The Cairngorms: August 21, 2011

I don’t think my meager writing skills are enough to adequately describe the amazing experience we had today at Cairngorm National Park in the highlands of Scotland. I still want to attempt to share it though because I think it’s something that should be added to every person’s “bucket list,” that is, things to do/see before you die (or kick the bucket).

We drove this morning from Fort Augustus to Aviemore, the northern most town and ski village of Cairngorm National Park. From there we continued on another ten or fifteen minutes until we reached the area surrounding Loch Murlick. A loch is a lake and in Scotland especially, they are incredibly beautiful. Many are situated in glens (valleys) between hills and mountains surrounded by towering pine trees. Not unlike the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Only much less populated. 

We found our destination next to the visitor’s centre. The Cairngorm Reindeer Centre. 

A reindeer centre for me tends to bring to mind some of the kitschy places around the Christmas season. “Pay two dollars and see a live reindeer” kind of thing. Like a curiosity act, you see a reindeer dressed to the nines like he just took a flight with Santa Claus, decorated in brightly polished brass and red and green harnesses. You walk away feeling a bit sad for the poor animal. 

Let me assure you I am not writing about the amazing live reindeer we saw... Well, okay, I AM actually writing about the amazing live reindeer we saw but not quite the way you may think. Just stay with me.

If you are also thinking we were just doing this to entertain our kids while on holiday, you’re right. We’ve found that planning in visits to see little furry creatures along with the historical sites goes a long way in keeping our children happy. Especially when they spend hours each day in the minivan listening to their mother exclaim over the historical significance of a certain plot of land (“Kids, this is the exact spot where Bonny Prince Charlie raised his standard in 1745! Isn’t that amazing?!”) or the gorgeousness of the landscape, (“Isn’t this the most beautiful tree?”). They tend to get a bit less glassy-eyed when they know they will get to pet a warm, fuzzy mammal at some point on the trip. 

Once we reached the centre, a guide had us drive up the mountain until we came to a car park next to a trailhead. We hopped out and put on our Wellies before heading up the trail. We were part of a group of around twenty other people. We followed a narrow trail up one incline and then down another until we came to a gorge with a waterfall rushing down to a river. We followed the path across a bridge taking in scenery that looked almost too beautiful to be real. 

We went up another incline and continued for another ten minutes or so until we reached a tall wooden gate. It was here our guide gave us our “rules.” The strongest rule being not to touch the reindeer’s antlers as they were extremely sensitive. 

He opened the gate and we all filed through into a large, sloping field dotted with purple heather, tall grass, rocks, boggy mud, and a herd of huge reindeer that seemed to be waiting just for us to arrive. The kids started giggling. Then the adults. We didn’t know whether to be nervous or excited that there was nothing between these large animals and ourselves other than a few feet of air. No stalls, restraints or fences. We were walking in the middle of the Cairngorm mountains with a herd of reindeer. It was incredible.

A wooden plank trail guided us through the field up to a higher ridge. Some reindeer followed along beside us, while cheekier ones just nudged us aside and walked on the narrow trail in front of or behind us. It’s a bit disconcerting to find yourself bopped from behind to allow an enormous, albeit graceful animal to walk on past. 

Once we had made it to a higher position, our guide distributed a grainy mixture for us to feed to the herd. It seemed to be mainly oats but with a few other seeds and grains included. This was the key moment the reindeer must have been waiting for because suddenly we were surrounded. There was no polite nudging but just self-confident heads and muzzles seeking out our hands and pockets, ready to nibble whatever we had ready to give them.  With the onslaught of so many friendly (and can I say it again? enormous) reindeer at once, it was at first a bit overwhelming. I had to duck several times to avoid being clocked by the tall, branching antlers that can sometimes grow to be nearly as big as the reindeer. After the initial excitement and a few handfuls of oats, they seemed to settle down. The reindeer were quite willing then to allow us to pet them as much as we wanted. 

There were males and females, young and old. Their antlers were covered in a velvety fur. Their thin legs made little clicking noises as they walked amongst us, apparently an evolutionary addition which allows them to graze while still keeping track of the rest of the herd. The noise is also supposed to disorientate any predators that might strike the herd. My husband then said his joints have begun popping and clicking now that he’s getting older so it must also be a new evolutionary trait to help him disorientate predators. (Hmmm...)

