The Long and Winding Road

Day One begins without sleep from the long haul east across the mighty Atlantic into the rainy Midlands and onto unfamiliar roads going in unfamiliar directions. We are challenged, not too tired to be somewhat frightened by the strangeness of these English roads. Yet the Sun finally shines on the hills and dales of Wales where the English Language is partnered by the Gaelic and the strangely familiar is seasoned with a kind of pleasant antiquity.

We settle in, exhausted, out in the friendly town and farmlands of Denbigh, rolling hills and the calls of the Welch ponies in their paddocks. The Sun, the gentile breeze, and finally some rest.

Day Seven closes with a blue/gray blanket of cloud spread out above the verdant hills and dales of the Lake District, from Armathwaite in the Eden Valley, a well-named vast landscape of farm fields portioned off by ancient hand-laid stone walls (a product of the wealthy landowners Enclosure Acts). Those walled off pastures scattered across the landscape are inhabited by cows and sheep, but most are open to the sky like deep green skin bordered by old oaks and their relations and an occasional copse of woods spared from the saw. Though far too much of this land has been deforested over the centuries some reforestation is taking place, probably not enough.

We are beginning to lose count of how many castles or castle ruins we have visited but all of them remind us not only of that certain haunting romance of bygone days but also of the centuries of warfare, conflict and oppression this land was made to witness; more than two thousand years of bloodshed, turf wars actually. And yet now it feels so peaceful. Surely my people and others from past times had such peace.

We visited standing stones above Keswick and I had hoped to feel some sort of awe or connectedness but all among the stones there stood more tourists like ourselves and I felt nothing really. The surrounding hills and mountains however exerted their power of place inherent in the Earth; this was no doubt what brought these stones here and those that bore them. If one was to enter this stone circle alone I'm certan the experience would be far more eventful.

The people here a more friendly than those in the States, more open to strangers such as ourselves. Perhaps they have had more practice with civility given they've been at it much longer than us Yanks. I wonder if they are as friendly to each other as they are to us?

Day Unknown begins with blue skies and wisps of clouds above the hills and dales of Northern England. A slight breeze ruffles the sedge and plantings by the glass sunporch while off in the distance all seems tranquil among the grazing cows and sheep, even passing flocks of birds appear to luxuriate in their flight. Perhaps I have been visited by the spirit of William Wordsworth whose home we passed by in Grasmere a few days back. I seem to be writing in a similar vein and, of course, are we not effected by our natural surroundings? At least some of us. “Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.”

Day Eighteen leaves so much unsaid (except for messages sent to sons and daughter, some of whom, sadly, failed to recognize our 50th anniversary). As we are now 40,000 feet over the Atlantic traveling at 530 miles per hour headed toward home, all the castles, towns (mostly built centuries ago) and teashops are now just pleasant memories. The visual and perspective difference from England and New England is markedly present for it is Old England, not a conglomeration of lifeless utilitarian structures without permanence of much beauty as in much of New England. Having said that, Old England's old roads are unsettling, besides their attractiveness they are a real challenge to one's peace of mind. Most are impossibly narrow and winding (something that appears appealing to the eye) with few places to pull over and slow one's heart rate. Many British drivers speed along these narrow roads, some in giant trucks, and pass within inches of us; that and the unfamiliarity of driving on the left side of the road from a driver's seat on the right side of the car make for a good deal of discomfort. Add to that GPS droids (called "sats" in the UK) that seem to lose all sense of direction in cities or decide to take us on tours of highlands history seems to have forgotten. The sights on most of those seemingly unpopulated roads are awe inspiring in spite of the disturbing feeling of being lost to most of the world......but isn't that what a vacation is meant to be?