An American in Geevor

In the Geevor Mine today

 I did so want to take my husband to the Geevor Mine near the village of Pendeen. I wanted him to see the green fields along the way and hear the unusual and fascinating way Cornish cabbies talk to their fares when they are cooped up with them for a half hour.

 I wanted my husband to go deep into the mine that is no longer in operation but still has all its parts intact. But mostly, I wanted him to see OUR SON 'DOWN THE MINE'!

He - the Doppelgänger - was down there, I tell you.

I've already shared in this space that I had once visited the depths of Geevor Mine, been scared by the smallness of the space, thought I would scream, yet made it out unscathed. After this small drama I walked around the lockers the miners had once used, saw the clothes hanging in the opened lockers, small nick-knacks belonging to the men, and enlarged smiling miner pictures usually smoking a cigarette. 

It was then that I saw him.

I found a double of my Rather Stunning Son.

(Donald Dunston)

It was weird, and I was suddenly filled with a desire to bring my son here to see himself. I did this in 2023, and we asked a volunteer if any of the retired miners knew Donald Dunston. They told us that a retired miner who had known Donald was working that day! We searched for him, found him, and bought him a pot of tea while plying him with questions about mining as he knew it.

You can read it all here: https://sconetherapy.blogspot.com/2023/05/cornwall-day-3-down-mine.html

So today I brought my husband to see his son in the mine and to marvel at the lifestyle experienced by those men long ago, digging out tin, copper, and other elements so badly needed by the general populace of the world.

And do you know what? We saw that retired miner there again today! He is called Colin McLaren. We didn't get to buy him tea, or be able to ply him with questions. But we saw him, and that was enough. Colin McLaren is a lovely man, very kind and shy and followed around by young and old alike after he spoke for them. Here he is back in 2023:

Colin McLaren, retired miner at Geevor

We ate a Cornish Pastie and enjoyed the bright sunlight beaming around us through the enormous cafe windows. In due time, our erstwhile cabbie came to collect us, and we said goodbye to Geevor. We now have one more day in Cornwall, a day which will include packing up, cleaning up, getting rid of food we cannot take with us, and saying goodbye to friends. It's been lovely. 

It always is lovely.  

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Down the Geevor Mine

We Put Ourselves in Cornwall in October

 

A friend's back yard on Friday when it wasn't raining yet

 We haven't had all that much to do or to write about in quite a few days. First of all, it has been rainy and windy which no one can complain about because (take a breath) they themselves booked the cottages and put themselves into wet Cornwall in October. Next is the discovery that my knee (or at least the back of my knee) has developed a 'crack'. Or, at least there is a sound of a crack. It happens whenever I move the knee, and then the knee cracks and tells me that hurts, and would I please stop moving it, if I don't mind.

 So we do not walk and run and search out foods and other fun shopping ideas along Fore Street right now.

 So even though it was raining outside, and my knee was sore, and the bedroom windows banged like a relentless hurricane, we got bundled up and went out on a rain-walk just now. Because we are well endowed with coats, and especially the SconeLady's two-coats-in-one, the air was cold but we were not! 

 I expected to see empty streets again, and people crammed into hot restaurants. But that is not what we saw. We saw the adult tourists all out sitting on beach benches, watching the kids and dogs which were IN THE FREEZING WATER. We could hear them squealing all down the Wharf. Now that's entertainment.

 We came back to our cozy, three story cottage with steep stairs, thinking about leaving in four days. It sure did go fast, dear Readers. And we sure did love it. But I won't be altogether sad to leave it this time. Trying to sleep with bedroom windows that bang like a relentless hurricane at night is not all it's cracked up to be.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

A Cornish horse I've come to love

American Pancakes in a Foreign Restaurant

We were the only people out of doors yesterday morning. St Ives was as deserted as one of the black and white fifties Sci/Fi movies my husband likes so much. Abandoned streets, restaurants open but empty, and winds of enormous size. 

We crept out into the chaos with hesitation. The winds had been so loud and so strong in the night that we thought the roof really might lift off, and we'd be Dorothy over the rainbow. Surrounded by flying rubbish bins.