 Our group spread out on the mountain. When we (and the reindeer) had had our fill of the feeding, we just stood and surveyed the surroundings. The guide told us that the reindeer have over a thousand acres to roam freely. This encompasses much of what we could and couldn’t see, including a loch and a mountain. The day was lovely and we were given as much time as we wanted to spend with the herd on the hillside. There was a gentle breeze of cool air that made us glad we’d worn our fleece jackets. We even had a few minutes of rain that quickly passed. Even in August, Scotland can still be quite chilly so I would guess it’s an ideal habitat for a reindeer. 

After nearly two hours, we left the herd and walked back along the trail toward the main gate. Several reindeer chose to follow us and politely see us out. Even after being among them, it was still disconcerting to look over my shoulder and see one right behind me looking at me as if to say, “hurry up!” 

It was a slower group that returned back to the trailhead. I think we were all a bit introspective and awed with the experience. My children found feeding the reindeer to be thrilling but were easily as excited when a flock of ducks waddled their way up the hill hoping for leftovers of the reindeer food. Like I said, it’s all about the animals... But we were surprised and elated that it turned out to be such an adventure for us too. 

The English Tradition of Tea

One of my favourite things about living in England is having a really great cup of tea. It’s calming, warm and lovely when shared with a friend at the kitchen table after the kids have all gone off to school.


Before moving to the UK, I held some fairly old-fashioned beliefs on what I thought having tea would be like here. First, I believed tea would be a daily event that involved pretty dresses and lace doilies. I thought the tea, heated from water boiled in a copper kettle on an ancient stove, would be served in a fragile, floral teapot with equally dainty teacups and saucers. Petite, crustless sandwiches made of cucumber, egg salad or cheese would be offered along with biscuits and cookies. To sum it up, I thought it would be just the way I imagined it from reading about life during Victorian times. (I'm hopeless, I know).


As much as I like to picture England as it was nearly two hundred years ago, life has evolved here right along with the rest of the world. While you can find tea rooms and hotels that still offer an afternoon high tea, the British tradition of having tea is quite a bit less formal. Even so, it’s still a wonderful part of life here and there are those who are extremely staunch on the requirements of when and how to make a good cup.


“How do you like to make a cup of tea?"


A simple question (or so I thought) I asked my neighbors recently during an evening garden party in our village. I received no less than ten different answers, including a detailed chart on what kind of tea you can drink at specific times of day, and how it must be made. According to one English friend, the only united answers among the British regarding tea are:


Boiling water is essential.
Never hot or warm water.
Never use hot milk.
Never use instant tea.
The rest of Europe (and America, as I understand it) do not know how to make tea.


First, it's fine to use a mug. I've been told that real china is preferred as it makes the tea taste better and warms more efficiently without taking too much heat from the tea.

If using a teapot, there is a crucial first step. The pot must be warmed first with a small amount of hot water. Then the boiling water and tea may be added. A rule of thumb is one scoop of tea leaves (or a tea bag) per person and end with one for the pot. Cute tea cozies, which look like a knitted hat, slide over the pot to keep it warm in between refills.


Water is obviously an essential ingredient. Many here will use tap water but they say it can detract from the taste of the tea. It is better to use filtered water which gives the tea a smoother taste and color. Brits, at least the ones I know, do not use the old method of a kettle on the stove. The modern method is heating water with the use of an electric kettle. I had never seen one of these before but I know now that they are sold in the States. I saw one recently at Williams-Sonoma. Anyway, these are brilliantly efficient and quick.

However you heat your water, the key to making a good cup of English tea is that you must use boiling water. Apparently, the temperature greatly affects the flavour of the tea.
You also mustn’t let the tea bag/leaves steep for long. Personally, I think 1-2 minutes is perfect. Any longer and you end up with an extremely strong, thick tea.


The Great Milk Debate


Do you add milk first before you pour in the boiling water or after you remove the tea bag? Do you use whole milk or semi-skimmed? Do you add a little or more than a little?


