leaving the Cotswolds

A few days ago the wind blew and blew and all the gorgeous fall foliage dropped to the ground. Suddenly, despite the weather actually being a bit warmer, it began to look like winter around here. Add to that a few days of gray drizzle, and John and I were happy we're passing winter in sunny Los Angeles (93 degrees there yesterday, what?).

So yesterday I went out for my last stroll in the British countryside. Molly was in the big field playing with her friend Elsa and having a ball. But it was like Molly knew I was leaving. She kept stopping her playing and running over to me. I then said Goodbye to Gordon and went on my way, but a bit later heard her pitter patter behind me. At this point Gordon was all the way across the field calling for her, and I had to tell her to go back. She's never done this before, so I assume it was because she sensed my imminent departure from Oddington.

Last night we went for a final drink at the pub. Unfortunately on our last evening we discovered the potato chips (crisps they call them here) in beef and horseradish flavor. Delicious! But really, I've eaten more meat and potatoes since I got to this country than is good for me. John and I need to get back to the California cuisine.

We would happily return to the Cotswolds, it's quaint and beautiful, the people are friendly, but unless the pound takes a dive in value, we're probably not coming back anytime soon. Now I need to go scrape farm residue off my hiking boots so I can get through U.S. Customs in a few days.

P.S. Sue Watkins just came to the door, Molly's mistress, with a present for the baby (his first!). It was a soft, plush mini Molly!

pheasants are dumb

When I was a child I loved the book Danny, Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. All I remember still was that the protagonists used to poach pheasants by using their stupidity against them (create a cone of paper, tuck a raisin at the tip, the pheasant will go for the raisin, get the cone of paper stuck on his beak, and then not move because a pheasant won't move if he can't see and the cone of paper covers his eyes). This made for amusing reading, but I figured no bird can be that dumb.

Anyway, when we arrived in the Cotswolds, we were at first shocked by the amount of road kill on the small winding streets. Soon we realized it was the same animal each time: pheasant. And then the other day we almost hit one and understood why they seem to pave the roads. He waddled out at just the wrong time, we slowed down, then he became aware of us and got spooked, turned around, changed his mind, turned back the way he was originally heading, looked at us again as though we might provide a solution, and then slowly toddled the rest of the way across the road. There was such a lack of self-preservation skill in this entire maneuver that I began to think maybe Roald Dahl was onto something.

Lately there have been a lot of pheasants on my walk. And they're dumb. They'll be perfectly hidden in the brush, and then just when I'm three feet away from them they'll panic and fly out into the open (which is always a bit shocking). Or they'll be walking in front of me, and they'll start waddling faster when they see me, but never change direction. They just keep waddling the exact way I'm walking (mind you there's lots of brush on either side they could duck into) until they reach panic level at which point they take to the air (again making them an easy target). This always makes me laugh.

So I mentioned to a British friend that pheasants seemed a bit too dumb to make for good hunting. She agreed and explained that they've set up all sorts of rules to try and make it more sporting, like the pheasant must be higher than 6' and lower than 20', or something like that. I'm not really sure how anyone shoots a pheasant anyway. I would think the reaction upon seeing the bird would be to burst out laughing rather than shoot.

British Halloween

My favorite holiday has just come and gone, and while the British are beginning to embrace Halloween, it really wasn't quite the same. For one thing, I was warned that the British don't really dress up, so despite wanting to create a clever costume that would somehow incorporate my new rounded belly, I let it go. It would have been difficult to create a costume from the few stores in and around Oddington anyway. Sigh.

But, the holiday wasn't empty of excitement. We drove up to a friend's house near Rutland Waters (1-1/2 hours north of Cambridge) for a pumpkin carving party. It was in a small town called Exton, and many people at the party were indeed in costume. The costumes were all scary or gory- according to our friend Tamsen the idea of a clever or humorous costume hasn't quite caught on, but still, it was nice to see some Halloween spirit.

And the party had mulled wine, which John loved and perhaps should be transported back to American Halloween parties. Though John wasn't so sure he agreed the next morning!

tea at Molly's

One morning I was late for my walk and saw Molly already home, sitting behind the gate at a large gorgeous house called The Old Plough. The next time I saw Gordon I confirmed that was indeed his house and, being a pushy American, asked if I could get a tour sometime. Gordon, being a typical Brit, invited us to tea with him and Sue. So Tuesday afternoon at 3:00, in the pouring rain, John and I arrived to partake of this traditional British ritual.

The house was really beautiful and built in the early 1600's. Originally it was a farm house, and the bottom floor had the typical animal stalls. At some point the records seem to indicate it might have changed into a pub, but then one family moved in, had 5 kids, none of them got married, and the house stayed with them until the final family member passed away, so around 100 years. Then a specialist in medieval furniture bought the house, and made no changes because I guess he liked to mimic medieval conditions? I shudder thinking about the cold, wet winters. When Gordon and Sue bought it, they had quite a bit to do to bring it up to date.