Seeking something to eat that was not a chocolate twist, a croissant, a cinnamon bun, or an apple turnover, we finally settled upon a real breakfast at The Hub. We love The Hub because it has a porch out front with dear little tables and splendid tea. The Hub was open but empty, just like everything else. 

We decided not to sit inside where it was over-heated, but outside where it was brisk. There was also a dog flopped out under the chair of his Master, and I maneuvered toward the dog's table. (We like the dogs of St Ives, and maneuver ourselves in their direction as often as possible. My husband says, "That's a fine looking dog you've got there," whenever someone has a Golden Retriever. Golden Retrievers ROCK. We would like the cats of St Ives, too, only there aren't any right now. Where did they all go? We are puzzled about this. Maybe they are spooked by the winds of enormous size, or the proximity of all those dogs. We just do not know).

To bring this story to a swift end, I ordered the 'stack of American Pancakes'. Only they weren't actually American. They looked American. They had American butter, and American syrup on them, and you might almost think you were at a Denny's. But..

I wish I'd stuck with a chocolate twist.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

 

Dark Chocolate Sorbet

Yesterday at the Wharf

There was a large crowd with us at the windy Wharf today, everybody waiting for innocent victims (tourists) to become soaked. 

 Our favorite little sweet cottage is right there, and whenever we stay we hover around watching at high tide. It's only a matter of time before, WHAM! down it comes at high velocity on their hapless little heads. The watchers laugh and the tourists scream. Without fail. Today's tide was massive, so we sacrificed our dryness to see what would happen, taking videos. I became wet but it didn't matter, because of my new waterproof coat.

The children of St Ives loved getting soaked. Their mothers called for them to "Get away!" but they ran through it the way they would a sprinkler in the heat of summer (does Cornwall ever have sprinklers in the heat of summer? I'm thinking, not).

 I can hardly believe we have only one more week in Cornwall. During that one week, we want to hit the Coffin Trail again, walk St Michael's Way again, go to Wild Church again, and eat as many Moomaid's Dark Chocolate Sorbet cones as can fit into a normal sized tummy. (only it might not be normal sized right now)..

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Would Mr Darcy Approve of Me?

My sister reminded me that in Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennett was quite the walker. She lived in beauty, and wanted to be out of doors. Although there were times she read a book or talked with her sister about the two horseback-riding wealthy gentlemen, the English countryside would forever call out to her like a magnet.

But there was mud in that countryside, sometimes; and manure all the time, and water of a variety of types. You can see it in the series. 

In a recent blog post I included a photo that showed my own wet jeans - and socks. and shoes! To this, my sister replied, "I love your blog about St Michael's Mount! The bottoms of your pant legs are wet for 6-8 inches! It reminds me of when Elizabeth Bennett walked over to Netherfield to see her sister who was sick. Bingley's mean sister commented to Mr Darcy that Elizabeth's petticoats 'were 6 inches deep in mud!'"

                                                        

6 inches of mud

Bingley's mean sister would certainly NEVER go walking in mud. Bingley's mean sister liked Mr Darcy, and thought that if she brought Elizabeth's mud to Darcy's attention, Darcy would lose his interest in Elizabeth, and like her.

As you all know the denouement of the story, I don't need to tell you that having muddy skirts never hurt anybody's love story. My own jeans are in the washing machine right this very minute. This is because we walked St Michael's Way again today, and I know that Elizabeth Bennett would approve of me. 

And yes, I think Mr Darcy would too. Do you?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The mud in this English countryside 

 

The Land of Austen and Lewis

                                        

RF-4

 I don't know if soaking one's feet is a viable treatment for what we now call 'corns'. But since there is plenty of water on tap here in our cottage, and warm water feels good anyway, I shall soak them.

While I soak, I am thinking of how terrific it is to have married someone who is perfectly happy to go to and be at the places I like to go to and be at. It has been like this for a long time, starting with joining the Air Force and being given assignments in foreign lands. I hoped the foreign lands would be lands where they spoke English and shared similar cultural habits (a.k.a. England). And then when our first assignment was to a base in England, I couldn't believe it. It seemed miraculous. The land of Jane Austen and CS Lewis would be mine!