One neighbor says, “If I make tea in a mug then the milk goes in after the water and definitely after the tea bag has come out BUT if I make tea in a pot, then the milk has to go in the cup before the tea. Also, if I make tea in a pot, it has to be drunk out of a cup, not a mug.”


Several of our English friends agreed that if you add the milk first before the water it allows the milk to slowly warm instead of being scalded when poured in last. I’ve tried it both ways but can’t really tell a difference. I think it’s safe to say just add the milk if you want it, whenever you feel so inclined.


Finally, you can add sugar, although it’s completely optional.


One of our neighbors says, “Americans are brilliant at brewing coffee but rubbish at making tea.” He says that we usually make the mistake of adding too much milk, when only a splash is needed. (Another example of the milk debate).


Types of tea


When deciding on tea, the options are endless. Most of the time, I am offered a choice of Earl Grey or regular tea. Regular doesn’t have the distinct strong flavor of Earl Grey. I tend to go with a regular brand called PG Tips. Other regular brands include Yorkshire and Tetley. Twinings is a reputable brand for the flavored teas. Again, this is just a tiny tip of the tea iceberg with literally hundreds of options.

My favorite treat...A cream tea.


A cream tea is a pot of tea served with scones, jam, butter and clotted cream. You can order one at coffee houses and cafes. There are two kinds of traditional cream teas...The Devonshire cream tea and the Cornish cream teat.


A Devonshire cream tea, originating from the county of Devon in southwest England, is served with a scone that is topped with clotted cream followed by strawberry jam. A Cornish cream tea is just the opposite using butter, followed by jam, then topped with clotted cream. Either way, if the scones are fresh and still warm, the combination of flavors are heavenly. Perfect afternoon treat especially when shared with some friends.


Warning: For serious tea drinkers only...


This is the schedule I was given if I want to be a proper tea imbiber. (I’m still laughing over this but apparently my friend was quite serious).


Time: First thing in the morning BEFORE breakfast

Type of tea: English Breakfast or Assam

Reason: Strong; wakes you up; Drink WITH milk.


Time: Breakfast
Type: English Breakfast or Earl Grey
Reason: Still strong; Drink WITH milk


Time: Mid-morning
Type: Earl Grey or Assam
Reason: Refreshing. Drink WITH milk


Time: Afternoon
Type: Lapsang Souchong or Darjeeling
Reason: Serve with a slice of lemon but NO milk.


Time: Evening AFTER dinner
Type: Peppermint tea
Reason: Relaxing and aids digestion. NO milk.


It’s important to know that tea is always offered whenever you enter someone’s home. I think it might be considered impolite if you didn’t offer tea. This includes not just your neighbors and friends, but anyone really who comes to your home including your movers, cleaners, carpenters, plumbers and handy-men. We recently had a contractor over to repair a door. Having learned about this social nicety, I was quick to offer him tea when he arrived (lest I unknowingly offend!). He did his work and then we sat and chatted over tea afterwards. It was the same with our movers. In America, our movers came armed with their two litre bottles of soda or 7-11 Big Gulps. In England, our movers just kept refilling their tea mugs.


I’ve found that taking time for tea is a really nice way to connect with people during the day. It’s more personal and forces me to slow down and be in the moment. It’s also a great way to have some quiet time during a hectic day.


My favorite comment when asking my English neighbors about tea was from my lovely friend Kate who described the tradition succinctly and humorously. “Offering tea is the British way of coping with any crisis. ‘Oh no, the world is about to end! ...Shall we have a cup of tea then?’”

Spring!

We moved to England at the start of the winter season. It was cold, wet and a few times it even snowed. There were several days when the wind would blow at 60 mph and wake us up at night. We did our house hunting those first few weeks driving through a completely frozen world. The trees were covered in ice and the fields white with frost. While I’m not a big fan of being cold I thought that there was a certain beauty to be found in the still serenity of that winter landscape. 

Mid-afternoon in winter

The sun would set as early as 3:45 in the afternoon. We’d have to hurry out to take advantage of as much of the daylight hours as we could. While shopping on a Saturday afternoon in Cambridgeshire, we’d pass vendors selling roasted chestnuts, tea, fried doughnuts, bacon sandwiches and hot pasties. A pasty is sort of like a hot pocket. The most basic pasty is dough filled beef, potatoes, and onions. It can also be made with other ingredients, but the great thing about a pasty is that it’s hot and you can eat it on the go. While not fancy, these were the culinary highlights of our winter wanderings. 

