Brent Knoll

When Sheila got home from work the sun was shining and warm so she suggested we go on a walk up Brent Knoll (500' in elevation). Dave said he'd come along and we took the dogs as well. Sheila drove us to the bottom of Church Road and we started walking up. Of course I had to stop from time to time to take photos.

This is St. Michael's Church. We passed by it on the path leading to the Knoll but we stopped in it on the way down.

As we walked up the path, the views were so lovely that I fell behind Sheila, Dave and the dogs as I stopped to take photos:

We took the path to the right in the photo up to the top of the Knoll.

It only took about 10 minutes or so to climb up to the Knoll but it WAS steep. Iwondered if I was losing my Santa Fe conditioning as I could feel my muscles straining in my legs but, on the other hand I wasn't losing my breath or feeling my heart pound. And I arrived at the top not panting like the dogs.

The following shots are a 360º panorama of the view from the top:

You can see a bit of the “sea”--the Severn Estuary, where Burnham is--in the distance
toward the right of the photo.

And more of the estuary.

In this photo of me blowing in the wind, I think that's Glastonbury Tor in the distance almost at the right corner; it's almost impossible to see because it's shrouded in cloud.

Here's a bit of the history: Brent Knoll was known by the Romans as “The Mount of Frogs” because in those times, virtually all of the lovely valley you see now consisted of waters and marshes. Roman coins from the Emperor Trajan (AD 98-117) and Septimus Severus (AD 145-211) were found on the Knoll in 1610. It is said that a village has existed in Brent Knoll since primitive times/Bronze Age. We sat on the sheltered side of the hill (just over that rise behind me) out of the wind as Sheila read us this history and Dave pointed out where various landmarks were below us. It was so peaceful there and yet there was also an indefinable kind of atmosphere as well. I think Muffin felt it as she kept whining and Daisy would barely sit still. Many battles were fought on this Knoll--Bronze Age, English tribes against the Norsemen, Civil War (English) battles.

But even with that odd feeling, as you can see we felt that we almost didn't want to leave the Knoll. It was so comfortable sitting there chatting, imagining life in previous centuries. Hard, brutal, short but, later, pastoral and calm. I guess that's the idyllic view of the land--self-sufficiency, no worry about pension plans and redundancy/job loss. I can tell how much Dave and Sheila love this county from the way they talk and the delight they take in exploring it. I was a bit envious of the roots they obviously have.

We reluctantly left the knoll and when we got down to St. Michael's we were delighted to find that the church was open.

We left the dogs outside by the gate and entered.

St. Michaels was built in stages, additions being made as finance became available. It was originally built in the early 14th century but most of that actual building is gone although the Victorians used the stone when they remodelled.

Still, goodly parts remain inside and some of the windows, such as this one still contain medieval stained glass.

On one of the walls of the church was this beautiful plaque which commemorates John Somerset who drove back the Royalist forces during the English Civil War (1641-1645). I looked and looked on Google to learn more about John Somerset but I wasn't able to find anything so all I know is that one sentence in the St. Michael's pamphlet. Sheila and I talked about how the Internet has allowed us to get so much more background on places and events; we can visit a place and then, when we're trying to remember something, look it up on Google. But even Google still has limitations :)

This plaque on the floor of the aisle was a sad reminder of infant mortality in the mid 1700s. Mom and dad have long joined those infants but as a mom/grandma myself I still feel the sadness they must have felt as they laid their tiny ones to rest beneath this stone.

What particularly fascinated Sheila and Dave, and what attracts many visitors to the church, is a series of intricately carved bench ends, three of which are an allegory of a fox who runs afoul of the local forest animals. They were apparently carved in the 14th century and represent the anger the people of St. Michael's parish felt toward the Abbot of Glastonbury who expected the lion's share of their tithes. Remember that beautiful, huge, Abbey I blogged about two days ago? Yep, the head of that Abbey also stretched his influence across the valley.

The carving on the first bench end has the fox (Reynard) dressed as an Abbot, addressing geese, an owl, a cock, etc. Above him, between two birds, is an ape chained and holding a moneybag, representing the folk who are forced to give the Abbot their tithes. In the lower part of the panel, two apes roasting a pig represent gluttony, presumably the Abbot's gluttony. I think back to the Abbot's kitchen; by our standards his meals were modest but compared with what the people in the lands around had to eat, perhaps he banqueted every day. (The explanation of the carving comes from a pamphlet published and printed by the Parochial Church Council of St. Michael's Church, revised 2007. Conjecturing is my own.)

