Our kitchen floor is heated. The boys roll around on it and I love to plop down and hang out down there, something we will miss.
A few weeks ago we walked the Upper Woodford Valley in Wiltshire, which lies between the stone circles of Amesbury to the north and Stonehenge to the south.
We started at the Bridge Inn, in the small village of Upper Woodford. I found the walk online on an official visit Wiltshire website, but the directions were hard to follow and we got off course more than once.
I don't mind getting off course, as long as we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples and water to feed the troops.
Part of the problem is not having a printer, I hand write all of the directions, trimming as many of the words as I can.
We made it over the River Avon to the mill house,
into the town of Durnford.
The walk passes through Durnford, then follows the road in a sharp right up and around a hill. We had another detour here near the manor house, before finding the right path. This is probably 1.5 hours into the walk and Michael had been complaining for all of it, minus the first 10 minutes. His legs hurt, his side hurt, he was tired, we were too bossy, the list was long.
About this time, we questioned again if we were really on the right path, so Mike stopped two guys jogging in the woods and asked if this was the way to Wilsford. They said yes, while confusing us further about how to get there. Then they mentioned that as we pass the next large house we should listen for bass guitar music playing...because who lives in Wilsford?
Sting!
And Trudy, of course. And lots of very relaxed swans. They have a draw bridge. The house is lovely, and smaller than I would have guessed.
The path cuts off at their house and there is no getting past it, despite the walk's directions to continue on. Believe me, we tried. And no bass guitar to be heard.
We turned around.
To entertain Michael who kept up with his list of complaints, I started to imagine a Roman soldier heading out on his daily 20 kilometer march, followed by road building or battle. We imagined what it would be like if he started complaining 10 minutes into the march and kept it up the whole time. Michael kicked it in gear and marched for the next 17 minutes. I sang the only marching song I know, actually a cheer from SHS.
Until he collapsed and played dead for a few minutes.
When he got up he asked me if I was thought he really was dead.
Then as we passed a beautiful country home Mike asked the gentlewoman of the house if the Black Horse was a good pub. She said the pub is very good, the food is good, and if the landlord is rude, don't worry about it, that is just how he is. The boys were intrigued by her "recommendation" and were completely disappointed when we found we were too late for lunch.
"Where's the angry chef!!??"
As we walked back to the Bridge Inn, Dominic and I held hands. Giant leafless trees (oak or chestnut?) lined the path and as we walked I was mesmerized looking up into the branches and the sky beyond. I love this beautiful country.
We were very proud of our guys for walking for four hours with very little rest!
Here is the link to the walk
http://www.visitwiltshire.co.uk/dbimgs/walk%2012.pdf
Tucsonans we miss you so much, cannot wait to rejoin our desert kin. Love love love!
A few weeks ago we walked the Upper Woodford Valley in Wiltshire, which lies between the stone circles of Amesbury to the north and Stonehenge to the south.
We started at the Bridge Inn, in the small village of Upper Woodford. I found the walk online on an official visit Wiltshire website, but the directions were hard to follow and we got off course more than once.
I don't mind getting off course, as long as we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples and water to feed the troops.
 |
| Look Jim, horses with raincoats! |
Part of the problem is not having a printer, I hand write all of the directions, trimming as many of the words as I can.
 |
| Sticks in action. |
into the town of Durnford.
 |
| Black Horse Pub, the sign says, "Yerbusterd!" I have no idea what that means. |
The walk passes through Durnford, then follows the road in a sharp right up and around a hill. We had another detour here near the manor house, before finding the right path. This is probably 1.5 hours into the walk and Michael had been complaining for all of it, minus the first 10 minutes. His legs hurt, his side hurt, he was tired, we were too bossy, the list was long.
 |
| Snails hibernating, we had never noticed them before. |
About this time, we questioned again if we were really on the right path, so Mike stopped two guys jogging in the woods and asked if this was the way to Wilsford. They said yes, while confusing us further about how to get there. Then they mentioned that as we pass the next large house we should listen for bass guitar music playing...because who lives in Wilsford?
Sting!
 |
| Can you see the house? |
And Trudy, of course. And lots of very relaxed swans. They have a draw bridge. The house is lovely, and smaller than I would have guessed.
 |
| Mud! |
The path cuts off at their house and there is no getting past it, despite the walk's directions to continue on. Believe me, we tried. And no bass guitar to be heard.
We turned around.
To entertain Michael who kept up with his list of complaints, I started to imagine a Roman soldier heading out on his daily 20 kilometer march, followed by road building or battle. We imagined what it would be like if he started complaining 10 minutes into the march and kept it up the whole time. Michael kicked it in gear and marched for the next 17 minutes. I sang the only marching song I know, actually a cheer from SHS.
Left, left, left, right leftI sang that over and over about 20 times.
My back aches, my belt's too tight,
my hips shake from left to right
Say mmm, m-gowwa, got to get some Cougar power!
Mmm, m-gowwa, got to get some Cougar power!
Until he collapsed and played dead for a few minutes.
When he got up he asked me if I was thought he really was dead.
Then as we passed a beautiful country home Mike asked the gentlewoman of the house if the Black Horse was a good pub. She said the pub is very good, the food is good, and if the landlord is rude, don't worry about it, that is just how he is. The boys were intrigued by her "recommendation" and were completely disappointed when we found we were too late for lunch.
"Where's the angry chef!!??"
As we walked back to the Bridge Inn, Dominic and I held hands. Giant leafless trees (oak or chestnut?) lined the path and as we walked I was mesmerized looking up into the branches and the sky beyond. I love this beautiful country.
We were very proud of our guys for walking for four hours with very little rest!
Here is the link to the walk
http://www.visitwiltshire.co.uk/dbimgs/walk%2012.pdf
Tucsonans we miss you so much, cannot wait to rejoin our desert kin. Love love love!
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