Now that I have related the more difficult and humbling aspects of my weekend, I'd like to share how absolutely delightful it was. I was watching the BBC News this morning, just for a few minutes (the lady said she'd have breakfast for me "at half nine" and when I woke up I realized I didn't know if that was half TO nine or half AFTER nine...it's half after nine) and it was talking about how British people are always so miserable. It didn't take long for me to get tired of the list of things that they are miserable about, so I turned it off but thought it funny that people are so quick to blame their misery on outside influences rather than their own failure to choose their own attitude. If you read the post before this one, you'll know that it took me some time to actually apply this to myself. Anyway, even th
ough I am just as tired as I was before my weekend off, I have a much better attitude, due in part to an epiphany, and in part to the fact that Saturday was wonderful. I know I said it rained the whole time, but I love the rain. I absolutely adore it. I took a bus to Baslow and then from there walked for about five hours straight. I walked through fields full of sheep and trees and green and nothing else until I got to Chatsworth Estate, which is an enormous, famous and beautiful old country house. If you've seen the Pride and Prejudice movies, you've seen it--it's Pemberley. I didn't spend much time in the house itself, because the hills behind it were filled with trails. They are covered in trees, and between the trees they are filled with bracken
and heather. It was brilliantly green with splashes of incredible purple. In the trees, the rain was more like a mist than a rain. Like someone had rigged a giant mister like the ones they put over the vegetables at the grocery store into the tree tops. It swirled in the wind and everything looked like a fairytale. I kept slipping away from reality and expecting Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Little John, and the rest of the merry men to jump out of the trees and surround me. I kept imagining their hiding places and where they would post lookouts and where they would set traps. I was sure that I would look down and the well-worn trail will have disappeared from under my feet and I would be following a deer path into the unkno
wn. Being sick almost delirious with lack of sleep only enhanced my imagination. One point on the trail went up to a waterfall, and above the waterfall was a bench and a mirrorlike pond where the water fell from. It reminded me of the place where Robin Hood and Maid Marion go to be alone. I was always startled to look down and see pavement under my feet, or to see other hikers round a corner, or to hear a plane fly overhead. My only disappointment of the outing was that I didn't have time to explore every trail. Once I finished one and came back to the road, across the way there would be another. Several times I was on the road headed back down to try and catch another bus to a different place (I had plans to see several spots) but would find another irresistable trail. The only thing that got me out of those hills was the fact that I was getting a bit desperate for the loo. Once down, I right near turn
ed around and went back up. Wandering around like that, doing one of my favorite things ever--hiking--was so much what I needed. I almost tried to catch another bus, but decided instead to take a look at the actual house. It ended up costing less than I thought to go in, so I didn't feel too bad that it was closing in about an hour and a half. The house was beautiful, and the gardens...oh my heavens, the gardens...I could have spent a whole nother day in the gardens. They were huge and beautiful and diverse and secluded and absolutely wonderful. There were flowers and ponds and bridges and huge rocks. There were fountains and statues and mazes and benches. Everything you could possibly imagine in any garden in the world, it was there. Since it was rainy and getting close to closing time, there weren't very many people there. I would have loved to spend more time there. Anyway, I eventually had to leave because I wasn't sure
what kind of buses I'd get once it got later. When I got back to Baslow, I had about thirty minutes until the next bus to Chesterfield, where I would catch another bus, I hoped (the bus to my stop would leave almost as soon as my other bus got in) to Stainsby Mill. I was staying at Stainsby Mill Farm. With that half hour, I went into a hotel pub and got some hot chocolate. It wasn't quite Stephen's, and could have used a bit more chocolatiness, but it was hot, and that's what I needed. I caught my bus and barely made my other one. I could barely see through the windows because of the rain, and I wasn't entirely sure when my stop would be, but I saw Hardwick Hall on top of the hill just in time and got off at the right stop. I had to walk for a mile or so back to the farm. My body was ready for sleep so I read for a bit and went to bed early. Hard
wick Hall, by the way, is quite the place itself. Both it and Chatsworth were built by Bess of Hardwick, who was the second most influential woman in England. The first was the queen. Hardwick Hall is a couple miles up the hill from Stainsby Mill. Once I got to Stainsby on Friday, I dropped my stuff, put on my tennis shoes, and went exploring. I made my way up the hill, through herds of sheep, to the Hall. It was a fun climb. Sheep are funny, and sometimes very ugly. It was mostly closed down, partly because it was almost six thirty by the time I got up there and partly because lots of it isn't open on Fridays for some reason. I couldn't get in the house, of course, but there were some paths I could follow, so I did. I wandered around and walked some more paths outside the grounds for a while until I decided I should go back. I was absolutely ecstatic about being out of the city. Finally. Now I'm back, but that's okay. I had another bout of homesickness while I was in Derbyshire, but that's okay too. The hives I mentioned in my last post are coming back, but that's okay too (only because I have more benedryl). "The last of human freedoms [is] to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances."