The owl sits atop the second carving, perhaps he was the one who blew the whistle on the Abbot/fox. A little below, we see the ape inciting the geese against the fox. The middle bit shows the fox stripped of his robes and, in the bottom carving, he's sitting in irons, guarded by an ape. Sheila and I were puzzled over the representation of apes; we wondered how the medieval carver would have known about them. They weren't/aren't native to England. Again, I couldn't find a definitive answer on Google although apes were apparently used in satire from medieval times. And perhaps these creatures that the 14th century carver used weren't even apes. Perhaps that's a later interpretation. A mystery.

In the final bench end carving, the fox is hanged by the geese. Ironically, (I looked this up on Google because I was curious to know what indeed did happen to the last Abbot), the last Abbot of Glastonbury, Richard Whiting, was indeed hanged in 1539 (early 16th century). Now if the little paper is true, these ends were carved about 150 years before that, i.e., 14th century. Either the woodcarver, or whoever commissioned him, was a seer, or someone's off on their dates. Once more Google lets me down as to any definitive timing for the bench ends. I am thinking that I might want to go to the local historical society or maybe even ask someone in St. Michael's. Maybe that would be stirring things up though. Hmmmm.

So the ancient woodcarver told his story and so I tell mine. He used wood and an awl
and I use a camera and a laptop. He took weeks, perhaps, months. I took about four and a half hours. Both of us probably muttered under our breath when the pictures didn't line up and I had to deal with text as well, he had to deal with wood and a sharp awl. He understood his craft very well, I'm just beginning. Between the two of us, I think his art is the more beautiful, certainly more tangible and may probably ultimately be more lasting--it's already lasted for 600 years-- but I think our aims were/are similar. My aim in my art is to share all of this beauty, and these conundrums, with my friends back home and, ultimately, bring these times back with me once I finish my travels so I can revisit them whenever I want; keep the memories strong. I think back to all the travels of the past 40-odd years and how little I remember of the pre-digital, pre computer period. I think of my mother's photograph albums with their wonderful photos but scanty references; I don't know what she was feeling as she took the photos or even who the people caught in time are. I feel blessed to have this technology to use to supplement my very faulty (and getting faultier) memory.

On a more prosaic note, we returned to Burnham satisfied both physically and mentally. Later, Sheila and I went to La Vela, an Italian restaurant in Burnham and ate a rather hearty Italian meal. The scales registered that heartiness this morning so, after spending two hours this morning (added to the two late last night) fidgeting with this blog, it's time I posted it and got moving!

Ambling around

I went into Weston yesterday morning to see if I could get a SIM card. Double decker bus and I went upstairs and sat right at the front. It was raining so I didn't take too many photos out of the window. It seemed that every time the bus stopped and I'd get ready to take a photo, it would suddenly lurch forward and I'd end up with a photo of the seat or the top of the bus or something. Riding on the top of a double decker, at least one that has to make a lot of stops, is like riding a horse. Bumping up and down and you're not sure you're actually going to stay on. Fun in a queasy sort of way. I wondered for a bit what those loud bangs were that I was hearing and then I realized they were the sounds of tree branches smacking against the top of the bus. I was very glad it wasn't an open topped double decker!!

My trip to Weston was a bit of a wasted journey. I went to the phone people there--didn't realize there were different phone places but I should have as we have Verizon, AT&T, etc., in the US--and the woman simply said the phone was "locked" and she couldn't sell me a SIM card. Now if she'd said that this was an Orange mobile (cell) and that I should go somewhere that sold Orange SIM cards it would have been more helpful. Ah well, we need to be self-reliant as consumers these days. As that was a bust and I only had a half hour if I wanted to catch the bus back to Burnham and get back in time for a possible bike ride with Sheila, I went into the Marks & Spencer next door, bought a sandwich and some fixings for last night's dinner and then just walked around the pier of Weston a bit. Another seaside town but larger than Burnham. The smells from the fish 'n chip places were glorious but not conducive to my healthy eating plan. I will go in one of these days but only on a day when I've either done a LOT of exercising or have saved up calories.

