Monday, December 9, 2013

The Wolds

It was such a heavy grey day yesterday. We went for a walk in the Wolds, which were milder and less dramatic than the Dales. Everything was shrouded in curtains of decay; all the leaves were disintegrating underfoot and the grass was yellowish and close-cropped. There was a wind with a knife edge in it, and all at once it felt like December, rather than a mild drawn out Autumn. 
At one point we walked through a small village, and saw not a single sign of life, though there was a giant wooden spoon outside someones house, and a shrub that had been clipped into a bear shape, and someone had poken two googly eyes into its head. 
The smell of coal smoke was strong. I like the smell. It smells old, and warm, and slightly sweet in a way. It carried far into the woods with us, and crossed the streams and ponds and stiles that we did. 
I have such mixed emotions about leaving in 3 weeks. I feel like I tried hard here, and it will all be to waste when I leave. 3 months is just enough time to start to feel settled, and to make some friends, and to have vague regrets when the time comes to move on. 
Moving on though is something I do best. You really just suck it up and be uncomfortable. It's all about being uncomfortable, and making a fool of yourself, and learning to live with loneliness. It certainly gives you time to think about your life, and the decisions you've made, and decide what you want. 

 12th century church in the village.

 Modern-day stained glass set in to one of the windows.

 Sometimes it's hard to figure out where to go.

 The best part of all the hikes we do- a Sunday pub lunch with beer and all the fixings.

Dad being all like "Did I get this photobomb thing right?"


  1. That pub lunch beats anything I ever saw in the British Isles. So JUICY.

    Three months is hardly enough. But think of all the poor suckers back home who never get anywhere.

  2. It was the best pub lunch I've had so far, actually. The beef was perfectly cooked and from the family's herd of cows down the lane. The potatoes were crispy outside and fluffy inside, the peas weren't overdone, and there was scads of gravy in which to drown my Yorkshire pud. Wonderful.