There was Oxford, and tea with crumpets, and driving on the wrong side of the roads, and Her Majesty the Queen, not to mention the excitement over Prince Charles and Lady Di, followed by Prince William. 

Because of that assignment, and then the next one (also England), our children have made friends here and kept them. Our mothers have come; our siblings have come; our friends have come; and we ourselves have been coming back, and will keep coming for as long as time allows.

And it's all because I married someone who is perfectly happy to go to and be at the places I like to go to and be at. Starting with joining the Air Force.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

It Takes Forever for the Sun to Come Up Around Here

 I spent ages last night thinking up how to explain to you about the new coat I just bought, but then tossed the blog post out for lack of inspiration. Instead, I will just tell you I bought a new coat. And the color of it is cream, although it looks a strange color of pink when I wear it on a sandy beach. And the coat is actually two coats! The shop assistant explained to us that having two coats in one is the best, because the wind will bite straight through lame, normal jackets (such as the one I had worn into the store) and said I would notice the difference right away.

It is after 6:00am here in Cornwall, and I just can't wait for the sun to come up so that I can try out my new coat. It is raining properly now. I can hear it, and the winds, banging away out there as if they would like to get at me. But with my two new coats in one, plus the outer boots my husband bought for us, and the variety of other layering, and the hood, I should be as snug as a bug in a rug. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

British? or American

It's interesting to sit in the waiting room of a foreign country, watching as they take care of you and the people around you. I suppose because American citizens used to be British citizens, the process of care is not all that different. (We learned it from them). 

I have been inside the waiting rooms and hospitals of several British cities, starting with delivering a baby in a British labor and delivery ward. It was 1983, and not only did I give birth there, I got to spend the previous nine months being examined and cared for by an outstanding obstetrician . They called him Mr. Milton.

They use 'Mr', and not 'Doctor' because... well, I can't exactly remember why they used 'Mr' and not 'Doctor'. I only know it is the title they gave their highest skilled physicians. And how did I get to have a baby on the British economy, you ask? I got to because at that time women in the military (I was a military dependent) could choose to have their baby either in the base hospital, or in a British hospital.

Of course I chose British! I was pretty sure it would be lovely, start to finish. And it was. I mean, it isn't comfortable giving birth. It is hard. But if it must be done, you might as well do it while surrounded by Sisters (nurses) who give you confidence and answer your questions and joke with you gently as that child makes his way into the world. And then after it is over, they give you cup after cup of the most delicious British tea, and (you won't believe this) CINNAMON ROLLS WHENEVER YOU WANT ONE!

                                     

The SconeLady with mother-in-law, sweet little daughter, and British-birthed baby

Cinnamon rolls were a new experience for me in a British setting. They were great! Warm, and accompanied by butter and either coffee or tea, whichever the young mother wanted. I could get used to this.

And then because I had a C-section, my son and I stayed in the hospital for 11 days! Eating rolls, drinking tea, and having what seems to be 6 meals per day! Breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper. Really!

Today as I waited my turn in a British surgery (doctor's office), I thought back to those halcyon days of being waited on hand and foot, living the life of Riley. The nurse who saw me this morning had that same look of excellence in her eyes, where you get the feeling you are in the hands of an expert. I wished I had the time to tell her about the 6 meals a day I ate, and all the cinnamon rolls I, and the other new mothers in the ward, had enjoyed. I'm sure none of us ever forgot it. 

Wouldn't it be fun to meet some of those moms from that year of 1983? Oh, the stories we could tell!

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Postponed

 Scenes from Cornwall

Can you believe this? My blond cousin was going to be in St Ives for a week, starting tomorrow! She is an inveterate planner, and her itinerary is/was a thing of rare beauty. She brings fun with her wherever she goes, and we had our own lists of things she would do with us. Places to go, lovely people to meet, and scrumptious food to eat. St Ives wouldn't know what had hit it! And jet lag? there would be no time for that!

