Walt Whitman's poem "A Noiseless Patient Spider" is the inspiration for the title of this blog, which is an attempt to remain connected to the people who have been part of my life.
Monday, June 02, 2008
the english countryside
Paul and I went camping Friday night in the English countryside, which is something that I will miss, especially Surrey: the rolling hills, the hedgerows, the narrow roads canopied with thick trees, the vibrant green, the wildflowers, the villages, the hamlets, the local pubs, and on and on only thirty minutes from our flat. We went camping for just one night as a test run for our summer trip, to make sure we had all that we needed.
The pub where we paid for the campsite and where the loo and shower are located.
The front beer garden. The beer was extra cold, and we cooked our own food so it was tasty.
Camping in Europe is very civilized with beer gardens and restaurants on the grounds. In England, a pub is usually within walking distance. Ours was across the road, and we enjoyed a couple of pints and conversation with the locals after setting up camp and cooking dinner. Car camping can be quite luxurious with a table, chairs and real cutlery and plates. We only had to add minor things to our list. We are officially ready to go. Roll on 28 June.
Craftsmanship of a bygone era.
In that way that thoughts roll around together and on top of each other, mixing and separating to create new thoughts and bring to mind other thoughts making us contemplative, the words ‘English countryside’ causes me to do a system check to see that I am appreciating the world around me properly. On one of our trips home from Paris on the Eurostar, I listened in on the conversation of two American women. One was travelling with her two children. Their accents caught my attention, recognizing ex-patriots and feeling a connection albeit superficial. I quickly tired of the conversation, the mother of the two children was yammering on about work and family, raining complaints upon complaints on the head of her companion who had the weary look not of a traveller returning home but of someone hearing what they’ve been told too many times and responding automatically with ‘yes, you mentioned that before’ and ‘so you’ve said’ whenever there was a dramatic pause. Nothing unusual in all of that. We all need to vent. What stuck with me, however, was that every twenty minutes or so, the mother would take a break from her tirade and tell her children to look out the window at the English countryside. ‘Look out the window. That’s the English countryside that we came to see. Isn’t it pretty?’ Her kids would glance up from their Gameboys and towards the window but they didn’t have to look for long because she’d be back to her complaints and ignoring both the kids and the English countryside before their heads were fully lifted.
This is not really mist but rather the dew beginning to evaporate as the sun rises and warms the air in the field behind our campsite.
I thought at the time and still think that she was guilty of what we are all at times guilty of: knowing what we should be doing but not doing it. It seems a greater travesty to me to know we should smell the roses and even encourage others to do so while not doing it ourselves then to not know at all that there are roses to smell. So this weekend, I enjoyed the English countryside. We put the tent up in the shade of large oak, so we had to wait for the sun to climb high enough to dry the dew off of it before packing up. We went for a walk that a local man at the pub recommended then we sat on our camp chairs and listened to the birds and watched the sun slowly light up the meadow, mind you Tim had us up before 06:00. A pheasant walked through the campsite.
This cedar tree is hollow in the middle and full of bugs, I'm sure, which is why I didn't get inside as Paul suggested. There isn't any way to figure scale in the shot, but the tree as big around as a round table for 8 people.
Being home with Tim is a big job. I’ll never say that I don’t work anymore. However, my job now allows for a lot more time to do what I know I should be doing instead of saying I should be doing it. We take a walk to the park almost every day. We study patterns in the quilts our friends have made. We marvel at the taste of a banana. I believe ours will be a summer full of this kind of ‘living deliberately.’
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1 comment:
Very sensitive and thoughtful, even Thoreau=ian in it's simple detail and poetic descriptions. Makes me miss Kathleen, remember your contemplative nature, and of course, horribly miss England, which I love dearly.
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