Through those long dark days of winter as I reveled in the beauty around us, I was told repeatedly to “just wait for Spring.” I didn’t really mind the winter, but I nodded agreeably. I love those cold days that were perfect for having a “cuppa” tea,  making a fire in the wood burning stove, and losing myself in a book, movie or playing a game with my family. Winter is the perfect time for this because you don’t feel too guilty about being so lazy. 

Well, a few weeks ago a drastic change occurred around here in what seemed to be almost overnight. Lambs were born in masses, heralding the arrival of Spring, and filling the fields with their silly antics and sweet sounds. 

Spring lambs

Leaves and flowers exploded everywhere in vivid colors practically shouting with their brightness. 

Fields of yellow rapeseed flowers, farmed for it’s oil, coat the land in rolling patches, like an artist swept the ground with a paintbrush of brilliant marigold. 

Rapeseed

Ladybugs are EVERYWHERE, much to my children’s delight as they spend endless hours in our garden capturing and studying them.

 My son and his friend even decided that one would be much safer in one of my kitchen cupboards which I discovered while making dinner several hours later. I was able to free him back to his outdoor ladybug family where I told my son he’d be much happier. 

Even our village’s resident peacock has begun his mating calls, shrieking from the tops of garden walls from sunrise to dusk. Sadly, he’s the sole peacock in this area and his cries are getting pathetic. I think we need to take mercy on this poor peacock and find him a mate! I’ve suggested getting one shipped in, but others here who’ve had to put up with his noise for the last decade think a better idea would be to ship him to a female. 

Temperatures the past few weeks have been in the 60’s and 70’s, a sharp departure from Britain’s usually cold, rainy Spring season. On a recent trip into London, we had a picnic in Green Park, near Buckingham Palace, and were tightly surrounded with Londoners sunbathing, napping, reading, or playing football. Sunny, warm days are enjoyed to the fullest because you never know when it might change again back to cool or rainy... 

Green Park, London

These temperate conditions explain why England is famed for it’s gardens. Plants and flowers grow in profusion here with little effort. 

Red tulips in London

I am not known for having a green thumb. In fact, it’s safe to say that any plant life I come into contact with has suffered a sadly low survival rate. Yet, in England, I’ve found renewed determination to garden and so far I’ve had some surprising results. I’ve planted several varieties of strawberries that are beginning to produce (gasp!) actual fruit! I also have an herb garden that’s easily providing enough bounty to supply both my neighbor’s kitchen as well as my own. All I can think is... It’s a miracle! England is an Eden in it’s own right. 

In the same spirit, it’s time to end my musings.The sun is shining and it’s time to do what people love to do best here. Take a walk or maybe ride a bike...Just be outside and enjoy the day.

Holy Flapjacks!

Yesterday, for those unaware, was Shrove Tuesday. In America, we know it as Mardi Gras or more literally, Fat Tuesday. Here in England they have another name for this last day before the start of Lent. It’s called Pancake Day. “Of course,” you must be thinking. Alright, maybe not....but once you learn why pancakes are used to celebrate this day you may want to adopt the tradition in your own home. 

Centuries ago religious parishioners were urged to give up luxury foods such as meat, dairy and sugar for the forty day fasting season of Lent. It’s supposed to be a time of reflection, prayer and penance. (I think that if you ask any chocoholic who has given up their cacao tree derived obsession for Lent, they will tell you how that sacrifice drove them straight to prayer!) One way of preparing for this time of abstinence was to use up stores of flour, sugar and fats in the making of.... you guessed it, pancakes! 

When my neighbor first mentioned Pancake Day, I thought she was joking. Then she patiently explained the true history behind it. Thought to originate in the town of Olney, Buckinghamshire, the story goes that a woman was making pancakes when she heard the church bells and realized she was going to be late for the Shrove service. She ran all the way to church still wearing her apron and clutching a frying pan. In 1445, the town began holding an annual Pancake race where contestants must wear aprons and run while flipping a pancake in a pan at the same time. The race is still held today. 