 But then all of a sudden my cousin became ill, and is not, after all, going to fly across the Pond and take a train to St Ives. The poor thing. Poor us!

Standing ready for her is our cuter-than-ever cottage with two bedrooms, 1 1/2 bathrooms, and three narrow stories high (a bit iffy, I admit). Hers would be the guest room at the tippy top that has two twin beds and a view out over the rooftops toward the sea.

The cottage used to be a Fishermans abode, where they used the basement (now a kitchen) as a fish-press and smelly fish storage space. But as all the Fishermans cottages back in the day had the same exact smelly basement, almost no one noticed. 

The front door opens into a darling kitchen where we have had some smashing dinners and cups of tea. It has a scrubbed pine table and tiny refrigerator - but as every cottage in town has a tiny refrigerator, almost no one notices!

There is a shower room just off the kitchen and front door.

From the kitchen, you ascend the first set of zigzag narrow stairs, and come to the living and sitting rooms. This is the spot where we spend our comfy evenings, always accompanied by strawberries and cream while watching some sort of British show or other. Last night we ended up watched the final Mission Impossible starring Tom Cruise, who accomplished all sorts of impossible stunt things, on and on, until I thought he would somehow perish right in front of our eyes. But he didn't.

From the comfy living and sitting rooms, you ascend the next set of zigzag stairs to the tippy top where the two bedrooms sit. The main bedroom is super pretty with a Queen bed and iron bedstead. And the view of the sea is stunning in there. 

There is also a half bath on that floor between the bedrooms, just in case it is needed in the middle of the night,

So our plans may have changed, and the guest room remains empty, we refuse to utterly abandon these plans. We shall think of them instead as being temporarily Postponed. And then St Ives won't know what has hit it.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

New and Improved Sea Gulls

The SconeLady's husband has expressed a change of opinion toward the sea gulls in St Ives. He has said that the sea gulls in St Ives are his friends, that the sea gulls in St Ives no longer dive bomb, and that the sea gulls in St Ives are basically 'chill'. 

I begged to differ.

But even I had begun to think kinder thoughts about the creatures, this trip. They seemed to have become new and improved versions of their former evil selves, and I thought perhaps they had repented.

We bought chicken sandwiches today for lunch, and I was headed toward a covered beach bench to consume them. But my husband carried his toward the uncovered Wharf benches to eat. I balked.

"You want to eat on the benches?"

"Sure! Why not? The sea gulls are my friends." And he sat down to unwrap that darling gem of a chicken sandwich on white bread, with salad, mayo, and sweet chili sauce. The best sandwich in town.

I took a couple of pictures and a video or two as a bold sea gull eyed my husband. It stood stock still on the Wharf, concentrating on the eating man. When it hopped and flew up to settle on the rubbish bin, just feet from the sandwich, another tourist began filming as my husband ate. Nothing horrible happened until I stopped filming. Then suddenly - WHAM!!! It struck.

General consternation exploded around us. That cheeky bird carried its bootie from my husband's hand, screeching at the surrounding sea gull posse who wanted bites. And the videotaping man? He was nowhere to be seen. Too bad! I would have liked to make his acquaintance.

Many men would utterly abandon the lowly sea gulls of St Ives after such rude behavior. But this man probably won't. This man, once a friend, is always a friend.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Twists and Shouts

 

(I cut my twist in two)

The very first photo taken by me this morning was that of a chocolate twist, which I ate just seconds after taking this picture. As you can see, this delectable item isn't recognizably a 'twist', but has all the ingredients of one. The Norway Store got tired of having their chocolate twists fall apart in front of the customers, when staff members tried to place them into a bag. Apparently the twist/s were quite fragile. 

I never minded if they fall apart. And in fact, I never noticed it. The twistly aroma coming out of that bag drive me and the other customers so mad that it doesn't really matter what shape they are in. 

Customers in-the-know have figured out another angle to the morning ritual. You have to be on your toes when it's time to make a trip to the Norway Store. There are a limited number of chocolate twists in the basket on their counter, and when they are gone, they are gone. It is hard to walk into the shop and suddenly sense that something is missing. 

