Chatsworth

 On this trip, I've been reading a lot of old English novels. First, Scarlet Pimpernel, which I'd never read, now Jane Eyre, and I'm sure Pride and Prejudice cannot be far behind. So when I visited
Chatsworth yesterday, I was completely in the mood. Chatsworth is the pride of the Peak District, I gather. I went by bus—three transfers, 70 minutes, with one transfer in front of a tiny store full of penny candy. I bought licorice, unlike any I've ever had before—very tough and chewy. I wish I'd bought more! It rained and poured all day, but when I had finished looking at the house, I walked for two hours on the grounds. I was soaked, but very content.

And I began to understand for the first time what those people did with their days. I could have walked for hours, even in the rain. Path led to trail led to sculpture, to row of birches, to grotto, to fountain, to more trails and paths. It was an amazing combination of nature and artifice; it is difficult to imagine thinking and planning on that scale. Or perhaps they just made it up as they went along. These woven sculptures were made from willow and bamboo grown on the place, and designed to seem organic and integrated into the growing things. The large one was an archway leading into the kitchen garden.

My favorite color is blue.

I thought this horse was real when I saw it from a distance.

The long vistas in England are glorious--even on a rainy day, but not so good in a photo.

This grotto was another little discovery at the end of a path--although, once you climb the path to the grotto, you realize that two more trails lead beyond  . . .

This fellow below seems to have come from Midsummer Night's Dream somehow.