Our neighbor graciously invited our family over so we could experience the custom first hand. The English have their own ways of preparing and serving this treat which differs a bit from what Americans are used to. First, the pancakes are more like crepes. Very thin without a cake-like thickness we usually associate with pancakes.  Secondly, while the pancakes can be topped with syrup and fruit, the English way is to squeeze a slice of lemon on them and then sprinkle with sugar. We tried it this way and loved it. Nutella, a chocolate spread, was also offered as a topping. When I asked for the recipe, she directed me to this link: 

Delia's pancakes with Lemon and Sugar

We also thought a savory version, using spinach, goat cheese, and sun dried tomatoes as a filling for each pancake would be excellent too. Would love to see your comments below if you have any other fun ideas and ways of making these. 

A day dedicated to pancakes...what could be yummier? 

Is it Valentine’s Day?

For a tradition that began in England, you might be surprised at what Valentine’s Day is actually like here. Suffice it to say, it is not a holiday greatly promoted by stores to boost consumer spending like it is in America. (Read: No cute little heart tea towels or fun, decorative red and pink dishes that you suddenly think you can’t live without while on a quick trip to Target for printer paper.) 

We weren’t sure what to expect in the schools but we wanted to carry on with the celebration of a day for which my daughter says she waits all year. (I think Valentine’s Day to her is right on par with Christmas). Truly, what is not to love about a day that is commemorated with chocolate, candy and cute little cards? It’s not a far stretch to understand why she loves it so much. In her last American school, she would come staggering home under the weight of all the sugar-laden goodies she received from other students. Also, not to be forgotten, are all of the craft activities involving hearts, her favorite shape, or the exciting classroom parties.

With this in mind, several weeks ago, each of my children picked out their own boxes of traditional American valentines to give to their friends at school. We spent time addressing each one and attaching the prerequisite lollipop. The kids could hardly wait to give them away. 

Today was the day. The children raced downstairs to be greeted with their annual delivery of See’s candies from their grandmother who never fails to make sure we all feel properly loved on Valentine’s Day. My mom also sends me my own heart-shaped box of See’s nuts and chews, God bless her, which I always look forward to no matter where I am in the “battle against the bulge.” It’s like a free, calories don’t count kind of day. 

My youngest went off to preschool clutching his bag of valentines in his chubby, tight fisted hand. When I picked him up this afternoon, he was happily carrying a heart shaped card he’d made for his family, along with a sugar cookie that I was told I had to split with his daddy, sister, dog and cat. (Hmmmm...)  It was very sweet and he was being peppered with thank you’s from the other children for their valentines. 

My daughter’s day was a bit different.  It was a school day like any other except at the end, the teacher helped her hand out each valentine to her classmates. They all sat looking at her in excitement as these lollipops were given to them. The smile on my daughter’s face was precious. Her teacher also seemed to appreciate the opportunity that was presented to share with the class how holidays are celebrated in different ways in other countries. 

I talked to several English parents today who hadn’t realized it was Valentine’s Day. It’s just not a huge occasion here. One mum said that an American walked by her today and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” She was actually surprised to be greeted like the day was particularly special. I think the general consensus is that Americans take holidays and make them into huge events which usually involves having to spend money. I can’t decide if it was refreshing this year to not be pushed towards the usual holiday consumerism or if it’s a bit sad that more is not made of this sweet (figuratively and literally)  and fun day. Some of my favorite keepsakes are the valentine’s cards my kids have made for me over the years. 

 So... While the children came home without the usual mountains of candy or celebrating the day with classroom parties,  it was a lovely day. My children were able to show their friends our  Valentine’s Day tradition and take joy in the spirit of giving, a lesson all parents want their children to learn but can sometimes be tough to teach. 

And tonight I served dinner on those fun, Target valentine plates...just because it’s fun. 

Market Day

I’ll admit that I am fascinated by life in centuries past. How people lived, the way they governed themselves, how they dressed, their cultural traditions and how they viewed religion are all of interest to me. I love walking down ancient streets and imagining all those who came before me. What did they look like? What did they eat? What were their biggest concerns of that time? 

