To begin, begin. (Wordsworth)
The Dad was bested by The Old Man this morning. He got up around 5am to tackle the fell (mountain) -- in running shorts and a t-shirt. I wasn't there, so he might have brought along a sweatshirt as an afterthought, but the point being, he wasn't prepared for it to suddenly start snowing before he reached the summit. I could tell that it broke his heart to do it, but he did decide to turn around and come home once the conditions didn't seem safe. He said that our conversation at dinner last night came into his mind and helped him make the decision. That conversation had been about hiking Cat Bells as a family on Friday. The kids were going back and forth regarding whether or not they want to do it (and I was going back and forth regarding whether or not it seemed prudent). I struck me that in our efforts to teach them to be "finishers" we perhaps are curbing their desires to be "starters." And so I said something that followed our family motto of Timshel (you can always choose) -- we can start it, and if at any time it doesn't seem like the right thing we can choose to turn around -- it's as easy as that. Everybody seemed comfortable with that idea, and being comfortable with our choices is, I think, a key part of being happy. The Dad said that after he decided to head back home he felt strongly that he had made the right choice (even though he was disappointed). Every once in a while it's interesting to consider the very different paths our lives follow based on very slight decisions.
After our breakfast of toffee pound cake that we found at Costco, we were ready to start exploring. Down here it was not snowing -- it just rained off and on through the day with the occasional quick burst of hail.
We drove past the very pretty Yew Tree Farm. It had been owned by Beatrix Potter at one point, and was selected to be Hill Top in the movie, Miss Potter. The way the farm is tucked in between hills does create a lovely picture.
I mentioned yesterday that the Lake District is known for three different sweets. We tried the toffee pudding, and loved it, and today we tried the second of the three -- gingerbread from Sara Nelson's. For this you go to the sweet village of Grasmere. If you want. As it turns out, I thought the packaging was far more impressive than the gingerbread. It's not that it's not nice -- it is -- it's kind of a shortbread biscuit that tastes like gingerbread. It's flat and crumbly on the outside with a bit of chewy gingerbreadyness on the inside. Apparently the original 150-year old recipe is kept in a bank vault. That said, I'm glad that there wasn't the long queue that the guidebook said to be prepared for, as we were kind of all: ehhh. The kids didn't even finish theirs. As an impulse buy, we also came away with a "butter tablet" which is just butter and sugar. It really is like eating a sugar cube (with butter). The kids liked that a bit better.
Okay, there is another, perhaps loftier reason to visit Grasmere -- it was the home of Wordsworth. The Dad and I toured Dove Cottage the last time that we were in the area, but this time we opted to only see his grave and the church where he worshipped. The shop where the gingerbread is sold was actually the village school where Wordsworth, and his wife, and his sister all taught. They were strong believers that education was the way out of poverty.
After leaving the church some unplanned little loveliness fell into our laps. A charity was doing an estate/antique sale that we nipped into. It was the most organized sale like that I've ever seen -- so many pretty things. We ended up with an art deco silver dessert set (tiny forks and knives), The Boy got a 1944 Junior Red Cross Proficiency Badge, and The Girl got a tiny mother of pearl salt spoon that she has some sort of animal plans for.
Grasmere is home to a well-known Cumbria story teller, Taffy Thomas. There is even a little story-teller's garden across from the gingerbread shop where events are held. Unfortunately, nothing was going on on this rainy May school day, but we were able to buy his book, and having already read a couple of the legends we not only have been entertained, but it has given some depth to our Lake District experience (i.e. when we were at Aira Force there was a reference to ill-fated lovers that we didn't understand... but now we know the story of Emma and Sir Eglamore... and consequently better understand Wordsworth's poem "The Somnambulist" -- which I learned means: the sleepwalker... this kind of "Oh! Then..." is the awesome way to learn).
But Grasmere just kept on giving... For some reason the term: "mooning" came up on this trip... and understandably, they are intrigued. Imagine their glee when The Dad was trying to turn around in a random little dead-end street and this guy was spotted:
I felt awesome getting out of the car to take the picture.
After a lunch of Costco chips and salsa in the car (if you're going to spend money on estate-sale dessert forks, you have to give elsewhere), we visited Blackwell.
Blackwell. The Dad kept asking if we wanted to go, and I was like: sure, whatever, and I could tell he was miffed at my neutrality, but I couldn't figure out why. I figured out why. I had forgotten that we had toured it once before, and the two of us had declared it our most favorite house ever. And I had forgotten! It really is the most beautiful house in the most beautiful setting. While eating our fancy lunch The Dad read some information about the house to the children -- the idea of bringing together the arts and crafts ideals: it should be simple, natural, and light. We talked about how Ruskin and William Morris were saddened by the loss of individuality and quality brought on by the Industrial Revolution, and so determined to do what they could to champion the arts and crafts. It made me feel validated in my concerns -- namely, that we are in a technological revolution that is killing the human spirit by encouraging lives of diminished interaction and sensory/tactile experiences.
When we entered the gorgeous white living room I thought: my kids will know what beauty is; they have seen it. It doesn't seem very profound as I write it (believe me, so many of my grand thoughts aren't amounting to much on this blog -- my brain is too soupy by the time I write late at night), but when the thought came to me (my kids will know what beauty is: they have seen it) it filled me with great optimism.