The last TWIST!

But I am sure you will rejoice with me when I say that I solved that dilemma. We moved into the cottage right next door to the Norway Store! Wasn't that clever? I now only have to take a few steps, and there I am at the secret opening.

What secret opening, you say? Well a few years ago I discovered a secret opening between the outside alleyway and the oven where the twists are baked. The opening allows customers to smell the twists as they bake! I stand by the opening every morning, just taking it in. It's almost as good as eating one.

Other food items from today are a Traditional Cornish Pasty, heated up and cut in half for us to eat as we walk the Coffin Trail today. The man at the Yellow Canary Cafe get excited about our plan to take one of his pasties along, so he did a good job of getting it heated just enough for it to stay warm in its foil package.

One of about a billion stiles we climbed on the Coffin Trail

The next food item of note was a visit to the Moomaid Ice Cream place next to the Guildhall. I always order a Dark Chocolate Sorbet, but today, for the first time EVER, they were out. So we ordered a Belgian Chocolate instead.

The next food item was our salmon dinner. We have searched high and low for fresh salmon in the shops down the Wharf, but no one had any, not even Matthew Stevens Fish. Then the other day I discovered salmon in the Co op, which is a shocking discovery. Who ever heard of finding fresh salmon in the lowly glass cases of a Co op? They have definitely come up in this world.

We did have another food item, Readers mine. The last one. Sliced up strawberries dusted with sugar and smothered in whipped cream. As I presented the berries to my husband, he ran out of words to express the goodness of all these food items. After I finish this post, we shall watch some British show or other, and then - shall I come up with any further food items? I sort of think enough is enough, although I could easily come up with some. (Maybe white cheddar cheese on a platter with some green grapes?)....

The cottage where a wealthy musician lives and records, along the Coffin Trail

The Pier House, just sitting there waiting to be sold

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Bishop's Breakfast

When a Bishop comes to your church, and participates in the music, the sermon, the Eucharist, and all the other loving details in such a production, it is an undeniable Red Letter Day. And we had one, today! I have experienced such events in the past, because my brother-in-law is an Anglican priest who planned and presided over his Bishop's visits. Those days spent in the presence of a Bishop were memorable, and valuable.

Bishop David arrived this morning just as the breakfast was being carried in and laid out ready to be consumed. Those pastries! As I enjoyed my chocolate croissant and coffee (my husband chose a cinnamon roll without the cinnamon), I noticed the Bishop speaking with just about every parishioner in the building, whilst carrying his coffee and pastry from person to person, in the most friendly of ways. 

Watching Bishop David this morning reminded me of the Bishop's seat. My sister told me about this important piece of furniture in a Cathedral, and I became fascinated. The Bishop's seat is called a 'cathedra', which is Latin for "chair". It symbolizes the Bishop's teaching and pastoral authority. You can see below the Truro Cathedral Bishop's seat, which I see every time I visit there. I have been to several other cathedrals, each time looking around the massive edifice until I come upon the Bishop's seat. 

Bishop David became the Bishop of Truro just this May, and has already visited 85 of the Anglican churches in his Diocese. He still has 250 churches to go, and is determined to see, and to participate, in all of them. 

 

Truro Cathedral's Bishop's seat

Little dog Tessa

The SconeLady helped place the hymn numbers

Wild Church in the Afternoon

You can see Bishop David waiting to deliver his sermon at Wild Church

You might guess that in Wild Church, the songs were rather more upbeat and modern than the morning service had. As I sat and sang along I wondered if Bishop David knew any of these modern songs. But it is ridiculous that I even asked myself that question! When I glanced around I noticed that he was sitting near me, near enough to hear him singing right along with everyone else, not even looking at the words on the slide! (and by the way, Bishop David has a splendid voice).

It is time to wrap this up now, dear Readers, but first I'd like to share with you the embarrassingly huge Sunday Carvery I ate soon after church (and do you see the GRAVY?)

Great Scott!

