the lake district

We spent two days in the Lake District during my trip to England.  The first day we went hiking near the little town of Buttermere.  We followed the advice of the guy manning the parking lot who said we should walk around Lake Buttermere since the hills were draped in fog and perhaps rain.  We walked to the town and then found a lake, but the longer we walked the larger it seemed.  We finally met with another hiker who told us that it was Crummock Water.  Who knew there were two lakes!  We promptly abandoned the goal of walking around the lake and hiked up a hill instead. 

 I wanted to see the blue lakes reflecting the hills like in the photos I had seen.  Instead we got clouds, cold wind and rain that threatened us, spit at us, blew past us over the hill across the lake, but never actually drenched us.  Moody weather is what we got.  We pulled our hats down over our ears and tightened our scarves and hiked through it.  And it was marvelous.  Waves whipped up across the lake and challenged some intrepid kayakers.  We found that the British people and their sturdy dogs did not let weather keep them at home. 

We finished the day at a high plateau with an ancient stone circle created in 6,000 BC.  The stones were rough; they made me think of the remains of a mamoth skeleton sinking into the earth.  But they were arranged precisely in a circle and in tune with the heavens.  We lingered there hoping for a sunset behind the hills.  As I walked around I pondered the age of this circle put in place during the time of my hero, Abraham.  The clouds remained.  

On our second day we visited Dove Cottage, William Wordsworth's house.  You duck your head to enter the warm cozy living room and then wait a few minutes for your eyes to adjust to the low light of a fireplace and candles.  There was a portrait of the family dog, a border terrier, just like the ones we saw the night before in a pub in Keswick.  It was a charming little house.


As we hiked and drove through the Lake District I thought about the contrast with the American West.  We had hiked in the Rocky Mountains where the scope of the landscape is breathtaking.  I almost feel like an alien as I walked panting in the thin air up to the tree line.  I was clearly a visitor in such a place.  Wildlife was plentiful: moose, elk, coyotes--this was their home.  It was wilderness.

The Lake District by contrast melds the beauty of landscape with the softening touch of domestication.  Like a good marriage they go hand in hand over the years deepening their bond until it only seems natural for rock walls and foot paths to stitch across the hills.  Sheep with spray paint tatoos nestle at home in the bracken with amazing views of the lakes below.  Inhabited and visited for generations.  Poets have done the work here of absorbing and translating for us the voice of this place in every season. 

Is it a poetic place because their words sound in our heads or did the poets come here because it is a poetic place- a good spot to mine verse.

two new paintings

"Red Barn", 20x20 oil

Skagit Valley Barn 7, 24x36 oil

skagit valley flower fields

Just finished:

                                                                   22x28" oil
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a day in York

 My daughter lives within a short train ride of the small medieval city of York, so that was one of our first excursions.  I read up on York before my trip.  It was originally a Roman fort city, then conquered by the Vikings and finally the Normans.    There is plenty of evidence of the Roman presence in the walls and towers.  Sarcophagi were unearthed below the train station recently and moved to the museum grounds.  This tower is Roman half way up- it's stones are smaller and rounder.  The smooth, upper part with windows for archers is Norman.  Sadly the Vikings built with wood so very little remains from their reign in northern England. 

 

The Normans built the York Minster Cathedral.  We wandered through the narrow streets on our way to see it.  It towers over the city but the city crowds closely around it.  

This was my first experience seeing a European Cathedral and I was smitten.   There is rarely such a sense of the human hand on such a large building.  I kept thinking of sand castles.  It towers over the city in its own ethereal atmosphere.  I caught a glimpse of it on our second visit to the city in the evening just as the daylight was almost gone.  Its towers were just a little lighter blue than the sky.  Minutes later they had disappeared into the dark.  In the sunlight earlier in the day they were honey colored with distinct shadows in all the crevices around the statuary. 