Got back to Burnham and it was pouring rain again. The rain came and went yesterday. I was dressed for it though, wearing my big plastic rain cape. It works well and I think will come in very handy when I'm rambling up in the Highlands. I can put it on over my backpack and keep it dry. I'd actually had a nicer one to bring but somehow in the transition of luggage at Laurie's I must have left it behind. So I bought this one and that's fine.

Our bike ride a non-starter, Sheila and I decided to go to the travel agent's and see if we could book a cheap, last-minute, sunny getaway for early September, before I go back. We spent over an hour with the helpful agent, discussing the pros and cons of Greece and Turkey before we decided on a week on the Algarve in Portugal. Wow, this is turning out to be THE holiday for me!! But who knows when I'll get back to Europe--and next time I really do want to come with Richard--so I thought I should take advantage of the opportunity. Make hay while the sun shines my Mom always said.

Today's been quiet too. Having spent a good portion of my budget yesterday, I've been trying to figure out the cheapest way to get around Scotland between the end of the Gathering next Sunday and the start of my week in the Hebrides. It is MUCH cheaper to book trains in advance. Perhaps I should have opted for the 8-day BritRail pass instead of the 4-day but at the time I didn't know how much train travel I'd be doing and whether it was cost effective. The jury's still out on that.

Having hung my wash out on the line, I see that the dark clouds are gathering again. Cross fingers it doesn't rain for a bit longer. So I'd better pop over to my HSBC bank and get some answers on my debit card (works fine on ATMs but not with merchants) and then take the wash off the line. I don't know if we'll be biking this afternoon either.

Glastonbury Abbey

Sheila and I went to the Abbey yesterday afternoon. I took a number of photos there so this blog will mainly be about the Abbey. I first went to the Abbey with Sheila and her mum 31 years ago, while we were staying with Sheila's folks in Highbridge, which is only .25 mile away from Burnham, you walk into Highbridge from Burnham. I have a photo somewhere of Sheila and her mum gazing into a mirror in the Abbot's Kitchen in the Abbey. You'll see I took photos of the kitchen now. The interior has changed quite a bit from when we were there in 1978. A lot has changed except, of course, for the ruins. They are truly magnificent.

A little background about the Abbey: Glastonbury has been linked with Christianity for centuries and with the "old religion" earlier than that. The Tor is supposed to have links to fairies and Celtic ceremonies. There's a legend that Joseph of Arimathea--the Joseph who directed that Jesus be buried in his tomb--came here in the first century. And a further legend is that he came here with Jesus when Jesus was a boy and that they built the first church here. Another legend says that in 1191the Abbey monks found the buried remains of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere; prior to that there had been a legend that Glastonbury and its tor was the legendary "Isle of Avalon." And, linking back to mythology once again, the word "Avalon" is actually means land of the fairies. They're legends, who am I to judge? They have been around a lot longer than I have. Anyway, what HAS been proven by archaeology and through monastic writings is that a church, a great church, existed in Glastonbury as early as the 12th century. By the end of the 12th century, the Abbey was well known. A fire destroyed it in 1184 and it was rebuilt and thrived until the Dissolution in 1539 by Henry VIII. Bits from the first Abbey are on display in the museum; after the Dissolution, the Abbey was used as a quarry, bits of it taken at a time. It's sad to think of these immense buildings, larger than any of the cathedrals currently in England, being pecked at. The only complete building on the 36 acres is the Abbot's Kitchen.

There's so much history and mystery about Glastonbury that it's a bit mind boggling. We'll probably come back here later in the summer as we didn't walk around the village at all and we didn't climb the Tor. We spent over 2 hours just walking the Abbey grounds and enjoying the peace and quiet there. There were some tourists like us around but the grounds are so large that most of the time we were alone anyway. So, here we go:



We paid our admission (£5) and entered the Abbey grounds. This is a statue of St. Didiric (I think that's the name anyway), a saint who symbolizes charity and compassion, which were virtues that the Abbey monks strove to display.

