and pulled up the hill in lowest gear.
Some of you may remember back to Glendalogh when my body chose a most opportune time to remind me that I am a woman. Never one to let the moment pass, my body chose half way up 'The Struggle' to remind me that, yes, indeed I am a woman, and I would like a bathroom now, please.
There wasn't a bathroom, but I hopped over a stile, ran through a field, and chose a scenic spot beneath some trees and away from any one's view. Anyone, that is, except for a whole heard of cows that stopped chewing long enough to look over at me while I did my business. A couple of them even pawed the ground, which made me very nervous indeed.
Safe from a stampede and other womanly accidents, we continued up the 3 mile long hill. Did I mention that we ascended nearly 500 meters in that distance? Well, it's true, and although we had to hop off and push our bikes up most of it, when we reached the top, I felt very, very bad ass. People clapped. People stared. We took a picture next to the warning signs, and then, we started the long cycle down.
From the Pass to Penrith is about 21 miles, and the first 6 are pretty much down hill. As we descended into the valley, we were greeted by even more beautiful views. Here, fields and lakes were cupped on every side buy wrinkly, soft mountains that reach up to the sky, and the weather was phenomenal. Above, everything was shining and blue, and below, the grass and lakes sparkled with it. Even the buildings looked tinged in buttercups and roses. The sheep were munching happily, warming their backs in the rays, and the English came out en masse, stripped down to their white, white skin and worshipped the Sun (who so rarely deigns to visit).
Riding into Penrith, we decided that we like the Lake District a lot, and we would like to return. One little hike and another little bikeride are not enough to explore a fraction of it. After 30 miles of cycling, we entered the historic market town of Penrith and headed for the Tourist Information Office. Although our maps and guides gave us a route through the Penine Mountains, none of them indicated whether or not we would be able to find camping once we got there. The man in the office was very helpful, and we exited the building armed with a whole list of campsites between Penrith and Allenshead.
For lunch, I went off to find a shop, and I returned with a bagload full of food for lunch, dinner, and breakfast. Absolutely starving from our morning trek, we wolfed down four baguettes, a round of Laughing Cow cheese, a punnet of strawberries, four apricots, a tub of couscous, a tub of pesto pasta, and a really disgusting candy bar called a Crunchie. Joshua strapped the rest of the food to his bike, and we headed out.
Feeling like I had a bit of a food baby in my belly, I climbed the hill out of Penrith slowly, but after about a mile of climbing, lunch was a memory, and I felt much better. Descending through Edenhill Valley, we passed bucolic farms and hundreds of sheep and cows. Feeling a little high from all of the sunshine, Joshua and I raved the entire time over how pretty everything was, how nice the weather was, and how the hills didn't even seem that bad when the sun is out.
Riding through Langwathby and over streams, we had a perfect view of the climb to come. The Penines run down the middle of England, and their bumpy terrain serve as the country's backbone. While our guide book had hemmed and hawed about how difficult the pass would be, the view from here didn't look half bad. After the climb out of Ambleside, we felt like we could do pretty much anything.
After a little detour on a very bumpy off-road section, we began the climb in earnest, but since North Englanders have the sense to build roads with switchbacks up mountains, our 2 mile climb wasn't bad at all. Finally, we feel like big strong cheeky bulls again. At Hartside Pass, we took a break in the parking lot of the highest cafe in England, and as we looked out over the fading English countryside, we felt very proud of our day's accomplishments.
The last 6 miles led us gently downhill, and in Alston, we found a Caravan Park (which actually looks a lot more like a trailer park) that would let us set up camp. We pitched out tent quickly, and then I headed off to take the creepiest, scariest shower of my life.
The building that the showers are housed in can only be reached by a tunnel. This tunnel is formed out of what must have been a huge sewer or septic tank, and the walls are rusty and curved. Inside, the building looks like an asylum with frosted, grated windows, and peeling blue walls. The women's bathroom has the most rudimentary plumbing. I'm pretty sure I could have installed the sinks, toilets, and showers, and that's saying a lot. I have zero experience being house-handy.
The shower was pretty much a pipe with electrical tape fuzzing up the part where the water came out. I bolted the rusty lock and then took the quickest shower of my life, looking up at the sides of stalls the whole time to see if an axe murderer was about to leap over. Once I had toweled off and gotten dressed, I bolted. As I was walking out, I saw an old room with a ton of junk in it, but first and foremost, I saw woodshop implements. Things for sawing and drilling and cutting. CREEPY.
Back at the campsite, we met our camp neighbor, a gentleman from Edinborough who had just hiked from a small town on the border. We chatted for a while about camping equipment and our journeys, and we all agreed that Lands End is a tourist trap, Millet's (the camp store) is cheap, and it's the journey that counts. When Joshua went off to take his shower, I began cooking the rice, and I asked him what he does for a living. Right now, he mends railway machines, but after he got out of the airforce and the military, he just started a system of working for three years and then taking a year off. He called it constructive loafing; I called it smart planning.
Comparing seats - his, a fold up chair, and mine, a plastic garbage bag - he gave me a little inflatable seat pillow which I first refused and then gave in when I realized that it would actually be really nice to sit on something other than the hard ground. When Joshua came back, we ate rice, green beans, and baby corn with Korma sauce. On the side, we snacked on sugar snap peas, and for dessert, we ate flap jack. To wash up, I went with Joshua back to the scary place. I wasn't about to have him murdered while he was doing the dishes.
Date: August 14, 2010
Route: Chapel Stile to Ambleside and Back; The Fairfield Horseshoe
Distance: 11 miles biking; 8 miles hiking
When we woke up, the clouds were rolling off the valley, and with a little bit of sun shining through, I was feeling a bit more optimistic about the Lake District. After a breakfast of rice pudding and bananas, we hopped on our bikes and cycled into Ambleside.
Locking up in the heart of the village, we wandered into the Tourist Office to find out where to hike, and after we gave one guidebook a cursory glance, we figured we could make sense of the trail as we went. How hard could it be?
Climbing the hill out of Ambleside, we quickly crossed a stile and found a well-trodden public footpath. Following a rushing stream and a tree-filled valley, we hiked up. After a couple of miles, we emerged from a gully and found ourselves in a treeless dale surrounded by enormous mountains on either side. From where we stood, we could see our path run up where the two mountains met, and although the sky threatened rain, it was impossibly beautiful.
Tramping through fields filled with sheep, we enjoyed the valley to ourselves, and when we made it to the top of mountain, we could see miles of the Lake District on the other side: more mountains, more lakes. Atop a hilly craig, we stopped for a lunch of bread, humous, and cheese, and getting cold from the powerful wind, we trundled on.
The next stretch of trail was extremely steep, but once we got to the top, we were taller than most of the mountains surrounding us. Far below, Ambleside glittered next to Lake Windmere where a hundred sailboats glided across. The hike and the scenery were easily as beautiful as the Peak District, and we resolved to find a way to come back some day. We want to explore more.
Back in Ambleside, we wandered through the many outdoorsy shops. At first, we only purchased the most sensible items: batteries for my dead headlamp, butane for our empty stove, ibuprofen for my knee, and ear plugs. But once our sensible purchases were complete, I lusted after a super-soft, super-light Mountain Hardware T-Shirt I had found for 10 pounds as well as a blinding-bright, neon cycling windbreaker for 12 pounds. Both were on super clearance, and tired of hearing me dither, Joshua led me back to each store and bid me purchase. (Today, I wore both items, and they were totally worth it. The only drawback is that the cycling jacket is so bright that bees flock to me, thinking I'm the mother hive.)
A few pounds poorer, we figured we may as well break the bank, and we splurged on dinner at a restaurant. Joshua ordered a Rainforest Pizza with jalapenos and bright colored fruits and veg, and I ordered eggplant Parmesan. We split the two, and although they were delicious, they were unable to completely quench our formidable appetites. Heading over to a Free Wifi Cafe, we ordered a pastry with ginger and lemongrass tea, and we surfed the web while we ate.
Weary from walking and shopping, we cycled back to our campsite at 7 PM. The midges were nasty outside, so we burrowed inside our tent to escape their pesky stings. Both of us read until we fell asleep.
Alston to Blackhall Mill
August 17, 2010
Lesley's garden is tangled and green and perfect. The footpaths are made of yellow, pebbled gravel, and disks and squares of her handmade pottery spot the path with bright splashes of red, teal, and purple. Hemming in her plots of flowers and vegetables are rows of upside down wine bottles, and inside, sprouts of green things have grown. Rather than furrows or sections, plants grow mixed up and side by side. Yellow zucchinis grow in bottom heavy orbs, hidden by leafy fronds above, and beside them, flat, round leaves frame orange blossoms. Sweet peas grow up improvised lattices, and their blowsy flowers have the sweetest scent.
At the back of the garden sits Lesley's shed. The rustic, wooden structure houses a room with a bed, a couple of seats, and odds and ends. Lesley calls it her landing place. Inside the house, her pottery graces shelves and her larger pieces - sculptural forms like bodies or growing vessels - sprout out of corners. It's a small house, but it's lived in and cozy.
