Walking

My purpose in going to Derbyshire (they say "Dahbyshire"), the Peaks District, was to walk, and walk I did. I would have been happy to do it for an indefinite number of days. This is unique to the British, as far as I have observed—all these country walking paths, going through alleyways and fields, past cottages and through forests, and regulated a little bit. Farmers cannot put aggressive animals in pastures that are designated as public footpaths, but walkers must respect the fences and the animals. There are loads of British people out walking, many of them with their beautiful, and beautifully  behaved, dogs. Not going to mention Kate. 

The map directions are usually cryptic: "walk back toward town, away from the carpark, and where there is a gap between the houses, turn right and walk through some fields." I am quoting here. The guide could have said "across from where College St. enters Green Lane, at the Public footpath sign." Oh no, that would cut down on the actual walking back and forth along Green Lane, guessing where the houses have a gap.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

I couldn't help but think, when passing this sign, that in the musicology world, this might be called the "Cottage of Con'tent"—a place where a scholar would retreat to produce articles and books of great import—whereas I imagine they pronounce it Con-tent'—a place where one would escape to contemplate nature, sleep, walk, and rejuvenate. But perhaps if I hadn't been coming straight from a musicology conference that wouldn't have crossed my mind.                          

My map directed me to "turn right after Fern House, and keep Fern House and its woods to your right." Good thing I noticed the tiny sign on the wall that said Fern Cottage. But turning right after this cottage was the last thing I was able to decode on this trail. I had been in this general area the first day, had a sense where the town was, and so after slogging through a really muddy field, I just rambled wherever it was permitted.

These horses lived in the field next to Fern House/ Cottage, and their bridles hung on the fence, ready to go. The farm next door had a riding school, and a class was in session as I walked in the field above.  

 

 

The fields were filled with lambs and wildflowers.                                    

I liked the way this hook curved around the post to reach its latch. And I liked finding benches scattered around in the middle of nowhere.  I stopped to enjoy the stillness and to write in my

journal right in the middle of a sheep pasture.

They were so near that I could hear them tearing up and chewing the grass.

All of these pictures are from this one walk; the landscape is varied, and that is one of the things that makes walking so delightful. The green of the woods contrasted dramatically with  the gray of these stone bluffs.

But even within the woods, the scene varies. The branches above are tangled and curving in a green light, while the ones below are upright and more brightly  backlit. I took a video here to capture the clear, piercing birdsong that I heard only in this place and nowhere else, but it didn't turn out )-;

It was very muddy. I was glad to have my hiking boots, or I could not have done this walk. I noticed a lot of people wearing muddy hiking boots—on the train, in town, in the city park. I think lots of people had been out in the mud.