This is the sacred thorn tree which supposedly grew out of the staff that Joseph of Arimathea stuck in the ground when he arrived:



And here are the ruins themselves. I find it hard to describe them. Massive, certainly. Poignant, yes, because I thought about all the activity that used to go on in these buildings. All the effort to have a different kind of life, a life devoted to the spirit. And the faith of those who built all of this and nurtured it and then it was just taken down by those who didn't value it. Didn't think about what it represented. Are we doing the same thing nowadays to good and special things? And making it difficult to remember the things of the spirit? In our hustle-bustle world can we still understand what it means to contemplate the things of the spirit? If I were to think about the lesson that Glastonbury might have for me it is to stop and look not with my worldly eye but with the eye of the Spirit. To see not only what still can be seen but also what was. Hmmm....





To give you an idea of the height of the spires, that's Sheila standing on the ground in front. I wish that Dad were still alive, I'm sure he'd tell me how the masons must have labored on those walls:



And here's what I think is my most "picture postcard" Abbey photo. The sun was intermittent yesterday and this was one of the moments that it came out:



I was so amazed by the arches. I wish I could have seen them actually constructing them. Perhaps if I could have focused my spiritual eye. . .:




There were some trapdoors in the ground that, when you opened them, you could see examples of the medieval tile. I was surprised they didn't have protective covering over them:



And here is the Abbot's Kitchen. As I mentioned earlier, both Sheila and I remember that there was very little actually in the kitchen when we were here in 1978. And if I find that old photo when I'm back home, I'll scan and post it. I thought they did a beautiful job recreating the kitchen; it looked really appealing. I should have liked to have sat on a stool while a monk whipped up some soup and herbs and meat:









The monk isn't a ghost. There are a few folks who walk around the Abbey and give demonstrations, a kind of living history, during the summer months. We didn't stay for the monk's demonstration, we just wanted to amble around.

Here's the herb garden that the monks would use for cooking and healing. So many recognizable names, fever few, lavender, chamomile, hyssop.... I wonder if I can grow a herb garden in Arizona?? Probably, but it will require some work to maintain. Still, one thing that struck me as I walked around the Abbey was how busy the monks were daily. I have loads of time during the day; if I just shifted my time away from Net surfing and Target shopping, I'd have sufficient for monklike pursuits.






We spent several quiet minutes sitting beside this pond, watching the fish swimming around. I actually sent a photo of this to Richard and he responded within a minute. I suppose that's a different kind of "spiritual moment"--where you can e-mail a photo from a Blackberry to someone who is several time zones away and he can see it within a minute and then reply back. I think about when I lived in England it would take weeks to send a letter to my dad back in Montreal and receive a reply. Again, Dad came to mind and I think of how he would have loved this. I think he'd have been willing to learn about computers if he could have followed along on my travels. He was always grumbling about how he never knew where I was.



I am thankful to have such a great husband in Richard, who encourages me in my wandering. But maybe it's not all altruistic; perhaps he enjoys the breather too ;) And even though he teases me about all the Blackberrying I do, I think that he enjoys hearing from me and knowing what I'm up to.

Speaking of monklike living, I thought I should slip a photo of my current "roommate", Eddie the cat. Eddie tries to sleep on the end of my bed at night but it seems we take turns having restless nights. Either he wakes me up in the middle of the night by walking on my head or I wake him up by kicking the duvet over him as I go through yet another night sweat:



Well, all of this has taken me two hours and I need to go into Weston to get a SIM card for the mobile that Sheila is lending me. I can use my Blackberry as a phone but that would mean that people here in the UK would have to call a US number to return my calls. So better to have a UK mobile. All this technology--you may think I'm techno-savvy but really I'm still just a user. Don't ask me to do anything that would require actual programming....

Sunday July 12th

I lasted through three pubs on Saturday night before I headed for home a little after midnight. I enjoyed watching the people, seeing them talking and laughing. And I enjoyed talking to Sheila's family and friends too. Pubs have always been the social hub of UK's villages. I asked the folks on Saturday night if it was still that way, seeing as TV has made such inroads; judging by the numbers of people out, and the ages, it seemed to me that there were fewer people than when I was younger. They did say that there were two "shifts" in pubs. The people who came in early, 5-6ish and left at around 9 to go home and watch telly. And those who came out later, as we did, at 9.