When we got there Molly was very excited to greet us. But once we were served tea and apple cake Molly got bored and wandered off. After the afternoon sustenance we toured the house and admired the old beams, built-in window seats, detailed carvings in the old shutters, and got to imagine life 400 years ago in this huge home. I was glad I was a pushy American and had asked for a tour, though I could really get used to apple cake in the afternoon....

Oxford

Monday was the first day that dawned without a single cloud in the sky. To take advantage of the clear weather we decided to go to Oxford for the afternoon. I downloaded a walking tour, read up on some of the sites, and we headed out. We arrived without a hitch, but then drove by accident into a private car park and got stuck once the bollard came up and had to wait for someone to come with a clicker to let us out and looked like stupid Americans, but we then finally found the proper lot and walked into town.

Oxford is made up of a bunch of smaller colleges (the smallest college is 500 students) which each have their own courtyard, dining hall, chapel, and pub. We arrived at the first college on the tour and discovered it was $3 a person to walk in. Calculate about 10 colleges and this was looking a bit pricey. Hmmm, this snag was worse than the private car park. But fortunately right then we came across a guy hawking a tour which for the price included access to the 7 colleges or so we would visit. And the best part? The dining hall used for the Harry Potter movies was included. John was sold!

It was a great tour, everything was beautiful, it made me homesick for college days. My favorite part were the gargoyle heads-of-scholars. Afterwards we had tea and scones and then visited the Bodleian Library, one of the oldest libraries in Europe, the first copyright library, and the first to have a catalogue. Did you know books used to be chained to the bookshelf? Terrible for the books, and it meant they had to be put in backwards so the call numbers were written on the face of the cut pages. They've left a few of the books like this so you can see. The best part, though? King Charles II was told that nobody could take a book out of the library and so he had to come down, check in, and read his book at the carrel (still attached to the chain). I like thinking about how tough that librarian must have been!

winter's coming

At the Apple Fayre on Saturday many people were discussing cutting their grass for the last time. Whereas we in L.A. are constantly trying to get the grass to grow, here in wet England, everyone commiserates on how quickly the grass needs another trim. I was surprised they would be talking about a final trim of the season since it has been raining every night keeping the grass lush and green. But the locals clearly have a better sense of the weather. The following morning I noticed there was frost on the ground.

I was a bit chilled as well. The temperature has definitely dropped again, and tends to be in the low 50's, upper 40's. We have to start a fire each evening to keep the house warm enough, and it's always hard to motivate to start dinner because there's no heat in the kitchen (though it warms up quickly enough once I start cooking).

The good thing about the cold weather is that the cows head up to the higher fields earlier to get more sun, so I can now always walk through the large field. The other good thing is that the horses now wear blankets, which they might find embarrassing, but I think is adorable.

the apple fayre

Today I slept until 10:00am, much to the chagrin of my husband whom I pushed out of bed at 5:00am (his alarm doesn't always do the trick). I then had a leisurely breakfast followed by a long shower while John completed his third 2-hour work session of the day. Then, to add insult to injury, I informed John he would need to fix his own lunch while I headed out to the apple fayre at the Oddington Village Hall for a two course meal.

The apple fayre, I found out, is a fairly new tradition in Oddington, and was put together five years ago to raise money for the Village Hall. There were jams, jellies, and chutneys, cakes, pies, and puddings, all donated and for sale. There was apple cider (with 7% alcohol level, I tasted but didn't partake), and bowls made from apple wood (Bob, the woodworker, said they were made from green wood and carved into a flat plate, as the wood dries out, the edges curl up making an unusual bowl!). And there was lunch. I paid my fee to the defacto master of ceremonies, Richard (also known as the man over there in the bright shirt, a shirt his wife made for him and he had never noticed the slightly suggestive ladies lying at the bottom of each palm tree....) and then began to fret, because the menu called for beef stew, and I had visions of dry chewy meat in an inedible gravy. Wouldn't you expect the same at a community-center lunch?

But as I tucked into my plate of stew with potatoes, baby carrots and pees (so British!) I was more than pleasantly surprised. Gordon informed me that the food was sent over from the fancy gastropub in Lower Oddington, The Fox Inn, and just reheated at the Hall. I cleaned my plate. For dessert there was apple crumble with cloves and cream. Soooooo good. At this point I began to feel a bit sorry for my husband. So after making sure I won nothing in the raffle, I said goodbye to the nice people at my table, bought my husband a blackberry and apple pie, and walked home.