Today I walked past an old coaching inn. It’s been there since the 14th century, a sort of modern day rest stop for carriages traveling through the area. Travelers could stretch their legs, eat, drink and even find overnight accommodation while allowing their horses time to rest. It’s reputed to be haunted by the spirit of a former owner who committed suicide by jumping to his death from one of the upstairs windows. Creepy? Yes. But also interesting. Think of all the people who for centuries have dined at this establishment. Queen Elizabeth I had Mary, Queen of Scots imprisoned and executed not far from here at Fotheringhay Castle. I imagine that one of the Queen’s trusted servants came through here worrying about the fate of his mistress. Or maybe some loyal friends gathered around a table and plotted how they could possibly free her, or even get her a letter without it being intercepted. Walking in the presence of so much history and tradition is endlessly fascinating to me. 

There is a tradition in England that is still carried on today. It’s called Market Day. Do those words bring any images to mind? Does your imagination, like mine, conjure up images of wooden carts, cobblestone streets and costermongers hawking their wares? 

Our local market day is a weekly event held in the center of the village. Once a month there is an additional market day, held on a Saturday, and is usually bigger and a bit more diverse than what is usually offered weekly.  Farmers and local tradespeople come from all around to sell their wares, in a tradition possibly as old as England itself. 

What do I love about it? I love buying bread from the baker who kneaded it, choosing cheeses and meats from local farmers, and picking up a bouquet of daffodils from a nearby horticulturist. I enjoy talking to these people and asking questions or getting recommendations. Most of all, I love being outside in the fresh air and taking the time to walk to each stall, taking in the scents and sights of all that is offered. 

The very first stall is a jewelry seller with all kinds of trinkets. The stall next to it is always taken by the man who sells sweets (or candy as we call it in America). He reminds me of a young Dick Van Dyke or maybe even the sweet shop owner in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I keep waiting for him to burst into song about the deliciousness of his sweets. :)

Further down is a fish vendor and then a man with baskets of all shapes and sizes. Next is the baker, with fresh loaves of bread, scones, and iced cakes for sale. They use different terminology here for the bread and I’m still trying to learn all of the names. Seeded, wholemeal, Sally Lunn, bap, blob, stotty, teacake, cob, and nudger to name just a few. None of these have preservatives so they need to be eaten within a few days. 

On a side note, eating something without preservatives is a sad rarity for us as Americans. We’re enjoying the healthy aspects of fresh food here but need to re-learn how to shop. Instead of stocking up our pantry with bulk groceries from Costco, I now buy only what I know we’ll eat within a few days, a week at most. Otherwise it is a surety that it will spoil and need to be thrown out. 

Off on a tangent...Back to the vendors! My favorite vendor is next to the baker. Cheese! Amazing cheese. Kraft can’t hold a candle to cheese here in England. Cheddar cheese especially tastes almost decadent and has become, I’m afraid to say, a slight addiction in our house. There is an endless variety of cheeses. You can walk into the cheese stall and taste all they have to offer. It’s incredible and almost like sampling wines. Yet, unlike wine tasting, you can bring your children with you and not worry about getting tipsy for the drive home. 

Want some? Visit www.lincolnshirepoachercheese.com

The market has other assorted vendors, some you might not expect.  There are the costermongers (an antiquated term for those who sell fruits and vegetables from a cart), plants and cut flowers, pet supplies for everything from a hamster to a horse, wrapping paper and gift cards, watches and clocks, clothes, antiques, and even what I like to think of as an eclectic convenience shop stall. It sells everything from light bulbs to orthopedic inserts for your shoes. 

Beautiful Brussel sprouts

Villagers spend the morning wandering through the market, some ending up at one of several coffee and tea shops. Many women bring their own bags or baskets to carry their purchases. It’s also the ideal time to visit the butcher or the green grocer (a shop that sells fruits and vegetables not to be confused with costermongers who do not sell from a shop). 

With all that I had to choose from at this morning’s market, I am ashamed to say that I walked away with only three things: gravy bones for our dog, lightbulbs, and three bottles of Italian wine. I didn’t have the time to shop as I’d like to with my youngest child in tow. But I did end up with the wine, so I think I can still count it as a successful day. 

