How is it that I’ve been posting about dead tulips when we just returned from two wonderful weeks in England?
Could it be because there are only four or five thousand images to go through for weeding and editing and I’m procrastinating?
To set the stage for future England posts, here is the story that takes us from landing at the airport to our arrival at a certain ancient abode.
During our descent, blooming fields became visible, cabochons of intense yellow, made the more intense from being set, as jewels, into bezels of English green.
We threaded our way through the warren that is groundlevel Heathrow Airport, found the National Express bus terminal, and took the NX 444, heading east towards the Cotswolds.
We again saw the yellows, now from buswindow eyelevel.
Another kind of yellow was found at the heart of the small town nearest our destination.
The towns are so much more concentrated, compared to the sprawling layouts found in the US.
We were passed by a very large load of hay.
Higher than any load of hay soars the town church spire.
Shopping errands done, we took the road out of town.
Through the green, feeling a certain sense of terror.
Terror from traveling on the “other” side of the road.
We turn into a side lane.
At first there is no hint of where you are arriving, except perhaps the still-distant presence of a very large and ancient evergreen.
Here’s that tree.
And at least seven gables.
Here we are.
Our first English destination.
In this house and on these grounds may be found enough material for many histories and even more novels.
We’ll touch on some of this material in the weeks and months to come.
So long as nothing else comes along to distract….