The SconeLady and her Carvery

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

All is Well

 

Oh! The Bishop is coming to St Ia tomorrow for a 9:05 breakfast, then for the 9:45 service, then for the 11:15 at St John's in the Fields, and at 3:00pm for Wild Church. Much excitement!

An Update:

I didn't tell you last night how we lost one night in our cottage. Oops, I believe the mistake was mine! But we got to meet the nice cabbie who not only brought us to Tregenna, but also revealed his own connection to Rosamunde Pilcher. And in the end, we stayed in this wonderful castle for a night, thereby avoiding a night under the bridge.

 And our cottage will be ready this afternoon - They said! and there we shall roost for the rest of our month in St Ives.

When a Cottage Becomes a Castle

Charlotte's Tea Room

Truro Cathedral

 Our St Ives Changeover day has always been a Friday, taking us from one cottage to the next. The details moved along nicely today (including the train to Truro), until we noticed that nobody had called to say our next cottage was ready. This did not bode well. They should have called. The SconeLady's husband went so far as to wonder out loud whether we would end up sleeping under a bridge. 

I said that would be ridiculous, such a thing has never happened, and the cottage people would never let us sleep under a bridge. I called the office.

Much to my chagrin, the office said our cottage was not ready for us yet because we did not have a cottage! Another family DID have a cottage - our cottage - and we were going to have to find somewhere else to lay our heads. 

Oh no! - a BRIDGE!

To cut this mercifully short, all was not lost, it was not the end of the world, and in fact here I am hours later, relaxing on an ultra comfy leather sofa in the TREGENNA CASTLE LOUNGE!

The Tregenna Castle is a lovely and enviable location bearing many Rosamunde Pilcher story lines. I could hardly believe it. I knew She had been here, in this very spot, thinking up plot points and drawing us all in.

We needed a cab to take us to the castle (one should never pull suitcases up that hill), and as we drove along, the cab driver asked, "What is it that made you come to Cornwall?"

My favorite subject.

"I became interested in Cornwall when I read Rosamunde Pilcher's books!" I exclaimed. "Are you familiar with her?"

The cabbie said, "Well yes, I, ah, play soccer with her son." What had he said? He played Soccer with her SON????

I about fell over in the back seat. "You are so lucky!" I breathed. 

"Yes, I am," he replied. "Mark is a splendid fellow."

"Does he ever let himself be... visited?" I asked, sort of hoping the cabbie might somehow pull it off. To this, however, he indicated that Mark Pilcher is typically fairly private.

Oh well. It will have to be enough for now that I sat in a cab whose driver played soccer with a Rosamunde Pilcher family member. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

On the Way to St Michael's Mount

Walking the 10 miles to St Michael's Mount today

We are veteran hikers now, and know better than to go on a walk to St Michael's Mount without provisions. So we brought along 2 Cuties, an apple, two Cornish Pasties (warmed and wrapped in foil), water, and 2 Cadbury's Dairy Milk bars. As we put these Iron Rations into my back pack, I worried a little about how heavy it was probably going to be. But as he always does, my husband kindly said, "Here, let me carry that." He is always asking to carry my things. You can see from the photo above that I am CARRYING NOTHING. He has been lugging my stuff around for 48 years, so I guess he sees no reason to stop now. I had made the mistake of washing my hair just before the hike, and by the end, it looked as if I had put my finger in the proverbial light socket. But my husband said nice things about it almost every half hour, and I DO NOT SEE what he sees in it.

We had completed this hike twice before, with varying results. Our hope today was that we would not step into ANY MANURE PILES. That is sort of a hopeless hope because of course we stepped into them. You almost have no choice BUT to step into them. That is because of the plethora of cows sharing their piles with anyone who happened by. 

It was at times pretty nerve-wracking being one of those who happened by, on account of their sheer numbers, close proximity, and possibility of bulls. We came upon a young farmer who was moving his cattle from point A to point B as we watched. He looked nice, so as he moved them I asked about his bulls, and how many he had. He stated that none of his bulls were there today. The farmer did not say where the bulls had got to, but I felt better the rest of the day.

