Summer in England

If Mark Twain hadn’t already said it, I could: The coldest
winter I’ve spent is a summer in Bedford. OK, so not quite true coming from
this girl from Nebraska, but it’s certainly been wet and rainy and cold here!

Yes, there are glorious days of sunshine, but it has never
really gotten hot. The fan I optimistically purchased has been used twice, and
then mostly just to move the air around, not really to cool us off.

 

Fourth of July Weekend in the Lake District

Over the Fourth of July weekend, we went to a Physician
Assistant conference in the Lake District, near Windermere – it felt like we
were in the San Juan Islands. About 30 PAs from all over Great Britain met to
share experiences, and get valued CME credits. Most everyone is from the US, so
we had a good old Fourth of July BBQ, with American hot dogs and mustard, and
even sparklers.

We stayed a few extra days with Neal and Jenny, and their
three Jack Russell terriers: Harvey, George, and Gus. It was good fun – and,
despite the rain, we walked through the woods and hills around the lakes. We
drove to Keswick (say KEZ-ick, those middle Ws are seldom pronounced) to see
the Pencil factory (there’s slate in them there hills), visited two houses
where William Wordsworth lived (my mother could recite several of his poems
from memory), and Hill Top, where Beatrix Potter lived.

We went to the Blackwell Arts & Crafts House – a
delightful Frank-Lloyd-Wright type of construction, so wonderfully different
from all the Victorian manors and medieval castles. But, the weirdest was the
Lakeland Sheep Center; this was like a Nebraska 4-H sheep judging contest. A
man with such a heavy Scottish brogue that we could barely understand what he
was saying, brought out about 20 sheep and explained why some were tall and
fuzzy brown, some squat with curly black wool, some with smoothly textured
white coats and big twisty horns, and everything in between! It was brilliant!

Neal drove us in his Jeep, with the George, Harvey, and Gus
in the back, over winding roads through beautiful mountain passes; fields
filled with sheep, and criss-crossed with stone walls; brick farmhouses tucked
into the hillside; ancient castle ruins; forests falling into crystal blue
lakes; and distant waterfalls. We went through villages named Buttermere,
Bowness, Grasmere, Cockermouth, and Hawkshead.

One highlight was walking right up to Castlerigg Stone
Circle, a mysterious set of 48 stones on a hilltop with sweeping views in all
directions. The sky is rolling with dark clouds, a struggling sun casts
highlights and shadows, and we touch moss-covered stones where druids danced
and sang and worshipped some 4,000 years ago. Amazing.

 

Bedford River Festival

In late July we had the River Festival down on the
Embankment. It was a carnival, music fest, and crafts fair all rolled into one.
Kids were everywhere, eating messy food, demanding those kitchy toys, getting
sick on twirly rides. Barkers enticed us to buy sausages on a roll, ride the
tilt-a-whirl, sign a petition for bats, and come see the medieval exhibit. Oh,
and there was beer everywhere, and two ice cream (well, actually an
all-chemical white frozen substance) vendors that Den has dubbed “Mr Whippy”
and “Mr Softy.”

After an evening of listening to a guy with a Frank Sinatra
voice sing old favorites from the 50s and a gala fireworks display, Den and I
walked back to our flat, lucky to live just two blocks from the Embankment.