Right now, Van Morrison is singing, and Joshua and Lesley are working in the kitchen, knocking elbows and whipping up a fish pie. In the houses next door and up the street, Lesley's friends are getting home from work. They're going in their homes and making dinner. They're heating water in the kettle and drinking tea. They stop in to say hello. They've known each other for years, and their kids have grown up together.
A green field bordered by a stream, a bridge, and a forest lie beyond the homes, and up the hill, the Roman village of Ebchester graces a hillside. Above, the Derwent Walk winds, by turns graveled and paved, along the Northumberland countryside. This is hill country, mining country. They mined steal and coal here, and they built small communities poor in money but rich in family, found and made. This, says Lesley, is where she found her home.
Today we woke up late and sat in the living room, eating muesli and talking. For our adventure today, we decided to drive to Durham and explore the cathedral. We parked outside the city and rode the bus into downtown where we got off to wander around the steep and narrow streets. Lesley and I ducked into a little vintage shop called Ding Dong and we drooled over dresses from the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s. They were in beautiful condition, and the shoes! I can't decide whether it's a very good or a very bad thing that we're biking and we can't afford the extra weight. Apart from a piece of costume jewelry in Bishop Stortford, a dress and earrings in Spain, and the t-shirt and jacket in Ambleside, I haven't bought a thing. I suppose I've saved a lot of money, but I kind of like coming home and unpacking my special things that I've purchased abroad.
From Ding Dong, we crossed the river and hiked up the cobblestone streets to Durham Cathedral. Outside on the lawn, we ate our cheese and tomato sandwiches. Families and tourists sat outside, doing the same thing and enjoying a rare bit of sunshine. Inside the Cathedral, we wandered through and looked at the graceful, arching ceilings, the thin and decorated woodwork, and the great altar dedicated to St. Cuthbert. Tucked away in back, we looked at a beautiful Pieta: carved out of beech wood and adorned in bronze, their long and graceful faces and hands expressed tragedy and heartache.
In the cloister, light filtered in through arches and pillars, and bats swooped down from the rafters. Leaving the Cathedral, we took a hidden passageway down to the river walk, and over the river, we stopped to look at the view. Standing above the water, we wondered about Catholics and Quakers, Jews and Buddhists, and we wondered if we could ever make the compromise between dogma and practice. I wondered if maybe I'd like to live on a commune.
In the market, we found a cheese stand and bought half a dozen samples of cheese from the North. Wendsleydale and brie, stilton and goat's cheese, something smoked and something creamy... Over in Tescos, we bought bread, leeks, and strawberries, and when we had finished, we walked back to the bus.
Before we headed back home, we stopped at the Angel. Standing beside the highway, this big steel angel stands solid and strong, and it has become the emblem of the North. It's hopeful and proud, and of course, it's made of steel. Driving home, I closed my eyes to avoid the headache that accompanies roundabouts and vehicular motion, and back at the house, we drank cups of tea and chatted with Linda, Lesley's best friend and next door neighbor. Fat Cat came in, and I pulled him onto my lap and scratched him behind the ears. We talked about living to 150 and whether we would like to go camping for the weekend.
For dinner, we'll eat our fish pie in the candle light, and I'm sure, like last night, we'll talk until late, and when we're too tired to keep our eyes open, we'll go to bed.
August 16, 2010
We woke up at 8, and we rolled out of our campsite by 9. The road from Alston to Nenthead was about five miles long and rolling. After Nenthead, we climbed a 2 mile long hill, and after another slight downhill and another steeper uphill, we reached the highest point on our sea to sea route. As usual, the mist moved in and our view was obscured by a cool blanket of watery haze through which we could see floating livestock and our snaky road winding through the heather.
In Allenheads, we stopped at a payphone to call Lesley and warn her that we would be arriving a day early. If we hadn't spoken inside that small phone box, we wouldn't have heard a sound all through Allenheads. The sleepy little village was completely silent, and although there were cars sitting outside the houses, we didn't see a soul.
Outside of Allenheads, we climbed another long, steep hill, and then we descended into Rookhope. Eschewing an off road trail that wandered through quail hunting territory, we climbed another impossibly steep and long road out of Rookhope only to descend again into Stanhope. Done with four out of the five climbs for the day, we stopped in the city center for lunch, and after our hard morning of pedaling, we treated ourselves to sandwiches from a cafe.
Sitting outside in the sun, I ate a cheese and tomato sandwich and Joshua ate a cheese and onion toastie. We shared a plate of cheesy chips, and I ate an apple which a pesky bee coveted. Although I was very weary by this point and it took a little pushing from Joshua, we headed back onto the road for our last major hill.
The hill out of Stanhope is called Killhope, and the gradient rivaled our climb out of Ambleside the day before. After half a mile of pushing our bikes up the hill, we climbed back into the saddle and pushed through another mile uphill. At the crest, we enjoyed the view into Newcastle, and then we hopped onto the Weskerly bike trail that winds 10 miles downhill into Consett. Pedaling through heather covered moors and grim looking Englishmen hunting grouse, we passed berry bushes and finally met our intersection with the Derwent Walk.
Trusting my somewhat shady memories of the Derwent Walk, we took the road down from the pub in Ebchester, and then we took another left into the valley. Across a footbridge, we found Blackhall Mill, and on Beech Grove, I peeked in the corner house to see Lesley peeking back out. After a round of hugs and greetings, we wandered round back to stow our bikes in Lesley's shed.
Our first introduction to Lesley's home was through her garden, and this is how it should be: it is as much her home as her kitchen and bed, and the whole effect is perfectly beautiful. Settling our bags into the rooms, we came downstairs and took turns taking showers while we munched on sandwiches with cucumber, tomato, and cheese. Tea cured our tired legs, and we talked until it was time to make more food.
For dinner, we ate spicy chickpeas and dips on tortillas with white wine, and we talked about family. At one point, both Lesley and I got a bit teary eyed, and I think we both recognized another person who wears their heart on their sleeve.
It's getting dark out a little bit earlier these days, and the sun had been down a long time before we made it into bed. I cuddled under the covers, warm and clean, and slept the night away.
Lesley's garden is tangled and green and perfect. The footpaths are made of yellow, pebbled gravel, and disks and squares of her handmade pottery spot the path with bright splashes of red, teal, and purple. Hemming in her plots of flowers and vegetables are rows of upside down wine bottles, and inside, sprouts of green things have grown. Rather than furrows or sections, plants grow mixed up and side by side. Yellow zucchinis grow in bottom heavy orbs, hidden by leafy fronds above, and beside them, flat, round leaves frame orange blossoms. Sweet peas grow up improvised lattices, and their blowsy flowers have the sweetest scent.
At the back of the garden sits Lesley's shed. The rustic, wooden structure houses a room with a bed, a couple of seats, and odds and ends. Lesley calls it her landing place. Inside the house, her pottery graces shelves and her larger pieces - sculptural forms like bodies or growing vessels - sprout out of corners. It's a small house, but it's lived in and cozy.
Right now, Van Morrison is singing, and Joshua and Lesley are working in the kitchen, knocking elbows and whipping up a fish pie. In the houses next door and up the street, Lesley's friends are getting home from work. They're going in their homes and making dinner. They're heating water in the kettle and drinking tea. They stop in to say hello. They've known each other for years, and their kids have grown up together.
A green field bordered by a stream, a bridge, and a forest lie beyond the homes, and up the hill, the Roman village of Ebchester graces a hillside. Above, the Derwent Walk winds, by turns graveled and paved, along the Northumberland countryside. This is hill country, mining country. They mined steal and coal here, and they built small communities poor in money but rich in family, found and made. This, says Lesley, is where she found her home.
Today we woke up late and sat in the living room, eating muesli and talking. For our adventure today, we decided to drive to Durham and explore the cathedral. We parked outside the city and rode the bus into downtown where we got off to wander around the steep and narrow streets. Lesley and I ducked into a little vintage shop called Ding Dong and we drooled over dresses from the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s. They were in beautiful condition, and the shoes! I can't decide whether it's a very good or a very bad thing that we're biking and we can't afford the extra weight. Apart from a piece of costume jewelry in Bishop Stortford, a dress and earrings in Spain, and the t-shirt and jacket in Ambleside, I haven't bought a thing. I suppose I've saved a lot of money, but I kind of like coming home and unpacking my special things that I've purchased abroad.
From Ding Dong, we crossed the river and hiked up the cobblestone streets to Durham Cathedral. Outside on the lawn, we ate our cheese and tomato sandwiches. Families and tourists sat outside, doing the same thing and enjoying a rare bit of sunshine. Inside the Cathedral, we wandered through and looked at the graceful, arching ceilings, the thin and decorated woodwork, and the great altar dedicated to St. Cuthbert. Tucked away in back, we looked at a beautiful Pieta: carved out of beech wood and adorned in bronze, their long and graceful faces and hands expressed tragedy and heartache.