Yesterday as I was waiting for the bus, I started talking to an older lady who was heading into Weston and she told me of what she called the "boy racers," another evening activity in Burnham that is not as gentle as being at the pub. Young boys race their cars up and down the main street along the pier. She says they make so much noise, to as late as 1 a.m., and that they sometimes have wrecks as well. One time, four boys in a car plowed through a stone wall and into the front room of an older couple's home. Luckily the couple wasn't at home but what a mess they came home to. They had it repaired but have put the house up for auction now. I don't think I'd feel very comfortable sitting in the front room either.

The bus ride to church was so pretty, winding through country roads (we'd call them lanes but they are roads in the English vernacular) and through more beautiful villages. As always, I was so glad that I wasn't driving. Even the bus driver seemed a bit frustrated as he had to keep stopping so that a car could inch past him. At one point, we were passing a church that was in session, with cars parked all along the road. And a car coming along in the opposite direction had to stop and back up to let the bus pass; there just wasn't enough room for both to get through. As we went through the outskirts of Weston I saw people parasailing on the water in the bay. Coming into Weston that way I could admire all the lovely Georgian homes near the bay; it looked much prettier than the last time I went, where we mainly were just in the High Street and shops. Funny thing about perspective; I've often had people tell me that they didn't like such-and-such a town they visited whereas I'd found it pretty or vice versa. Sometimes it's just the way you enter a town or the part that you visit. Or sometimes, too, it's whether it was raining or there was sunshine> Yesterday was a sunshiny day, warm enough that I only wore a thin sweater over my dress. So I think that with the gold bouncing off the green of the hills, the white houses glistening and the water on the bay shining, everything just looked that much more beautiful.

The bus driver, who reminded me a bit of Robert Carlisle in Hamish Macbeth, was very kind to me. I told him I'd never been to where I was going to in Weston so when we got into the town, he called me up and asked me the address. Luckily the LDS meetinghouse was on the bus route but he actually stopped right in front of it, especially for me, and told me how to get back as well. However, I didn't need to take the bus back because as soon as I got into the building several people came up to me, asked me about myself and volunteered not only to drive me home but also invited me to dinner as well. I felt well and truly welcomed and the meetings were as uplifting as always.

So I was driven home after the meetings and reminded that I'd have a drive there and back whenever I needed it. When I got home the weather was so lovely that I told Sheila I would take the dogs out along the river(s) again. Two rivers actually flow into one and that's the "sea" here in Burnham-on-Sea; the Parrett and the Bure. The path that I've been walking along is actually 50 miles long. I've done 2 miles on it so far; I am going to go farther afield on it this week. Not with the dogs though; even yesterday the 3 miles I walked were quite sufficient for Muffin. Daisy looked as if she could have gone miles farther though. I got back and all three of us flopped on the couch. Later Sheila made a wonderful meal of baked pork chops and we watched a couple of films on the telly.

A lovely Sunday and here are a few river photos:

















And I can't resist posting the English gardens:

Settling in

The last two days have been relatively quiet. On Friday morning I took the dogs for a walk. I didn't take any photos of them romping in the grass nor did I bring my camera along when, later in the day, Sheila and I again took the dogs out for a walk along the river. A camera-less day so Sheila suggested I post a photo from the last time I visited:



Sheila's changed the furniture around in the front room a bit but it's still the same settee (and the same dogs.) This is how I spend the evenings anyway so, apart from the fact that I didn't bring that sweater with me and that I've got different glasses, we could say this represents this holiday as well. Except for tonight when we are going out to the local pub to hear some music and enjoy Sheila's friends. As I don't drink alcohol, I'm a cheap date . And I won't be out late either as I must get up early to catch the bus to church. It's an hour's bus ride and the buses only run once an hour. That will be an adventure tomorrow.

Today we went to a healing fair at an animal rescue centre. The only photo I took there was of some geese and I won't post it, it's not that interesting. But the healing fair WAS interesting, lots of people selling crystals and stones and giving massages and readings and such. I bought a CD of Gregorian chants and it's quite relaxing. And afterward we went to a garden centre called Garden World that was absolutely mouth watering to this person so used to cacti and desert flowers. This place had everything, including cacti!! I took a photo of one grouping that I wish we could recreate back home:



They had some prettier English cottage garden arrangements with masses of flowers but I thought perhaps we could manage this one in New Mexico/Arizona.

Well, time for me to get ready to go out. Golly, I haven't gone "out" on a Saturday night for ages!!