A little slice of life in a somewhat rural pocket of England...


Links to some of my favorite market vendors:


Peter's Eden. Handmade jams, chutneys and cordials. www.peterseden.co.uk


Lincolnshire Poacher Cheese.  www.lincolnshirepoachercheese.com


Benson's Totally Fruity Juice. www.bensonsapplejuice.co.uk

Sometimes it takes a village

(We’re flashing forward to the present. I’m giving up on trying to catch this blog up with all that we’ve experienced since arriving two months ago...Past is past. Carpe diem and all that...)

This may seem strange but living here to me has been like coming home. I love it and could easily live out the rest of my days here. It’s been peaceful at a time when I desperately needed some peace. To have a still mind. I feel like I’ve found that here. The air always smells fresh and clean, and I wake up each morning looking out to a field of green dotted with sheep and horses, or sometimes just endless green. It’s truly idyllic.  

This may sound surprising for those who know me, having grown up in the fast-paced life of southern California, but I’ve found that I absolutely love living in our small village. Some say we’re not even big enough to be called a village but rather maybe a hamlet. Either way, it is a small society of people who can depend upon one another not just for borrowing corn starch (or rather cornflour as it’s called here) and vinegar (I was trying to introduce our friends to sweet potato fries), but for keeping company and passing time during the long, dark and cold days of winter. 

There have been several  times a group of us have gotten together on a sunny day for a hike through the woods. We’ve spent many afternoons and evenings at each others homes enjoying tea or dinner, which I’ve learned can sometimes mean the same thing (i.e. being asked to come for tea = come for dinner at least with respect to the children). We were invited last month to go with two other families and our combined 7 children to see a movie at a local cinema. It was like heaven for our kids who walked in to discover that one entire wall of the cinema lobby was covered in candy dispensers. The children spent much time deliberating on what candy they wanted before putting it in a bag to be weighed at the concessions counter. It was a bit chaotic as we carried candy bags, drinks, popcorn and attempted to herd the children to the theatre. As we got to our assigned seats, my friend E and I spent a minute juggling candy and drinks trying to sort out what belonged to who. After we had united each person with their drinks and goodies, she thanked me for helping to which I replied, “Sometimes it takes a village... Oh wait! We are a village.” The irony had us giggling.  :)

We’ve also hosted several evenings since we moved in. One was an Indian food take-out night where one neighbor spontaneously dropped in for a glass of wine (wine visits are quite common in our village especially with one neighbor in particular who makes it a weekly event) and soon others began to arrive. We ended up ordering food which included a lesson in eating authentic Indian, and talking until late at night. Another was a game night where we introduced our British friends to the game Apples to Apples....an instant hit. (Thank you, Mary!) We also had a vegetarian dinner night in honor of two of our neighbors who don’t eat meat and invited other village families to join us. 

One village neighbor had a huge keg of ale in his garage and ran home frequently to refill his pitcher for our table. 

It’s been fun and interesting getting to know our English neighbors who all have had incredible life experiences and have traveled extensively around the world, putting us to shame. One used to be a music producer/musician, another a psychotherapist, one is an amazing photographer, two have their own companies, and to top it all, next door is a mountaineer who is currently attempting to summit the highest mountain in South America. He is my husband’s hero. :) The women here all work, some from home.  I’ve noticed everyone has a strong work ethic and I’ve never heard anyone complain. They are polite but also hilarious to the nth degree. 


What has been the most important (and touching) thing to me is how welcoming everyone has been to our family. We have truly been blessed to have this opportunity to live here, but our village has been the icing on the cake, making each day even better.  

November 19, 2010

Yesterday was an exciting day for Steve. It was the day he’s been waiting for all week.  He was to finally take possession of his new (or rather, new to him) car. 

It’s an older Saab but in fantastic condition. We found it through a local classifieds advertisement. It’s owned by a vivaciously, pinkish-red haired somewhat older British lesbian woman who is an avid horsewoman. “Sue”, as I’ll call her, has only owned the car for less than a year but found it wasn’t the best of choices for hauling horse feed and needed something more practical. Earlier this week we arranged to meet so Steve could take it for a test drive. While Sue and I waited for Steve to return I freed my children from their car seats and told them to race each other back and forth down the road, hoping to burn off some of their endless energy.  Shivering and jumping from foot to foot while keeping an eye on the children, Sue shared with me an incredible story. 

