Into the Hills
Today you find me sitting in a cottage in a small village called Braithwaite nestled in the Lake District - a mountainous area in the north east of England. Perhaps mountainous is a bit of an exaggeration - but "quite hilly" doesn't sound nearly so romantic or impressive.
Beatrix Potter lived up here. William Wordsworth wrote "I wandered lonely as a cloud" while walking along a hillside up here. A funny little man called Alfred Wainwright walked the hills and fells for years up here, writing and illustrating a series of books that are mentioned in hallowed tones by walkers and hikers throughout the world.
My inlaws have rented the cottage for the week, and they invited us to stay with them. Six hours in the car flew by as we fought the rain and wind en-route - arriving mid-afternoon to cups of tea, slices of cake, and stories about years gone by. My other half spent most of her childhood holidays up here.
It feels strange - being here without my other half's Dad. He passed away some years ago now, but memories of him loom large. "Do you remember the time...", "Remember when Dad...". Listening to the stories is nice, in a strange sort of way.
I have walking boots with me. I need to wax them - to waterproof them. We're forecast rain showers for the next few days - it's not called the "Lake District" for no reason. I also have gators, and acquired a warm hat and gloves en-route. The coat I brought has double lining - or rather, is two coats zipped together - a fleece inner, and a waterproof outer.
I'm looking forward - weather permitting - to getting away from everything for a few days - taking photos of dramatic landscapes - and finding quiet corners of quiet pubs to read, gather thoughts and reflect.
If I find time I'll empty my head into the blog each evening - recording our adventures. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a bottle of wine on the table behind the laptop, and several glasses. I might have to be the person that opens it.