In the cloister, light filtered in through arches and pillars, and bats swooped down from the rafters. Leaving the Cathedral, we took a hidden passageway down to the river walk, and over the river, we stopped to look at the view. Standing above the water, we wondered about Catholics and Quakers, Jews and Buddhists, and we wondered if we could ever make the compromise between dogma and practice. I wondered if maybe I'd like to live on a commune.
In the market, we found a cheese stand and bought half a dozen samples of cheese from the North. Wendsleydale and brie, stilton and goat's cheese, something smoked and something creamy... Over in Tescos, we bought bread, leeks, and strawberries, and when we had finished, we walked back to the bus.
Before we headed back home, we stopped at the Angel. Standing beside the highway, this big steel angel stands solid and strong, and it has become the emblem of the North. It's hopeful and proud, and of course, it's made of steel. Driving home, I closed my eyes to avoid the headache that accompanies roundabouts and vehicular motion, and back at the house, we drank cups of tea and chatted with Linda, Lesley's best friend and next door neighbor. Fat Cat came in, and I pulled him onto my lap and scratched him behind the ears. We talked about living to 150 and whether we would like to go camping for the weekend.
For dinner, we'll eat our fish pie in the candle light, and I'm sure, like last night, we'll talk until late, and when we're too tired to keep our eyes open, we'll go to bed.
August 16, 2010
We woke up at 8, and we rolled out of our campsite by 9. The road from Alston to Nenthead was about five miles long and rolling. After Nenthead, we climbed a 2 mile long hill, and after another slight downhill and another steeper uphill, we reached the highest point on our sea to sea route. As usual, the mist moved in and our view was obscured by a cool blanket of watery haze through which we could see floating livestock and our snaky road winding through the heather.
In Allenheads, we stopped at a payphone to call Lesley and warn her that we would be arriving a day early. If we hadn't spoken inside that small phone box, we wouldn't have heard a sound all through Allenheads. The sleepy little village was completely silent, and although there were cars sitting outside the houses, we didn't see a soul.
Outside of Allenheads, we climbed another long, steep hill, and then we descended into Rookhope. Eschewing an off road trail that wandered through quail hunting territory, we climbed another impossibly steep and long road out of Rookhope only to descend again into Stanhope. Done with four out of the five climbs for the day, we stopped in the city center for lunch, and after our hard morning of pedaling, we treated ourselves to sandwiches from a cafe.
Sitting outside in the sun, I ate a cheese and tomato sandwich and Joshua ate a cheese and onion toastie. We shared a plate of cheesy chips, and I ate an apple which a pesky bee coveted. Although I was very weary by this point and it took a little pushing from Joshua, we headed back onto the road for our last major hill.
The hill out of Stanhope is called Killhope, and the gradient rivaled our climb out of Ambleside the day before. After half a mile of pushing our bikes up the hill, we climbed back into the saddle and pushed through another mile uphill. At the crest, we enjoyed the view into Newcastle, and then we hopped onto the Weskerly bike trail that winds 10 miles downhill into Consett. Pedaling through heather covered moors and grim looking Englishmen hunting grouse, we passed berry bushes and finally met our intersection with the Derwent Walk.
Trusting my somewhat shady memories of the Derwent Walk, we took the road down from the pub in Ebchester, and then we took another left into the valley. Across a footbridge, we found Blackhall Mill, and on Beech Grove, I peeked in the corner house to see Lesley peeking back out. After a round of hugs and greetings, we wandered round back to stow our bikes in Lesley's shed.
Our first introduction to Lesley's home was through her garden, and this is how it should be: it is as much her home as her kitchen and bed, and the whole effect is perfectly beautiful. Settling our bags into the rooms, we came downstairs and took turns taking showers while we munched on sandwiches with cucumber, tomato, and cheese. Tea cured our tired legs, and we talked until it was time to make more food.
For dinner, we ate spicy chickpeas and dips on tortillas with white wine, and we talked about family. At one point, both Lesley and I got a bit teary eyed, and I think we both recognized another person who wears their heart on their sleeve.
It's getting dark out a little bit earlier these days, and the sun had been down a long time before we made it into bed. I cuddled under the covers, warm and clean, and slept the night away.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
St. Helens to Glasson to Chapel Stiles
August 13, 2010
Also known as Friday, the fucking thirteenth. You know what? It's all beginning to make sense. The hills, the miles, the rain, the godforsaken headwind, the getting lost, the mean people, the full campsites...
I'll start at the beginning, because it crept up slowly, this teary-eyed, miserable exhaustion. This morning I woke up to the sound of rain splattering against the tarp of our tent, and not wanting to battle the elements, I laid in my sleeping bag, turning every five minutes like a pig on a spit. I know that I've been laying on my air mattress too long when the switch from back, to side, to front, to side, and back whips my sleeping bag into a tangle and each position hurts just as much as the last.
Once the rain stopped, we packed up and left without breakfast. Immediately, we joined the National Cycle Route No. 6, and the small blue and red signs led us onto a rails-to-trails cycle path into Lancaster. For seven miles, we pedaled along stretches of beach and river at low tide. The sand spread out in a smooth, flat plain, and little streams and rivulets of water beat their path to the Irish Sea.
In Lancaster, we hopped on a series of cycle paths and eventually found our way to a little Co-operative in a residential area. By now, it was already 11 o'clock, so we settled on food for a brunch and a late afternoon snack. Piling our food on the back of the bike, we cycled out of town and onto a canal path where we stopped to eat. Sitting on a bench overlooking the canal and a field of cows, we ate sandwiches and salt and vinegar chips. For dessert, of course, we ate flapjacks.
Back on the tow path, we rode 6 miles alongside the canal, under bridges, and alongside sweet seaside villages. The homes that bordered the canals had beautiful, impressive gardens, and many of them had parallel docks that looked like up-scale porches with tables and chairs to sit and drink tea.
Still following route No. 6, we turned off the canal and descended into a village and then along more swaths of beaches at low tide. The scenery was lovely, and to the Northeast, the landscape dipped and folded into dark blue-green mountains. It was at this point that I asked Joshua how far we had come, and realizing that we had only traversed about 14 miles, I began to notice that - oh yeah - there's this enormous headwind.
Just when I was getting a bit disheartened by the wind buffeting my face, when we turned inland and began climbing, and no, the wind did not let up. Still feeling somewhat perky, I tried to appreciate the lovely villages we were passing. Most of them contained the name 'Yealand,' and once again, we were back in stone country. The homes were grey and the gardens were bursting with flowers.
Past the Yealand Hills, we cycled through an enormous estate overlooking a peaceful, lazy river and an idyllic field spotted with sheep and stone arch bridges. In Milnthorpe, we followed our cycle route through a bustling tourist village, but within minutes, we were abruptly back in the country, climbing ever narrower, ever steeper country rodes. The 12 mile stretch into Kendal was particularly hilly, and the wind had picked up even more. It got to the point where we would sweat and grunt our way up the hills only to have to pedal back down the hills against our stiff headwind.
In Kendal, I was already feeling very weary indeed. We stopped for our late afternoon snack of honey roasted nuts and strawberries, and we looked at the map, hoping that we were nearly at Windmere. Back on the path, we got a little bit lost going through Kendal, but we quickly regained our bearings and headed West out of town, still on our cycle route No. 6. Climbing a few more hills, we saw signs for Windmere that promised a 6 mile journey.
Although the journey was hilly, the signs made good on their promises, and we descended into the town of Windmere just in time to stop at the tourist office before it closed. The man at the counter was very helpful, and he pointed out an excellent hike that began in Ambleside and ended in Rydal, just four more miles up the road. In Rydal, he said, we could even find a campsite, and in Ambleside, we would find a grocery store to stock up.
The bike ride from Windmere to Ambleside followed the lake and a cycle route, and as a result, it passed quickly. In Ambleside, we pedaled past dozens of outdoor gear outlets and boutiques targeted towards the athletically inclined, and when we found the Co-operative, we couldn't resist a peek inside one particular outlet that bragged '50 percent off everything inside!!!'
From Ambleside, we climbed another mile into the small village of Rydal, and feeling absolutely spent, we turned off on a steep side road to find Rydal Hall, our next campsite. Pulling into the parking lot of a big stone manor, we looked skeptically inside, and I wandered in to request a site. At the office, the woman behind the counter listened to my plea and said no, they were too full. When I asked her pathetically if there were any sites nearby and explained that we were on bikes, she helpfully responded no, there were none. When I looked like I was about to cry, she told me to wait. She might be able to find something if our tent was very, very small.
After dealing with a couple more campers, she came out to me just as Joshua approached. She looked at me accusingly, and said, 'you've multiplied.' Leaning toward her co-worker, she said, 'these two are looking for a campsite.' Her co-worker, a very posh looking man, gave us a once-over and said, 'absolutely not.'
Walking out of the very fancy manor, I began crying. After 48 miles of hills and stiff wind, I was absolutely exhausted. Joshua, on the other hand, was pissed. Apparently, when he had tried to enter the manor, the same man that had said 'absolutely not' had shook his head at him from inside the door, and when someone had moved to let Joshua in, the man had said, 'don't let him in.' The other man did anyway, and when Joshua came in the door, the man rolled his eyes. After the whole incident, Joshua was mad enough to spit, and as we were pulling out of the driveway, he did. Right on their big fancy sign. I would have been completely embarrassed if anyone had been looking or if I weren't already crying, but as it was, there was no one there to watch me cry or watch my husband spit.