While riding her horse on a local country road a few months ago, an American woman came driving down the road talking on her cell phone (illegal to use in England while driving) and going too fast. English driving law advises that cars stop when coming upon a horse and rider until the rider signals that he/she has the horse under control, then you can slowly drive past. This woman didn’t stop nor slow down and ran directly into Sue’s horse. The horse made a mad dash forward and ran into an oncoming car which catapulted Sue off the horse and directly into the car’s open sunroof. (Really--what are the chances she’d land directly IN the sunroof? She said a polite hello to the driver while hanging upside down.) The American woman just sat there staring while local passerby tried to catch the  horse who was bleeding profusely. The horse eventually recovered and Sue spent the next two months healing the broken hip she received when she was thrown into the car. 

I thought this an incredible story and made note to always watch for horses. Sue said she had only recently returned to normal mobility and was happy to finally be able to ride again. At this point, Steve returned and told Sue we would buy the car. They set a date for the following Friday to transfer ownership and payment. 

Fast forward to Friday. Steve is beyond excited. I’m excited to turn in our tiny rental car that started out cute but had quickly progressed to cramped. We drive out to the stables where Sue wanted us to meet her. It’s a foggy and damp morning. We pulled in and saw Sue’s (soon to be Steve’s) car, but there was no sign of Sue. We got out and walked around but all was quiet except for the enormous black horse in the stable behind us who was making soft nickering noises. I finally went and knocked on the door of a nearby house and asked if they knew  where we could find Sue. The two boys who answered said that Sue had just been taken by ambulance to the hospital five minutes earlier. Apparently she had fallen in the barn when leading her horse inside and broken her leg. The luck of this poor woman! We were shocked. 

Sue got in touch with us the next day. We decided it would be best if I took over the negotiations and arrangements for the car to maintain Sue’s modesty since the process would have to happen in Sue’s hospital room where she lay in traction. So barely a week in the UK, and we’re navigating our way to the local hospital to pay Sue a visit. 

This was my first experience with a British National Health Service (NHS) hospital. As an American, I’m used to expensive health care plans but beautiful hospitals with private rooms and a Starbucks in the lobby. This hospital came as somewhat of a surprise. It was a large system of buildings, not unlike most hospitals in the U.S. but this was where all similarities ended. Inside was like stepping into a scary movie where a group of young busty and unintelligent co-eds are trapped in an old, psychiatric hospital with green walls, flickering, dim fluorescent lighting, the inevitable demented spirits and the smell of decay. Obviously I have a bit of an imagination, and I couldn’t help being somewhat creeped out as I navigated the miles of mostly deserted hallways and floors to find Sue’s room. Not that hospitals are supposed to always be overly joyous places, but this one just seemed exceedingly grim.

Eventually, I found her, in a room as depressing as the rest of the hospital. Sue was sharing it with six other women which I learned was fairly standard. Everyone just lay there staring at one another.  Sue looked so happy to see me I immediately felt my original mission change (from quickly signing the paperwork, giving her the payment, grabbing the keys, and running like crazy for the nearest exit), to slowing down and taking the time to sit and have a chat with her, fetching her some snacks and beverages, and taking down a list of anything else she needed from the outside world. I could tell she was feeling horribly downtrodden after having just recovered from two months of bed rest for her hip, then having to repeat the whole experience so soon for her broken leg. 

I eventually did emerge from the hospital the owner of Sue’s old car, but the experience was humbling. I know our U.S. health care policy has many problems but next time I’m in an American hospital I think I’ll be a great deal more appreciative. We kept in touch with Sue and continued to bring her magazines and treats. We also helped feed and care for her giant horse, which was also quite an experience. He can be a bit cheeky (can you tell I’m picking up the local slang?) and has a tendency to bite first and ask questions later. Thankfully we all survived with fingers and skin intact. :)

Our first week in England, we’re still living in a hotel, but we’ve made a friend and have bought a car. The adventure has begun.