Now that I have related the more difficult and humbling aspects of my weekend, I'd like to share how absolutely delightful it was. I was watching the BBC News this morning, just for a few minutes (the lady said she'd have breakfast for me "at half nine" and when I woke up I realized I didn't know if that was half TO nine or half AFTER nine...it's half after nine) and it was talking about how British people are always so miserable. It didn't take long for me to get tired of the list of things that they are miserable about, so I turned it off but thought it funny that people are so quick to blame their misery on outside influences rather than their own failure to choose their own attitude. If you read the post before this one, you'll know that it took me some time to actually apply this to myself. Anyway, even th
ough I am just as tired as I was before my weekend off, I have a much better attitude, due in part to an epiphany, and in part to the fact that Saturday was wonderful. I know I said it rained the whole time, but I love the rain. I absolutely adore it. I took a bus to Baslow and then from there walked for about five hours straight. I walked through fields full of sheep and trees and green and nothing else until I got to Chatsworth Estate, which is an enormous, famous and beautiful old country house. If you've seen the Pride and Prejudice movies, you've seen it--it's Pemberley. I didn't spend much time in the house itself, because the hills behind it were filled with trails. They are covered in trees, and between the trees they are filled with bracken 
and heather. It was brilliantly green with splashes of incredible purple. In the trees, the rain was more like a mist than a rain. Like someone had rigged a giant mister like the ones they put over the vegetables at the grocery store into the tree tops. It swirled in the wind and everything looked like a fairytale. I kept slipping away from reality and expecting Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Little John, and the rest of the merry men to jump out of the trees and surround me. I kept imagining their hiding places and where they would post lookouts and where they would set traps. I was sure that I would look down and the well-worn trail will have disappeared from under my feet and I would be following a deer path into the unkno
wn. Being sick almost delirious with lack of sleep only enhanced my imagination. One point on the trail went up to a waterfall, and above the waterfall was a bench and a mirrorlike pond where the water fell from. It reminded me of the place where Robin Hood and Maid Marion go to be alone. I was always startled to look down and see pavement under my feet, or to see other hikers round a corner, or to hear a plane fly overhead. My only disappointment of the outing was that I didn't have time to explore every trail. Once I finished one and came back to the road, across the way there would be another. Several times I was on the road headed back down to try and catch another bus to a different place (I had plans to see several spots) but would find another irresistable trail. The only thing that got me out of those hills was the fact that I was getting a bit desperate for the loo. Once down, I right near turn
ed around and went back up. Wandering around like that, doing one of my favorite things ever--hiking--was so much what I needed. I almost tried to catch another bus, but decided instead to take a look at the actual house. It ended up costing less than I thought to go in, so I didn't feel too bad that it was closing in about an hour and a half. The house was beautiful, and the gardens...oh my heavens, the gardens...I could have spent a whole nother day in the gardens. They were huge and beautiful and diverse and secluded and absolutely wonderful. There were flowers and ponds and bridges and huge rocks. There were fountains and statues and mazes and benches. Everything you could possibly imagine in any garden in the world, it was there. Since it was rainy and getting close to closing time, there weren't very many people there. I would have loved to spend more time there. Anyway, I eventually had to leave because I wasn't sure 
what kind of buses I'd get once it got later. When I got back to Baslow, I had about thirty minutes until the next bus to Chesterfield, where I would catch another bus, I hoped (the bus to my stop would leave almost as soon as my other bus got in) to Stainsby Mill. I was staying at Stainsby Mill Farm. With that half hour, I went into a hotel pub and got some hot chocolate. It wasn't quite Stephen's, and could have used a bit more chocolatiness, but it was hot, and that's what I needed. I caught my bus and barely made my other one. I could barely see through the windows because of the rain, and I wasn't entirely sure when my stop would be, but I saw Hardwick Hall on top of the hill just in time and got off at the right stop. I had to walk for a mile or so back to the farm. My body was ready for sleep so I read for a bit and went to bed early. Hard
wick Hall, by the way, is quite the place itself. Both it and Chatsworth were built by Bess of Hardwick, who was the second most influential woman in England. The first was the queen. Hardwick Hall is a couple miles up the hill from Stainsby Mill. Once I got to Stainsby on Friday, I dropped my stuff, put on my tennis shoes, and went exploring. I made my way up the hill, through herds of sheep, to the Hall. It was a fun climb. Sheep are funny, and sometimes very ugly. It was mostly closed down, partly because it was almost six thirty by the time I got up there and partly because lots of it isn't open on Fridays for some reason. I couldn't get in the house, of course, but there were some paths I could follow, so I did. I wandered around and walked some more paths outside the grounds for a while until I decided I should go back. I was absolutely ecstatic about being out of the city. Finally. Now I'm back, but that's okay. I had another bout of homesickness while I was in Derbyshire, but that's okay too. The hives I mentioned in my last post are coming back, but that's okay too (only because I have more benedryl). "The last of human freedoms [is] to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances."
1 comment:
I really liked this...
pictures are great...
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Melvin
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