The best feeling of the day was when we came around a bend and saw the majestic St Michael's Mount, our journey's end. We still had quite a ways to go before we ended at the Mexico Inn, which is where we would get the bus back to St Ives.

The Mexico Inn is a famous pub for us because once when we ate dinner there, the SconeLady left her wallet with all her dollars and pounds in it, in their ladies room. I didn't realize it was missing until a few hours later when I had a quick panic attack. It is a long story, but the key point is that when I called the Mexico Inn about it, they said no one had turned in a wallet. I panicked out again, but the lady said hold on, she might as well go into the ladies room and look. 

When she got into the ladies room, the wallet was right where I had left it hours before on the back of the toilet. When she came out of the ladies room holding that wallet, the customers all cheered. It was a miracle, and I will never forget it.

                                           

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Going to Church in a Volkswagen Beetle

As I prepared for church on Sunday, I was reminded what it was like getting ready for church as a child: five children, 2 parents, and 1 bathroom. And a Volkswagen Beetle. It was a weekly challenge our mother struggled with, but considered to be a blessing. She would never wish to change any part of it. 

I was blessed to go to two church services last Sunday - the traditional one which begins with the Procession (the Warden still swings the incense, reminding us of the prayers of God's faithful), and ends with the Communion hymn. And of course the coffee, tea, and biscuits after. 

Then in the middle of the afternoon there is a service they call Wild Church. You can see in the photo above that this service doesn't take place out in the Vicar's garden right now. It takes place in the ancient church called St John's in the Fields, for now it is too cold to be out in anybody's garden.

You should just see the families who crowd in there! Young and old line up for coffee and cake while chattering and catching up; families who no doubt lined up in order to get ready for church,
like we used to. It was this that reminded me of the Sundays of decades back. I felt immensely at home.

As the sermon commenced, I watched as the children took it in. They reminded me of a field of wheat moving with the wind, back and forth, little mouths opening and closing but with their eyes still on the face of the Vicar. They moved, they stood and then sat, they sometimes ran, laughed, and in the end they got it. And all throughout the sermon, their parents and grandparents also had their eyes on the face of the Vicar. Undistracted, wanting to learn. 

It was the sweetest thing,

See you along the Way!

the Scone Lady

 

A Cottage Along the Way

The mystery cottage 

Sunrise on a perfect day

Something in this winning sunrise drove us out to pasture today. It was clear, calm, and beautiful, with sweet puffy clouds drifting along. And we wanted very much to find our favorite cottage somewhere in the midst of the pasturelands of Cornwall. 

We dashed out of our blue door and down 47 steep steps, this time wearing short pants, sweaters with long sleeves, and me in a scarf (real men don't wear scarfs). Coats? Who needed coats? Coats would be too warm on this best of all days. 

Up we climbed into a little red bus (16A) whose driver promised he would get us to Zennor, its ancient church, its delightful pub (The Tinner's Arms), and its Coffin Trail. There are no words that can quite describe this journey, so perhaps I can just use photos, and the word 'perfect':

(We were unable to identify any deaf cats along the way)

Young calves looking intently at the SconeLady

Have you ever seen green looking SOOO green?

The cottage along the way

Years ago we had walked this trail and made a mistaken left turning, toward the sea. It was pretty and everything, but it meant we had to walk far more miles than we wanted to. We, including my sister and her husband, were already exhausted. But we came upon this amazing cottage in the middle of almost nowhere! This cottage was so sweet and so perfect that we deemed it very much worth the distance. Later on we learned that the cottage belonged to a well known and wealthy musician (whose name we would recognize if we heard it - but the Man Who Knew wouldn't tell us). The property included a huge state-of-the-art music studio where many famous songs were recorded (but the Man Who Knew wouldn't TELL US!). We fell in love with it. And now we wanted to see it again.

The SconeLady's husband was a Navigator in the Air Force for many years. Because of his confidence in navigation, he/we took the mistaken left turning, and came upon the darling thing again. 

I feel it was very rude that the Man Who Knew kept it a secret. I wouldn't tell a soul! Honest...

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Here are some more photos for you

The church where John Wesley preached back in the Day