Taking out our map, we looked for another campsite. All the others were on the opposite side of Ambleside, so we pedaled back to town. Heading onto another road, Joshua tried to encourage me by saying, 'only one mile more hon, and we'll find someplace so much better than Snotty Rydal Hall.'
Well, he was very sweet, but he was also very wrong, and we proceeded to get very, very lost on very, very hilly roads. Unable to find the first two campsites listed on the map, we finally pulled into Braysbrown Farm in Chapel Stile at 58 miles. Apparently, Braysbrown Farm is some kind of tent village, and in a large valley between big, beautiful mountains, there are probably 300 tents.
Just as we unpacked our panniers and began setting up our tent, it began to rain, and our tent got very damp. Thankfully, there were showers here, and while I wandered off to clean off the grime that had so repelled Rydal Hall, Joshua cooked up our rice, veggies, and tika masala sauce. Once we had stuffed our faces, we ate half of a triple-layer walnut cake and a whole bag of crisps. While we ate, little tiny bugs swarmed over our heads, landed on any bare flesh, and bit.
Lying in our tent right now, I'm listening to a very much alive tent city. There are dogs barking, babies crying, couples flirting, internationals arguing, and a family playing soccer right next to our tent. I'm absolutely exhausted, but I'm not getting my hopes up about a good nights sleep. I just pray nobody snores.
August 12, 2010
We woke up and packed on our last morning in St. Helen's. For breakfast, we ate Catherine's beautiful spread of fruit, bagels, and tea, and we talked about what's next. At 10:15, we pulled out of the driveway and waved good bye to Catherine. She and Donal were such beautiful hosts :)
From St. Helen's, we quickly hopped on a B road and immediately began to climb. Within a couple of miles, we reached a hill at 17 percent grade, and pulling off our rain jackets, we sweat it to the top. By this point, we were already completely disoriented by the curvy, unlabeled roads, and we plunged forward, hoping we would run into something we might recognize.
In one town, we pedaled across the M6, and then, thinking we had gone the wrong way, pedaled back again. A nice man in his car stopped and walked back to us to ask if we were lost, and when we confessed that we were, he gave us directions. He seemed very envious of our journey, even if we were lost.
Heading towards Shrivington on our way to Preston, we again got fabulously lost, biking 4 miles out of the way down a massive hill. To find our trail again, we were forced to retrace our steps (and I can tell you, there is nothing worse than really knowing just how big the hill is because you've just hurtled down it).
Finally, we found our route and proceeded to climb B roads into Preston. The headwind had picked up, and by now, it had taken us a very long time just to cycle 20 miles. In Preston, we wandered, a little confused, through the busy streets, and two very kind gentlemen stopped to ask us if we were lost and point us on our way. Once we found the road headed towards, Garstang, we allowed ourselves to break for lunch. We had covered 32 miles, and when I went inside to see what might catch my fancy, I selected a huge, calorie-laden cheese and onion pasty. It was hot and absolutely dripping with cheese.
Sitting on the brick wall outside the Co-operative, we stuffed our faces and appreciated a little bit of sun breaking through the clouds. The wind, however, did not let up, and knowing that we still had about 20 miles to go, we hopped back on our bikes.
Following the A6 out of Preston, we were treated to a nice shoulder into Garstang, 8 miles down the road. Here, we took a small break to chat with two other men on bicycles. The first man was pretty young, and judging by his gear (fully waterproofed panniers - front and back, cycling singlet, cycling leggings, weird cycling sleeves, and a rockin' bike), he was also a pretty serious cyclist. The second man was dressed in a cotton polo shirt with a rugby emblem embroidered on his breast pocket. His face had the seriously ruddy, sunburned look people get when they spend decades in the sun and wind, and his bike, while nice, was pannier-less. The first man, it turns out, was also cycling from Lands End to John O'Groats, but he had started 6 days ago. He's taken one day off, but in 5 days, he's managed to cover nearly 500 miles. He shared with us that we had all just passed the home of the man who holds the E2E record of 41 hours. Apparently, after he cycled E2E, he grew weary of cycling and took up running. On his first marathon, he ran 2:29.
The first man was curious if we had seen any other E2E-ers, and saying that we had only seen a couple, the second man shared that in his trip around the world, he only met one person doing the same thing in the three years it had taken him.
Excuse me? Around the world? Yessir. Mr. Ruddy faced man biked from the top of Canada down to Tierra del Fuego, and when he was done, he jumped a plane to Australia where he again biked the length, and then he went to China. When the two asked us when we had started and how many miles we were averaging per day, we were a bit vague: oh, end of July. Around 50. We also made sure to mention that we were taking a round about route and stopping to see friends and family along the way.
Knowing frauds when they saw them, the men smiled at us sympathetically and zipped off at a 20 mph clip into a big black thundercloud. Donning our rain jackets, we followed at half the pace. Outside of Garstang, we turned off on a small country road, and after a mile, the sky let loose. Although it rained very hard and it was very, very cold, the wet soon let up, and we stopped to buy a half dozen eggs, broccoli, and tomatoes from a farm stand in the rolling hills south of Lancaster. To the West, the green fields sprawled out towards the sea, and small inlets showed the smooth sands of low tide. After a few more miles, we found our turn off for our campsite.
Although the two cyclists hadn't been all that impressed, the campsite owner thought we were crazy and welcomed us to camp anywhere in the field. Setting up camp quickly, we changed into warmer clothes, and I started to cook our meager dinner. After we had left Preston, we had meant to stop at the next grocery store to buy food for breakfast and dinner, but we hadn't found a single shop along the way. Luckily, the farm shop had had some food, but it looked like we were going to be a little bit hungry tonight.
After we had eaten, we crawled into the tent and stayed up reading. The only other tent in the field was another small one like ours, and apparently, its inhabitants were two very young teenagers. They didn't have a vehicle, so I couldn't imagine how they had gotten there, but they couldn't have been older than 16. Anyway, we fell asleep listening to their shrill giggles and slurpy kissing noises, wondering where in god's name their parents were.
Also known as Friday, the fucking thirteenth. You know what? It's all beginning to make sense. The hills, the miles, the rain, the godforsaken headwind, the getting lost, the mean people, the full campsites...
I'll start at the beginning, because it crept up slowly, this teary-eyed, miserable exhaustion. This morning I woke up to the sound of rain splattering against the tarp of our tent, and not wanting to battle the elements, I laid in my sleeping bag, turning every five minutes like a pig on a spit. I know that I've been laying on my air mattress too long when the switch from back, to side, to front, to side, and back whips my sleeping bag into a tangle and each position hurts just as much as the last.
Once the rain stopped, we packed up and left without breakfast. Immediately, we joined the National Cycle Route No. 6, and the small blue and red signs led us onto a rails-to-trails cycle path into Lancaster. For seven miles, we pedaled along stretches of beach and river at low tide. The sand spread out in a smooth, flat plain, and little streams and rivulets of water beat their path to the Irish Sea.
In Lancaster, we hopped on a series of cycle paths and eventually found our way to a little Co-operative in a residential area. By now, it was already 11 o'clock, so we settled on food for a brunch and a late afternoon snack. Piling our food on the back of the bike, we cycled out of town and onto a canal path where we stopped to eat. Sitting on a bench overlooking the canal and a field of cows, we ate sandwiches and salt and vinegar chips. For dessert, of course, we ate flapjacks.
Back on the tow path, we rode 6 miles alongside the canal, under bridges, and alongside sweet seaside villages. The homes that bordered the canals had beautiful, impressive gardens, and many of them had parallel docks that looked like up-scale porches with tables and chairs to sit and drink tea.
Still following route No. 6, we turned off the canal and descended into a village and then along more swaths of beaches at low tide. The scenery was lovely, and to the Northeast, the landscape dipped and folded into dark blue-green mountains. It was at this point that I asked Joshua how far we had come, and realizing that we had only traversed about 14 miles, I began to notice that - oh yeah - there's this enormous headwind.
Just when I was getting a bit disheartened by the wind buffeting my face, when we turned inland and began climbing, and no, the wind did not let up. Still feeling somewhat perky, I tried to appreciate the lovely villages we were passing. Most of them contained the name 'Yealand,' and once again, we were back in stone country. The homes were grey and the gardens were bursting with flowers.
Past the Yealand Hills, we cycled through an enormous estate overlooking a peaceful, lazy river and an idyllic field spotted with sheep and stone arch bridges. In Milnthorpe, we followed our cycle route through a bustling tourist village, but within minutes, we were abruptly back in the country, climbing ever narrower, ever steeper country rodes. The 12 mile stretch into Kendal was particularly hilly, and the wind had picked up even more. It got to the point where we would sweat and grunt our way up the hills only to have to pedal back down the hills against our stiff headwind.
