The Phoenix Trail -- Buckinghamshire, England

We should strive to be employed in such a way that we don't realize that what we're doing is work. 

~Theordore Zeldin 

Oscar is collapsed on the floor beside the couch, hind legs tucked underneath him and face resting over his left front paw. He casts me forlorn puppy eyes as if accusing me for being the reason his family is missing. 

"Vhat have you done vith human friend-beasts? I vant short one who is forever singing and slightly taller one who chases me in fields of vheat. You are boring and spend too much time on silly machine."

Oscar's heavy Russian accent is thick with reproach. He sighs, picks himself up, and moves to the couch. 

"At least I now have whole couch." 

Charlotte, Violet, and Harry left for Menorca at 4:15 this morning. Jack flies out on Thursday, and the family will spend a jolly five days soaking up sun on a tiny Mediterranean island off the coast of Spain. They were meant to depart together, but Jack's work coerced him into staying an extra three days in Buckinghamshire to participate in an important meeting.

So the puppies will get to see the largest friend-beast in the evenings for the next two days, but after that, they'll be stuck with me for awhile. 

The last few days have been full of shopping trips, dog walks, spicy food, natural horsemanship and bicycle rides. Charlotte has been wonderfully considerate and makes sure that I'm aware of the excursions and opportunities available to me. She lent me her bicycle and her helmet and set me off on the Phoenix trail, which is a 7-8 mile bike/pedestrian path that connects the cities of Thame and Princes Risborough. Getting to the trail head was a bit complicated (and I got miserably lost my first time trying to find it, per use) and involved riding down a massive hill that kept me thinking, good god, I'm going to have to ride up this, aren't I?

The ride itself was flat, flat, flat. So gentle that it catered to wheelchairs, joggers, and dozens of small children on tiny tricycles. I enjoyed the stunning scenery and dismounted often, to give my ass a break (it's been months since I've been on a bike...) and to take pictures of the flora.

You really do have to take it gently on this trail. Else you could very well round a bend and collide with an old man in a wheelchair. And his seventeen year old terrier. Which would destroy you.

I think it was at about this part of the ride where I felt a perspective shift. I imagined my seven months counseling at Hand Up Homes for Youth, my year gardening (happily) for Judy, my modeling, my planning, my babysitting, my gear shopping, my yoga teaching -- everything had come together to bring me here. THIS is my dream. THIS is what I worked for. And I'm doing it, boy howdy. I'm here.

Red Kites are everywhere in this part of the country. I've frequently woken up and seen one soaring by just outside my loft window. Remarkable birds.

Blackberries predominate most trails in Buckinghamshire. I hope that at least a few ripen before I leave (in two and a half weeks). Walking past all the beautiful berries and knowing I probably won't get to taste any of them makes me feel like Nature is teasing me.

I haven't found a Red Admiral in England (one of my challenges for Ireland), but I found quite a few other species. I believe this one is the female Brimstone butterfly.

Small Tortoiseshell

A rather beat-up Small White

 I arrived in Thame before noon on a Sunday. I had hoped to walk around the city with a German Au-Pair down the road, but she decided she wasn't feeling up for it, so I went solo. Which would have been fine, had any of the shops been open. I'm quite content to meander through bookstores, browse secondhand shops, and check out local art in galleries on my own.

However, it was Sunday, and everything (excepting the pubs) was closed. And I wasn't too keen on sitting at a pub on a Sunday afternoon all alone.

So I had myself a wander through the deserted streets and window-shopped the windows without shutters or bars.

I can't wait to visit this shop. It uses the word "haberdashery". So great.

Houses have names in England. I enjoyed this one.

After I'd exhausted all of the windows and chain supermarkets, I decided to cycle back to my Buckinghamshire home and return to Thame on Tuesday for their Farmers Market and a real experience of the city. With shops I can visit and streets full of people.

I took a slight detour on the return route (on purpose, believe it or not), and found myself at a garden center. With enormous pigs.

This is a face. A face.

The Peacock butterfly

Another Peacock

I cursed and cried and panted and then got off and walked up that damn hill. I saw a squashed hedgehog on the side of the road, guts oozing onto the pavement and flies frantically buzzing about, and I whimpered a little more. Charlotte had warned me about the beast, but I'd laughed it off. I'm a super-fit yoga lady from Colorado. Hill? I eat English hills for breakfast.

Ummm... not this one. It'll take me quite a few trips to Thame and back before I eat that hill for any meal without suffering tremendous indigestion. Sweaty and exhausted, I wheeled into the garage. After a cup of coffee and a conversation with Charlotte, I remounted the bicycle (regretting not easing into this whole cycling thing. Biker's ass is no fun at all) and rode the mile or so to a friend's stable where I'm doing some mucking out for extra cash.

I finished the poo picking (that's what they call it here), watered the animals, and then returned home just as Charlotte was heading down to the stables to visit her Dartmoor pony.

"Can I join you?" I asked, flushed and out of breath.

"You've only just got back!" Charlotte was surprised.

"I know."

"We could set up the round pen, I suppose."

"Next step in project Peter!"

Peter is a middle-aged Thoroughbred gelding who's been retired for the last 8-10 years, due to volatile and dangerous behavior. His owner has stopped paying his boarding fees and the couple who own the stable don't quite know what to do with poor, abandoned Peter. He's an angel on the ground and they've all grown very fond of him, but they can't afford to keep another "useless" horse around the place. The animal shelters are already overcrowded, so Peter doesn't have a lot of options. Most horses in his position are euthanized, as people in this tough economy simply can't keep retired animals.

So Charlotte (who has loads of experience with natural horsemanship) and I have decided that by the end of the month, Peter will be a safe riding horse.

Progress is coming quickly.

Charlotte and I returned from our successful ride to a glorious smelling house. Jack is a divine cook, and we found him busily working away in the kitchen, conjuring up a chicken curry.

Have I mentioned yet how happy I am with this family?

The meal tasted every bit as glorious as it smelled, and Jack offered to give me his recipe for the curry sauce. An offer upon which I immediately pounced.

Courtesy of my generous host:

Liquidize:

one bulb garlic

one 5cm piece of ginger

two bunches of spring onions

four lemongrass hearts

75 grams of basil

100 grams of coriander

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp coriander

zest of one lime

juice of one lime

two tablespoons fish sauce

two tablespoons olive oil

two habanero chilies

pinch of ground black pepper

salt – as much as I fancy

Challenges:

A cold collation! Pretty much just a tasty plate of meat and cheese.

Preconceptions:

All the food I've eaten here has been exquisite. English people do not eat bland food. They are far too fond of Indian and Thai and Chinese for anything to be bland.

General Observations: 

Buckinghamshire is a land of nice cars. I've never seen so many expensive and stylish cars in one place before. Even in Saint Tropez.