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....