In Kendal, I was already feeling very weary indeed. We stopped for our late afternoon snack of honey roasted nuts and strawberries, and we looked at the map, hoping that we were nearly at Windmere. Back on the path, we got a little bit lost going through Kendal, but we quickly regained our bearings and headed West out of town, still on our cycle route No. 6. Climbing a few more hills, we saw signs for Windmere that promised a 6 mile journey.
Although the journey was hilly, the signs made good on their promises, and we descended into the town of Windmere just in time to stop at the tourist office before it closed. The man at the counter was very helpful, and he pointed out an excellent hike that began in Ambleside and ended in Rydal, just four more miles up the road. In Rydal, he said, we could even find a campsite, and in Ambleside, we would find a grocery store to stock up.
The bike ride from Windmere to Ambleside followed the lake and a cycle route, and as a result, it passed quickly. In Ambleside, we pedaled past dozens of outdoor gear outlets and boutiques targeted towards the athletically inclined, and when we found the Co-operative, we couldn't resist a peek inside one particular outlet that bragged '50 percent off everything inside!!!'
From Ambleside, we climbed another mile into the small village of Rydal, and feeling absolutely spent, we turned off on a steep side road to find Rydal Hall, our next campsite. Pulling into the parking lot of a big stone manor, we looked skeptically inside, and I wandered in to request a site. At the office, the woman behind the counter listened to my plea and said no, they were too full. When I asked her pathetically if there were any sites nearby and explained that we were on bikes, she helpfully responded no, there were none. When I looked like I was about to cry, she told me to wait. She might be able to find something if our tent was very, very small.
After dealing with a couple more campers, she came out to me just as Joshua approached. She looked at me accusingly, and said, 'you've multiplied.' Leaning toward her co-worker, she said, 'these two are looking for a campsite.' Her co-worker, a very posh looking man, gave us a once-over and said, 'absolutely not.'
Walking out of the very fancy manor, I began crying. After 48 miles of hills and stiff wind, I was absolutely exhausted. Joshua, on the other hand, was pissed. Apparently, when he had tried to enter the manor, the same man that had said 'absolutely not' had shook his head at him from inside the door, and when someone had moved to let Joshua in, the man had said, 'don't let him in.' The other man did anyway, and when Joshua came in the door, the man rolled his eyes. After the whole incident, Joshua was mad enough to spit, and as we were pulling out of the driveway, he did. Right on their big fancy sign. I would have been completely embarrassed if anyone had been looking or if I weren't already crying, but as it was, there was no one there to watch me cry or watch my husband spit.
Taking out our map, we looked for another campsite. All the others were on the opposite side of Ambleside, so we pedaled back to town. Heading onto another road, Joshua tried to encourage me by saying, 'only one mile more hon, and we'll find someplace so much better than Snotty Rydal Hall.'
Well, he was very sweet, but he was also very wrong, and we proceeded to get very, very lost on very, very hilly roads. Unable to find the first two campsites listed on the map, we finally pulled into Braysbrown Farm in Chapel Stile at 58 miles. Apparently, Braysbrown Farm is some kind of tent village, and in a large valley between big, beautiful mountains, there are probably 300 tents.
Just as we unpacked our panniers and began setting up our tent, it began to rain, and our tent got very damp. Thankfully, there were showers here, and while I wandered off to clean off the grime that had so repelled Rydal Hall, Joshua cooked up our rice, veggies, and tika masala sauce. Once we had stuffed our faces, we ate half of a triple-layer walnut cake and a whole bag of crisps. While we ate, little tiny bugs swarmed over our heads, landed on any bare flesh, and bit.
Lying in our tent right now, I'm listening to a very much alive tent city. There are dogs barking, babies crying, couples flirting, internationals arguing, and a family playing soccer right next to our tent. I'm absolutely exhausted, but I'm not getting my hopes up about a good nights sleep. I just pray nobody snores.
August 12, 2010
We woke up and packed on our last morning in St. Helen's. For breakfast, we ate Catherine's beautiful spread of fruit, bagels, and tea, and we talked about what's next. At 10:15, we pulled out of the driveway and waved good bye to Catherine. She and Donal were such beautiful hosts :)
From St. Helen's, we quickly hopped on a B road and immediately began to climb. Within a couple of miles, we reached a hill at 17 percent grade, and pulling off our rain jackets, we sweat it to the top. By this point, we were already completely disoriented by the curvy, unlabeled roads, and we plunged forward, hoping we would run into something we might recognize.
In one town, we pedaled across the M6, and then, thinking we had gone the wrong way, pedaled back again. A nice man in his car stopped and walked back to us to ask if we were lost, and when we confessed that we were, he gave us directions. He seemed very envious of our journey, even if we were lost.
Heading towards Shrivington on our way to Preston, we again got fabulously lost, biking 4 miles out of the way down a massive hill. To find our trail again, we were forced to retrace our steps (and I can tell you, there is nothing worse than really knowing just how big the hill is because you've just hurtled down it).
Finally, we found our route and proceeded to climb B roads into Preston. The headwind had picked up, and by now, it had taken us a very long time just to cycle 20 miles. In Preston, we wandered, a little confused, through the busy streets, and two very kind gentlemen stopped to ask us if we were lost and point us on our way. Once we found the road headed towards, Garstang, we allowed ourselves to break for lunch. We had covered 32 miles, and when I went inside to see what might catch my fancy, I selected a huge, calorie-laden cheese and onion pasty. It was hot and absolutely dripping with cheese.
Sitting on the brick wall outside the Co-operative, we stuffed our faces and appreciated a little bit of sun breaking through the clouds. The wind, however, did not let up, and knowing that we still had about 20 miles to go, we hopped back on our bikes.
Following the A6 out of Preston, we were treated to a nice shoulder into Garstang, 8 miles down the road. Here, we took a small break to chat with two other men on bicycles. The first man was pretty young, and judging by his gear (fully waterproofed panniers - front and back, cycling singlet, cycling leggings, weird cycling sleeves, and a rockin' bike), he was also a pretty serious cyclist. The second man was dressed in a cotton polo shirt with a rugby emblem embroidered on his breast pocket. His face had the seriously ruddy, sunburned look people get when they spend decades in the sun and wind, and his bike, while nice, was pannier-less. The first man, it turns out, was also cycling from Lands End to John O'Groats, but he had started 6 days ago. He's taken one day off, but in 5 days, he's managed to cover nearly 500 miles. He shared with us that we had all just passed the home of the man who holds the E2E record of 41 hours. Apparently, after he cycled E2E, he grew weary of cycling and took up running. On his first marathon, he ran 2:29.
The first man was curious if we had seen any other E2E-ers, and saying that we had only seen a couple, the second man shared that in his trip around the world, he only met one person doing the same thing in the three years it had taken him.
Excuse me? Around the world? Yessir. Mr. Ruddy faced man biked from the top of Canada down to Tierra del Fuego, and when he was done, he jumped a plane to Australia where he again biked the length, and then he went to China. When the two asked us when we had started and how many miles we were averaging per day, we were a bit vague: oh, end of July. Around 50. We also made sure to mention that we were taking a round about route and stopping to see friends and family along the way.
Knowing frauds when they saw them, the men smiled at us sympathetically and zipped off at a 20 mph clip into a big black thundercloud. Donning our rain jackets, we followed at half the pace. Outside of Garstang, we turned off on a small country road, and after a mile, the sky let loose. Although it rained very hard and it was very, very cold, the wet soon let up, and we stopped to buy a half dozen eggs, broccoli, and tomatoes from a farm stand in the rolling hills south of Lancaster. To the West, the green fields sprawled out towards the sea, and small inlets showed the smooth sands of low tide. After a few more miles, we found our turn off for our campsite.
Although the two cyclists hadn't been all that impressed, the campsite owner thought we were crazy and welcomed us to camp anywhere in the field. Setting up camp quickly, we changed into warmer clothes, and I started to cook our meager dinner. After we had left Preston, we had meant to stop at the next grocery store to buy food for breakfast and dinner, but we hadn't found a single shop along the way. Luckily, the farm shop had had some food, but it looked like we were going to be a little bit hungry tonight.
After we had eaten, we crawled into the tent and stayed up reading. The only other tent in the field was another small one like ours, and apparently, its inhabitants were two very young teenagers. They didn't have a vehicle, so I couldn't imagine how they had gotten there, but they couldn't have been older than 16. Anyway, we fell asleep listening to their shrill giggles and slurpy kissing noises, wondering where in god's name their parents were.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
What's a Carpetbagger?
Ok. I don't want to insult any one's intelligence, but I also know that some people have no idea:
After the Civil War, the South was devastated. In an effort to rebuild and to take advantage of economic opportunities, Yankees moved South to engage in reconstruction. These enterprising Northerners packed up their things in big carpet bags and moved down South full of grand hopes and dreams. But, as you might expect, the Southerners were not all that impressed, and the Yankees were a little confused when their Northern sensibilities didn't carry quite the same currency South of the Mason Dixon Line.
In the end, most of the Yanks tucked tail and returned back home, but ever since, they've been known as the carpetbaggers. The sentiment is not necessarily nice, but it is clever because it carries the double entendre of their transient stay. I use the term tongue-in-cheek, but I'm also aware of the many parallels that can be drawn between their journey and mine.