I had never really thought about the possibility of cathedrals falling or that one day they would be gone.  It turns out many of the towers have collapsed.  York Minster has had major renovations recently to strengthen the underground support for its tower.  Not like pyramids which were built to last forever with the most stable design possible, the cathedrals were built to soar, hoisting stone as high as possible and walling with glass.  They are built in harm's way.  

part two

The next day we headed down the steep cobblestone street and out of town.  Our destination, a little town in the Dales named Muker.  Driving over little stone bridges and past hillsides covered with sheep brought back memories when I was growing up of reading about James Herriot, the vet who practiced here in the 1920's.  Muker consisted of a handful of gray stone buildings.  Like the gray stone walls that crisscrossed the hills they gave the landscape a somber mood matched by some foreboding clouds.   The weather had changed... as usual.  

We stopped in a wool store and fingered some beautiful sweaters before setting off on our five or six mile hike to reach an even smaller village, Keld.  The shopkeeper directed us to walk up the hill through the village, then across the fields to the trail along the river.

It feels strange to us to walk through private land.  The cows and sheep stare at us with concern but throughout England trails crisscross pasture land.  Handy little turnstiles of all sorts help us traverse stone walls and fences.  Of course at this point I imagine I have long skirts and I'm a Jane Austen heroine walking over to visit a neighbor. 

It rained but it was wild and wonderful and we made it there and back!

This shows the elevation of the hills we were walking past.  They call waterfalls "force".  Seems like an appropriate name for them.

adventures part one

Last October I flew out to visit my daughter and her husband in their new home in Yorkshire, England for a couple weeks.  Amy and I decided to take a little trip on our own.  Peter took me out to practice driving several times in preparation for our expedition.  It was really challenging because it has been years since I've driven stick shift and you have to shift on the left, naturally since you are sitting on the right.  And driving on the left.  Oh my!  Did I mention roundabouts?  And one lane roads with two way traffic?  

We set off on a rare sunny day with reservations for a guesthouse in Richmond on the edge of the Dales.  We made a stop at a wildlife refuge to do a little birding.  There were large shallow ponds that attracted flocks of the prized lapwings mingling with golden plovers.   The lapwing is an elegant bird, with a feather on his head, white and black tuxedo tucked under his wing- only visible in flight.  When they all startle up a flock of lapwing is a striking sight.  

We walked along the edge of ponds near a quarry, through pastures of sheep, edged with bushes loaded with berries shining in the sunlight.  We were not accustomed to how cheerful the landscape looks on a sunny day.  Walking through a little woods we noticed slender little birds with long tails.  Their chests were a soft cinnamon color, their backs bluish gray.  It was the only place we saw long tailed tits.  We ate our lunch on a picnic table then set out for Richmond.  

I had done well so far driving but was feeling anxious about the small, unfamiliar hill town.  Hills and stick shifts...  All went well until we tried to find a parking space for our guesthouse.   The narrow cobblestone lane with parking spaces all filled led up a steep hill, up and around the corner  where we came to a wall.  There was nothing to do but attempt a three point turn on a hill.  It was scary but I did it!  

Our room was cozy- heavy wooden beams, a window seat, micro bathroom, a tray under a chair to put hiking boots on.  This was a resting place for people walking the coast to coast trail.  The row of houses were built in the 1700's- it was a Georgian town, but the owner said the house had originally been built in 1400.  Our host gave us a flask of milk for our tea and homemade fudge- balm to our jangled nerves.  We caught our breath and then set out to explore Richmond in the little bit of daylight left.  

We walked up to the Norman castle that dominated the town, built in 1,000 to conquer and control the rebellious region.  From gray stone towers we looked down on the town directly below, a ring of market buildings and church.  They looked like toy blocks.  From the walls to the south we had a view of the Swale River below and the rolling hills.  We wandered around the grounds, found a little chapel in the stone wall, a hidden garden outside the wall.  When the light was gone we headed back down to the town to look for dinner.  

a poem

I have a pulled muscle in my leg.

It’s a gentle sort of word,

pulled, like taffy, almost French.

It’s not like a kidney stone or a cataract,

or tennis elbow.

Rest is best

and ice.

No need to call the doctor

for a pulled muscle.  

Yorkshire, England