I will now post way too many pictures in an attempt to document the house that I never want to forget again.
People often ask us how it is that our kids can endure so many house tours and museums. The truth is that very often now they aren't enduring them, but are enjoying them. The magic of Blackwell was strong within our offspring. They wandered the house together deciding what room would be whose, and where the pet sheep could live. They had so much fun, and kept telling us "one minute" when we signaled that it was probably time to move on. They especially loved going up into the little loft. From where we stood below we could see them moving around and pointing to where furniture/cages/chicken coops could go.
You would think that we would have been Beatrix Pottered out. However, when the question was put to the kids, the answer was that we should indeed check out the The World of Beatrix Potter Attraction in Bowness-on-Windermere. The Dad and I ate at the cafe there once upon a time (for reasons neither of us can remember), but I guess figured we would wait for the moppets before going through the little models. It was actually very cute, and I learned even more about Beatrix Potter. For example, being from a wealthy family, and being a girl, she was homeschooled. When asked about this later in life she said that she was glad for it, for she feared that school would have "rubbed away some of [her] originality." I was reminded that creating children's books wasn't her goal. She wanted to be a botany illustrator, but she sent some of her work to Kew Gardens -- and was denied. It was after writing a picture letter to a sick little boy (a past governess's son), that the idea came... and she turned that letter into a tale about a naughty bunny. I love that her life took that unexpected turn. I love that the unexpected turn came after using the fulness of her talents to do a sweet little service for somebody. We must keep on being our best selves -- fulfilling our potential while sharing our talents with others --and good things will happen. IF she hadn't had a governess, then she wouldn't have written that letter, then would we have had Peter Rabbit? Would the Lake District be so preserved? Again... the paths we take...
Two last things about BP: in 1930 she was the first woman president of the Herdwick Sheep Breeders Association (cool), AND she walked one of her pet rabbits on a leather lead (very cool).
Aside from learning about Miss Potter, we also learned a bit about gardening. Outside in the garden area there are fun little tips (i.e. leaving out hollow bamboo tubes for the ladybugs to live in during the winter). Also, there was a "Save the Radish" sign that said: "One of the most intriguing vegetables being grown in the garden is the Long Scarlet Radish, which Peter Rabbit is seen holding in one of the most famous images from the tales, (it's not a carrot, as people often think). To preserve this old variety, The World of Beatrix Potter Attraction has formerly adopted a the Long Scarlet Radish as part of the Heritage Seed Library project run by Garden Organic. The work undertaken as part of this programme aims to conserve vegetble varieties that have been dropped from popular seed catalogues over the decades, and make them available to growers, thereby preserving our gardening heritage." That's good stuff. We are surely better than we were for knowing this.
The kids and The Dad had a 4pm appointment at Brockhole to do a Treetop Trek. At first it was going to be a whole-family thing, but The Sister is fighting a bit of a cold and we thought that her being outside doing something strenuous when it was right chilly (and would potentially be raining) wasn't the best idea. Fine by me -- heights and/or watching my kids high off the ground is not my cup of tea. So they went -- and The Dad reports that he was shocked at their agility. It is an obstacle course quite high in the trees. You have a harness and rope attached to you at all times, and if you fall it is activated like a zip cord to the next tree's platform. We are all impressed that neither kid fell, even though some of the obstacles were quite difficult.
While they were walking among the trees, The Sister and I wandered the cute village of Ambleside. We are going to play a trick on the kids tonight. One of the bedrooms has twin beds that are right under a big window. When we arrived there were some rolly-pollies on the beds (came in from the window?), and consequently nobody has wanted to sleep in the bug beds. Tonight it's The Sister's and my turn, and all evening we've been like: "It's fine. We're going to have a good attitude about it." Totally all smug like. Today at one of the shops we bought these really pretty shellacked shells for a couple of pounds and we're going to pretend in the morning that they were left for us -- that those are in fact magic beds -- for those who don't complain. So, as we were wandering the shops today we would hold up items and ask, "Is this magic?" Some of the options were funny. We had a fun time together. I understand why the suggestion is given to do one-on-one activities with your kids -- I definitely get to bond more when there aren't other voices to distract. While shopping per se isn't really a big priority for me on trips (though I do like to find treasures), getting to spend time alone with The Sister is.
Unfortunately, the timing wasn't perfect. Shops around here all close up at 5pm. I say, bully for them! I like the idea of everybody getting home in time for dinner... except that does leave the pathetic Americans sitting on the wet bench in the chill waiting for their ride... for an hour. So much for protecting The Sickly Sister from the elements. But it all worked out, and we were reunited, saw the cool bridge with the little dwelling on top, and had a nice dinner at The Priest Hole restaurant (were an Irish couple at the table next to us asked us how Americans find out about the Lake District...??? I guess they figure that if there isn't a Real Housewives of the Lake District it must still be an unknown to most of us...).
Of course that couldn't be the end of it. The Dad really wanted one last stop. We all groaned. We agreed to drive to it and decide then whether or not we were too tired and/or too cold to get out of the car. To Tarn Hows. It is one of the most visited places in the entire Lake District... and yet, tonight it was all ours. We were good sports and all piled out and walked a little ways. On our way back to the car we saw four goslings, with their folks. The drive back was beautiful.
I'm off now to my bug bed... but I'm going to have a good attitude about it.