In many ways, I moved South thinking that I could swoop in and make things better. It was arrogant, and I quickly learned the error of my ways. While I wasn't trying to take advantage of some great economic opportunity, I think many people were suspicious of my motives, and I sensed that this was a suspicion surrounding not only my origins, but also my educational pedigree (if you can call it that!), my youth, and my race. To be fair, it makes a lot of sense, and I don't really fault anyone for their suspicion.
And then, of course, I left. I wish it didn't sound so fickle, but it's the truth. I have other reasons for leaving, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the biggest reason is this: I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't much help at all, and once I finished my commitment, I packed up my carpetbag and went traveling. It would have been easy to stay if I could have seen the differences I made and how much I was needed, but it was so much harder when I saw so little change. Kudos to those who found it in themselves to stay, and in particular, I'm thinking of those veterans who teach year after year, and also, Philip, Joey, and Claire, three of my friends who stayed on to teach another year and perhaps more. They're no carpetbaggers; they're modern heroes.
After the Civil War, the South was devastated. In an effort to rebuild and to take advantage of economic opportunities, Yankees moved South to engage in reconstruction. These enterprising Northerners packed up their things in big carpet bags and moved down South full of grand hopes and dreams. But, as you might expect, the Southerners were not all that impressed, and the Yankees were a little confused when their Northern sensibilities didn't carry quite the same currency South of the Mason Dixon Line.
In the end, most of the Yanks tucked tail and returned back home, but ever since, they've been known as the carpetbaggers. The sentiment is not necessarily nice, but it is clever because it carries the double entendre of their transient stay. I use the term tongue-in-cheek, but I'm also aware of the many parallels that can be drawn between their journey and mine.
In many ways, I moved South thinking that I could swoop in and make things better. It was arrogant, and I quickly learned the error of my ways. While I wasn't trying to take advantage of some great economic opportunity, I think many people were suspicious of my motives, and I sensed that this was a suspicion surrounding not only my origins, but also my educational pedigree (if you can call it that!), my youth, and my race. To be fair, it makes a lot of sense, and I don't really fault anyone for their suspicion.
And then, of course, I left. I wish it didn't sound so fickle, but it's the truth. I have other reasons for leaving, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the biggest reason is this: I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't much help at all, and once I finished my commitment, I packed up my carpetbag and went traveling. It would have been easy to stay if I could have seen the differences I made and how much I was needed, but it was so much harder when I saw so little change. Kudos to those who found it in themselves to stay, and in particular, I'm thinking of those veterans who teach year after year, and also, Philip, Joey, and Claire, three of my friends who stayed on to teach another year and perhaps more. They're no carpetbaggers; they're modern heroes.
The White House, St. Helen's
August 11, 2010
The four of us, Catherine, Donal, Joshua, and I, have just returned from dinner at The Bottle and Glass, a local pub in St. Helen's. Our table was in the corner of a warmly lit room, and our table was crammed with all sorts of good food. To share, we had warm brie with toasted baguette and savory chutney, as well as an assortment of grilled salmon, pickled herring, shrimp, and roe. Joshua revisited bangers and mash, while Catherine and I enjoyed fish with new potatoes and green beans. Donal ate Barbecue with sweet potato chips, but eschewed the coleslaw. We all agreed that mayonnaise is overrated. For drinks, I ordered a ginger beer as a treat. This is no Canadian Ale; ginger beer in England is spicy and startling to the sinuses. I love it.
This morning, we woke up and had breakfast with Catherine at the kitchen table. While we ate fruit and drank tea, we chatted continuously. Catherine is another woman with the great gift of gab, and I can just imagine Mandy and Catherine talking up a storm. I think they must have very fit vocal chords :)
Once we finished breakfast, we hopped in the car and drove to Old Rufford Hall, a National Trust Property that was built in 1530. This beautiful Tudor building was painted black and white during the Victorian period, and the result is striking. To begin, we walked around the gardens which have been perfectly manicured. Little children ran around with clipboards the size of their torsos, searching for garden gnomes. Once they found one of these brightly painted gnomes, they would write down their names, carefully forming the letters of gnomes called Dave, Ken, and Niles. They were singularly focused, and it was fun to see a historical setting enlivened by children running around on a treasure hunt.
Inside the building, we followed a tour, and we listened to the family saga of the Haskeths, the family who had originally owned this property. It's actually pretty fun to explore of the rooms fully done up in their period regalia: in the dining room, the table is set with fine china and seashell shaped spoon warmers, and in the sitting room, large oil paintings framed ornate and ancient settees, lounges, and even a spinning wheel. The wardrobe in the bedroom is left open, and inside, we could see all of the old dresses and dainty shoes. On the first floor, the great hall is the original and oldest part of the house, and Shakespeare is said to have acted in the compass window for the Man and Lady of the house. Adjacent to the lead paned compass window, an enormous fireplace takes up most of the wall, and above, the heavy timber beams are decorated with large wooden angels and beautiful carving.
All over England, there are dozens (maybe hundreds?) of properties that are owned by the National Trust. These properties have either been donated or purchased, and as a result, there are many well preserved domiciles of the fabulously wealthy. Perhaps more interesting than the opulence of each home is the very, very old structures and pieces that have been collected and kept over the years. It seems like each lord and lady had their favorite item to the collect, and now, the homes double as museums of craft, furniture, and family history.
After our tour, we stopped in the Tearoom for lunch. Joshua ordered the traditional Ploughman's Lunch with a salad made from locally grown vegetables, homemade bread, cheeses, and chutney. Catherine's lunch looked similarly farm fresh with a vegetable tart and a fresh garden salad. Feeling cold from the damp outside, I ordered a vegetable soup with crusty bread. With enough tea to go around, it felt like a proper English meal.
Done with lunch, we walked back through the home to catch the rooms we had missed, and when we finished, we drove back to St. Helen's. Before Donal got home, Catherine went out to mow the lawn (she makes the most perfect lines) while Joshua talked to his mom and his grandpa on Skype. I finished my next book, The Lost Recipe for Happiness, and when Catherine finished with the lawn, she fixed us tea and snacks to tide us over until Donal got home.
Although the weather had been a bit gloomy all day, the weak light filtered into the living room where we sat, reading and drinking tea. It was perfectly cozy, and with Catherine and Donal, the most friendly and generous hosts, we felt at home away from home.
August 10, 2010
After a breakfast of fruit and tea, Catherine, Joshua, and I left for a day in Liverpool. Historically, the city has experienced many economic ups and downs, but more recently, the gritty city was a capital of culture. As a result, Liverpool has really experienced a revival, and there are a series of new restaurants, shops, hotels, and cultural centers that are very lively. Whereas the city never used to attract tourists, it's now pretty typical to hear dozens of languages and hundreds of Beatles fans on pilgrimage.
To start our tour of the old port city, we went to the Tate to see the Picasso exhibition. Although I've always been a bit dubious about art museums, I'm starting to really, really like them. Whereas I always used to find them stuffy and highbrow, the museums that I've been to more recently have made a huge effort to attract a broader audience and engage in community education. I prefer advant garde exhibits and displays, and while Picasso's exhibit wasn't terribly edgy, it was very interesting, and the curators had set his work against a backdrop of his political activism and pacifism. It was a new angle, and it shed a lot of light on his body of work. Picasso was one of those rare artists who experienced a great deal of recognition and success while he was alive, and he leveraged this fame to promote his political philosophies.
After a quick glance at a few other exhibits, we walked up to one of the new restaurants at Level One. Selecting the Red Hot World Buffet, we treated ourselves to a self-serve line of every dish imaginable. I selected a rare combo of beet root salad, Thai green vegetable curry, pasta salad, and dhal. Catherine and Joshua's plates were similar fusions of East, West, South, and North cuisines, and when we had finished our first plates, we went up for more. The room was decorated in black fur, sparkly wall paper, red walls, and silver light fixtures, and the whole experience was a lot of fun. For dessert, we chose from six different cheese cakes, gelatto, mousse, fruit, and cakes, and Joshua admirably restrained himself from sampling every single thing.
After lunch, we walked back through the old port and along the river to see the three graces, three buildings central to Liverpuddlian history. Liverpool used to be a slave port, and it formed one of the corners of the slave triangle from Africa to the U.S. to England. As a result, the city used to be a huge center of economic wealth and commerce, and after slavery was outlawed, it began its economic decline.
To complete our tour of the city, we took a duck boat tour. Driving through the streets, we saw sights made famous by John, Paul, George, and Ringo, as well as the fifth largest cathedral, China Town, and again, the three graces. At the port, we threw up our arms and plunged into the canal, and from there, we toured the port by water. With a thick Liverpuddlian accent, the guide told drool jokes and gave us a brief history of each site, and we enjoyed our inventive tour of the city.
Around six, we decided to call it a day, and we drove back to the White House in St. Helen's. Donal had already made it back from work, and Catherine fixed a meal of fish and vegetables. For the evening, we sat, eating and talking, and I think the four of us really enjoyed each other's company. Conversation moved from travels to family to politics, and we found each other laughing a lot of the time. Moving into the living room, we finished the evening with a cup of tea, and Joshua and I, weary from a full day, turned in around 11.