Healthwise, I'm doing very well. We did have Indian curry on Thursday night which probably tipped the calorie scales but we were very careful yesterday. Today we had home-made cake at the animal rescue centre but the proceeds went to a good cause--while we were in the gift shop a family brought in an injured hedgehog for example--and it was lovely cake. Dinner was low fat meatballs, yum.

Cycling in Cheddar

Yesterday's cycling adventure was a huge success as far as I was concerned. Mainly because (1) I didn't fall off and (2) I kept up with Sheila and Dave. Of course it was also very, very beautiful, the weather was kind and we stopped halfway in Cheddar--which unfortunately necessitated riding through the narrow streets and hoping that the cars that were following us/passing us didn't mind cyclists and weren't in a mood to knock one off--for tea and cake. Cake you say, CAKE? Doesn't that undo all the benefit of cycling? Ummm. . .all in moderation. I am going to prove this summer that one can have treats now and again, in moderation, and eat healthy the rest of the time, exercise and maintain the weight one wants. I only ate half the serving of walnut cake yesterday anyway.

Okay so here is the first photo:



Dave and Sheila, their bikes and mine, ready to begin the ride down the Strawberry line, which is a converted railway track that runs along a reservoir between Axbridge and Cheddar.

Next:



It was a flat pathway (yay!) bordered on both sides with lots of green and with beautiful flowering bushes and wildflowers. I especially liked the purple lilacs although I tend to sneeze around them.

Next:



After cycling around 1.5 miles or so, the path ended at the outskirts of Cheddar. We cycled into the town (ulp!.) We locked up our bikes on the bridge overlooking this brook and walked to a tea shoppe Sheila and I had gone into the last time I was there, in January 2007. At that time, there had been no one around but yesterday Cheddar was full of tourists. Unfortunately our tea shoppe was closed but there was another one across the street and we sat out in the garden and had our tea and cake feeling that all was right with the world.



A photo of me in the garden. We told Dave about our youthful escapades in London and shared stories about Yorkshire where Dave comes from and where my dh's family also comes from. Sheila's late husband was also a Yorkshireman. It was so relaxing and lovely. But we weren't sure whether the darkening clouds portended rain so we returned to our bikes and headed back to where Dave had left the van.

On our way back toward the bikes we stopped in at the Cheddar Cheese Factory which we HAD visited that January. I laughed to see that they have a couple of cheeses that had "chili" and jalapeno peppers in them. I chatted with a woman who was buying one--I bought some of the traditional, strong, kind--and told her that I come from around the chile capital (Hatch, New Mexico which boasts to be) of the world.

Riding in the town was a bit frightening for me. First, because the roads are so narrow--we'd consider them a single lane back in America--and second because of those roundabouts. . .I'm never sure who has the right-of-way and which way to look! I won't drive in England because of these two factors but I followed closely behind Dave and Sheila and trusted they knew what to do. They did.

Next:



When we returned to where the bike path had left off, we took a different path and cycled around the reservoir. There was a stiff wind blowing and we rode into it. This is where I noticed the difference that two years of exercising and toning have made to my legs. Although I could feel my muscles working hard, I easily kept up with Sheila and Dave. Guess that the workouts I've been doing, including the hiking, HAVE helped in the cycling department too. I think that it was also good that the bike was the tiniest bit big for me. It enabled me to stretch my legs out more fully than I would have on my old mountain bike. In hindsight, looking back at the way I huffed and puffed on my old bike in Las Vegas, I might have been better off if I'd put its seat up. I'd have got more "push" power I think. But speaking of seats, I did find the hard seat slightly uncomfortable. We only cycled 5.5 miles yesterday with that long stop in the middle and I felt as we did the last bit that I had had enough for the day. I don't think I'm ready for the Tour de France.

Oh and the sheep in the photo? On one side of the reservoir is lush green farmland:



and there were loads of loads of sheep, rams and lambs. I thought of that piece by Bach "Where sheep may safely graze...." and it was indeed a place of peace and beauty and safety.

How do I feel this morning? Great. A few twinges but I always "twinge" in the morning, nothing out of the ordinary. Sheila says our next bicycling adventure will be Brent Knoll but she promises that we will only cycle the flat bit and then walk up to the Knoll. I don't want to destroy the illusion that I am a good cyclist