August 9, 2010
We woke up late in Delamere, and instead of packing everything away immediately, we sat and read for a little while. After a breakfast of flapjacks and yogurt (in the past twelve hours, Joshua's had 28 flapjacks which is no small feat), we filled up our water bottles and hopped back on the road.
Yesterday, Joshua purchased a Road Atlas, and while he ate dinner, he ripped out the pages that we would need for the rest of our journey and diligently planned the next leg of our journey. Determined to stay found (and not lost), we headed off in the direction of the roads that had confounded us the night before. Luckily, we were able to navigate better on a belly full of flapjacks and a night's full rest, and we found our way back onto the E2E cycle route. For the first fifteen miles, the journey was very pretty and we worked our way through the rolling hills near Northwich. At one point, we ran into a friendly gentleman on his bike, and he stopped to ask us from where we were coming and where we were going. He asked us if everyone we had met had been friendly, and we confessed that although people had warned us about various regions and their unfriendliness, we hadn't found these regional stereotypes to be true. Pretty much everyone has been very friendly.
The next 15 miles around Warrington were a bit more urban, and in Culcheth, we stopped for a quick lunch in the park. I've resolved to become a vegetarian (for real, this time), and when Joshua came out with sliced ham, I jokingly refused to carry it. Joshua picked up my little bag of nuts and read off its various origins - Italy, Brazil, Bolivia, and Moldova - and rightfully put me in my place. The irony, of course, is that it's Joshua's books and his summaries of them that have convinced me that I can no longer eat meat; he continues to stuff his face with the sad flesh of once creatures. (To be fair, I'm specist. I've decided that I will eat fish because I'm pretty sure I could catch and kill my own fish. When I look at the sheep and cows that we cycle by, I know that there is no way I could ever hurt any of them.). I also have to admit that I'm a little sad to leave my Omnivorous diet behind: I hate looking through a menu and knowing that a whole sections are closed to me, and I dislike imposing my vegetarianism on hosts. Bacon, in particular, has a smell like a siren's call, and there are so many meals starring meat that I love. In the end though, I can't eat animals that I know have personalities and feelings of their own, especially when the vast proportions of the them have been treated to abominably during their lifetimes before their slaughter. I know this is a sensitive subject, and I don't intend to proselytize, but I thought I'd explain why. There are other reasons: the vast amount of resources needed to raise meat, the environmental repercussions, and the health and quality of industrially produced meat, etc., but really, I'm an animal lover. I love my cat and my dog, and really, other species that we've traditionally kept as livestock are just as deserving of that love. I think some people are very respectful in the way that they keep and then eventually kill and eat livestock, but I can't get over that word: kill. It's fact, and as long as it makes me uncomfortable, I don't think I should be eating it. So don't worry. Although I may tease Josh, I can promise I won't tease the rest of you for your food decisions. I do think it's important to educate ourselves on the origins and systems that produce our food, but please stop me if I ever get too self-righteous :)
The last 10 miles from Culcheth were also pretty busy, and just outside of St. Helen's, we called Catherine and Donal's for directions. A little boy approached us, and after pausing to decipher his thick Northern accent, we figured he wanted to use our bike pump. While Joshua helped him pump up his tire, I tried to work out the payphone, and after a couple of tries we got through. Catherine's bright and cheery voice came in on the other line, and we promised we would be there within the half hour.
A half mile later, Joshua got a flat, and feeling very grumpy, we sat on the side of the road to change the tire. Finally, after pedaling through the busy streets of St. Helen's (and nearly getting run over on a round about), we found Walton Road and turned into the White House (the name of Catherine and Donal's home). On the covered porch, a life-size cardboard cut out of Barack Obama had a printed sign that read: Welcome to the White House Ellie and Josh.
As you can tell, Catherine and Donal have a great sense of humor, and when Catherine opened the door, we were still laughing. It was so good to see our close family friend, and after stowing our bikes and a couple quick showers, we caught up over a table loaded with snacks and tea. Catherine tells a story about coming home to her Irish mother and hearing immediately, unfailingly, upon entry, "child! You look like skin and bones. You look like you've never been fed a proper meal!" Catherine shakes her head, laughing, but truthfully, she does the same thing. When I offered to help clean up after our snacks, she shooed us off into the dining room and admitted, "You know, I'm not a very good team player in the kitchen."
When Donal came home from work, there were more happy greetings, and we spent our first night sitting around the table, eating fish and vegetables, and talking until late. The two of them are probably the happiest, most optimistic couple I have ever met in my life, and it's so much fun to sit around the table and talk and laugh with them. Catherine has this outrageous laugh, and you can't help but find everything just as hilarious as she does. Donal, of course, has an unexpected, deadpan humor, and he keeps all of us smiling. When I asked Catherine what gave them so much optimism, she said she had learned it from her dad, and as far as their relationship was concerned, they just never took each other for granted. "Do you know," she said, "I'm just always quite happy to see that he's arrived home." She stops to laugh, "I tell him, 'you know, I think I might keep you!'"
Beyond a sunny disposition, Catherine is the headmistress of a very large high school and she has been for over 20 years. I mention this, because you'll never find anyone better suited to leading an educational institution in your whole life. Catherine is the hardest worker, and the beautiful part is that she loves it. She loves the kids and her staff, and she loves in education. One of Catherine and Donal's most oft used words is 'sensible,' and the reason is because they are, and they really believe in teaching others to be sensible. It's not complex or confusing; it's just giving children the tools to make good decisions and ascertain the difference between right and wrong. In some ways, it should be so easy, but so few people do it well. Do you remember when I said that I need to apprentice with Ruth? I think I need to apprentice with Catherine and Donal as well :)
Thank you so much to Catherine and Donal for a lovely stay. You were wonderful hosts, and we so much enjoyed your company!
The four of us, Catherine, Donal, Joshua, and I, have just returned from dinner at The Bottle and Glass, a local pub in St. Helen's. Our table was in the corner of a warmly lit room, and our table was crammed with all sorts of good food. To share, we had warm brie with toasted baguette and savory chutney, as well as an assortment of grilled salmon, pickled herring, shrimp, and roe. Joshua revisited bangers and mash, while Catherine and I enjoyed fish with new potatoes and green beans. Donal ate Barbecue with sweet potato chips, but eschewed the coleslaw. We all agreed that mayonnaise is overrated. For drinks, I ordered a ginger beer as a treat. This is no Canadian Ale; ginger beer in England is spicy and startling to the sinuses. I love it.
This morning, we woke up and had breakfast with Catherine at the kitchen table. While we ate fruit and drank tea, we chatted continuously. Catherine is another woman with the great gift of gab, and I can just imagine Mandy and Catherine talking up a storm. I think they must have very fit vocal chords :)
Once we finished breakfast, we hopped in the car and drove to Old Rufford Hall, a National Trust Property that was built in 1530. This beautiful Tudor building was painted black and white during the Victorian period, and the result is striking. To begin, we walked around the gardens which have been perfectly manicured. Little children ran around with clipboards the size of their torsos, searching for garden gnomes. Once they found one of these brightly painted gnomes, they would write down their names, carefully forming the letters of gnomes called Dave, Ken, and Niles. They were singularly focused, and it was fun to see a historical setting enlivened by children running around on a treasure hunt.
Inside the building, we followed a tour, and we listened to the family saga of the Haskeths, the family who had originally owned this property. It's actually pretty fun to explore of the rooms fully done up in their period regalia: in the dining room, the table is set with fine china and seashell shaped spoon warmers, and in the sitting room, large oil paintings framed ornate and ancient settees, lounges, and even a spinning wheel. The wardrobe in the bedroom is left open, and inside, we could see all of the old dresses and dainty shoes. On the first floor, the great hall is the original and oldest part of the house, and Shakespeare is said to have acted in the compass window for the Man and Lady of the house. Adjacent to the lead paned compass window, an enormous fireplace takes up most of the wall, and above, the heavy timber beams are decorated with large wooden angels and beautiful carving.
All over England, there are dozens (maybe hundreds?) of properties that are owned by the National Trust. These properties have either been donated or purchased, and as a result, there are many well preserved domiciles of the fabulously wealthy. Perhaps more interesting than the opulence of each home is the very, very old structures and pieces that have been collected and kept over the years. It seems like each lord and lady had their favorite item to the collect, and now, the homes double as museums of craft, furniture, and family history.
After our tour, we stopped in the Tearoom for lunch. Joshua ordered the traditional Ploughman's Lunch with a salad made from locally grown vegetables, homemade bread, cheeses, and chutney. Catherine's lunch looked similarly farm fresh with a vegetable tart and a fresh garden salad. Feeling cold from the damp outside, I ordered a vegetable soup with crusty bread. With enough tea to go around, it felt like a proper English meal.
Done with lunch, we walked back through the home to catch the rooms we had missed, and when we finished, we drove back to St. Helen's. Before Donal got home, Catherine went out to mow the lawn (she makes the most perfect lines) while Joshua talked to his mom and his grandpa on Skype. I finished my next book, The Lost Recipe for Happiness, and when Catherine finished with the lawn, she fixed us tea and snacks to tide us over until Donal got home.
Although the weather had been a bit gloomy all day, the weak light filtered into the living room where we sat, reading and drinking tea. It was perfectly cozy, and with Catherine and Donal, the most friendly and generous hosts, we felt at home away from home.
August 10, 2010
After a breakfast of fruit and tea, Catherine, Joshua, and I left for a day in Liverpool. Historically, the city has experienced many economic ups and downs, but more recently, the gritty city was a capital of culture. As a result, Liverpool has really experienced a revival, and there are a series of new restaurants, shops, hotels, and cultural centers that are very lively. Whereas the city never used to attract tourists, it's now pretty typical to hear dozens of languages and hundreds of Beatles fans on pilgrimage.
To start our tour of the old port city, we went to the Tate to see the Picasso exhibition. Although I've always been a bit dubious about art museums, I'm starting to really, really like them. Whereas I always used to find them stuffy and highbrow, the museums that I've been to more recently have made a huge effort to attract a broader audience and engage in community education. I prefer advant garde exhibits and displays, and while Picasso's exhibit wasn't terribly edgy, it was very interesting, and the curators had set his work against a backdrop of his political activism and pacifism. It was a new angle, and it shed a lot of light on his body of work. Picasso was one of those rare artists who experienced a great deal of recognition and success while he was alive, and he leveraged this fame to promote his political philosophies.
After a quick glance at a few other exhibits, we walked up to one of the new restaurants at Level One. Selecting the Red Hot World Buffet, we treated ourselves to a self-serve line of every dish imaginable. I selected a rare combo of beet root salad, Thai green vegetable curry, pasta salad, and dhal. Catherine and Joshua's plates were similar fusions of East, West, South, and North cuisines, and when we had finished our first plates, we went up for more. The room was decorated in black fur, sparkly wall paper, red walls, and silver light fixtures, and the whole experience was a lot of fun. For dessert, we chose from six different cheese cakes, gelatto, mousse, fruit, and cakes, and Joshua admirably restrained himself from sampling every single thing.
After lunch, we walked back through the old port and along the river to see the three graces, three buildings central to Liverpuddlian history. Liverpool used to be a slave port, and it formed one of the corners of the slave triangle from Africa to the U.S. to England. As a result, the city used to be a huge center of economic wealth and commerce, and after slavery was outlawed, it began its economic decline.
To complete our tour of the city, we took a duck boat tour. Driving through the streets, we saw sights made famous by John, Paul, George, and Ringo, as well as the fifth largest cathedral, China Town, and again, the three graces. At the port, we threw up our arms and plunged into the canal, and from there, we toured the port by water. With a thick Liverpuddlian accent, the guide told drool jokes and gave us a brief history of each site, and we enjoyed our inventive tour of the city.
Around six, we decided to call it a day, and we drove back to the White House in St. Helen's. Donal had already made it back from work, and Catherine fixed a meal of fish and vegetables. For the evening, we sat, eating and talking, and I think the four of us really enjoyed each other's company. Conversation moved from travels to family to politics, and we found each other laughing a lot of the time. Moving into the living room, we finished the evening with a cup of tea, and Joshua and I, weary from a full day, turned in around 11.
August 9, 2010
We woke up late in Delamere, and instead of packing everything away immediately, we sat and read for a little while. After a breakfast of flapjacks and yogurt (in the past twelve hours, Joshua's had 28 flapjacks which is no small feat), we filled up our water bottles and hopped back on the road.
Yesterday, Joshua purchased a Road Atlas, and while he ate dinner, he ripped out the pages that we would need for the rest of our journey and diligently planned the next leg of our journey. Determined to stay found (and not lost), we headed off in the direction of the roads that had confounded us the night before. Luckily, we were able to navigate better on a belly full of flapjacks and a night's full rest, and we found our way back onto the E2E cycle route. For the first fifteen miles, the journey was very pretty and we worked our way through the rolling hills near Northwich. At one point, we ran into a friendly gentleman on his bike, and he stopped to ask us from where we were coming and where we were going. He asked us if everyone we had met had been friendly, and we confessed that although people had warned us about various regions and their unfriendliness, we hadn't found these regional stereotypes to be true. Pretty much everyone has been very friendly.
The next 15 miles around Warrington were a bit more urban, and in Culcheth, we stopped for a quick lunch in the park. I've resolved to become a vegetarian (for real, this time), and when Joshua came out with sliced ham, I jokingly refused to carry it. Joshua picked up my little bag of nuts and read off its various origins - Italy, Brazil, Bolivia, and Moldova - and rightfully put me in my place. The irony, of course, is that it's Joshua's books and his summaries of them that have convinced me that I can no longer eat meat; he continues to stuff his face with the sad flesh of once creatures. (To be fair, I'm specist. I've decided that I will eat fish because I'm pretty sure I could catch and kill my own fish. When I look at the sheep and cows that we cycle by, I know that there is no way I could ever hurt any of them.). I also have to admit that I'm a little sad to leave my Omnivorous diet behind: I hate looking through a menu and knowing that a whole sections are closed to me, and I dislike imposing my vegetarianism on hosts. Bacon, in particular, has a smell like a siren's call, and there are so many meals starring meat that I love. In the end though, I can't eat animals that I know have personalities and feelings of their own, especially when the vast proportions of the them have been treated to abominably during their lifetimes before their slaughter. I know this is a sensitive subject, and I don't intend to proselytize, but I thought I'd explain why. There are other reasons: the vast amount of resources needed to raise meat, the environmental repercussions, and the health and quality of industrially produced meat, etc., but really, I'm an animal lover. I love my cat and my dog, and really, other species that we've traditionally kept as livestock are just as deserving of that love. I think some people are very respectful in the way that they keep and then eventually kill and eat livestock, but I can't get over that word: kill. It's fact, and as long as it makes me uncomfortable, I don't think I should be eating it. So don't worry. Although I may tease Josh, I can promise I won't tease the rest of you for your food decisions. I do think it's important to educate ourselves on the origins and systems that produce our food, but please stop me if I ever get too self-righteous :)
The last 10 miles from Culcheth were also pretty busy, and just outside of St. Helen's, we called Catherine and Donal's for directions. A little boy approached us, and after pausing to decipher his thick Northern accent, we figured he wanted to use our bike pump. While Joshua helped him pump up his tire, I tried to work out the payphone, and after a couple of tries we got through. Catherine's bright and cheery voice came in on the other line, and we promised we would be there within the half hour.
A half mile later, Joshua got a flat, and feeling very grumpy, we sat on the side of the road to change the tire. Finally, after pedaling through the busy streets of St. Helen's (and nearly getting run over on a round about), we found Walton Road and turned into the White House (the name of Catherine and Donal's home). On the covered porch, a life-size cardboard cut out of Barack Obama had a printed sign that read: Welcome to the White House Ellie and Josh.
As you can tell, Catherine and Donal have a great sense of humor, and when Catherine opened the door, we were still laughing. It was so good to see our close family friend, and after stowing our bikes and a couple quick showers, we caught up over a table loaded with snacks and tea. Catherine tells a story about coming home to her Irish mother and hearing immediately, unfailingly, upon entry, "child! You look like skin and bones. You look like you've never been fed a proper meal!" Catherine shakes her head, laughing, but truthfully, she does the same thing. When I offered to help clean up after our snacks, she shooed us off into the dining room and admitted, "You know, I'm not a very good team player in the kitchen."
When Donal came home from work, there were more happy greetings, and we spent our first night sitting around the table, eating fish and vegetables, and talking until late. The two of them are probably the happiest, most optimistic couple I have ever met in my life, and it's so much fun to sit around the table and talk and laugh with them. Catherine has this outrageous laugh, and you can't help but find everything just as hilarious as she does. Donal, of course, has an unexpected, deadpan humor, and he keeps all of us smiling. When I asked Catherine what gave them so much optimism, she said she had learned it from her dad, and as far as their relationship was concerned, they just never took each other for granted. "Do you know," she said, "I'm just always quite happy to see that he's arrived home." She stops to laugh, "I tell him, 'you know, I think I might keep you!'"
Beyond a sunny disposition, Catherine is the headmistress of a very large high school and she has been for over 20 years. I mention this, because you'll never find anyone better suited to leading an educational institution in your whole life. Catherine is the hardest worker, and the beautiful part is that she loves it. She loves the kids and her staff, and she loves in education. One of Catherine and Donal's most oft used words is 'sensible,' and the reason is because they are, and they really believe in teaching others to be sensible. It's not complex or confusing; it's just giving children the tools to make good decisions and ascertain the difference between right and wrong. In some ways, it should be so easy, but so few people do it well. Do you remember when I said that I need to apprentice with Ruth? I think I need to apprentice with Catherine and Donal as well :)
Thank you so much to Catherine and Donal for a lovely stay. You were wonderful hosts, and we so much enjoyed your company!
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