What Do I Know?

Friday Cow Blogging, West Coast Edition*

*It's still Friday on the West Coast, right? Hawaii? You still up?

The cows enjoy a rare sunny day in southern England.

We've had a lot of rain. You may have heard about it on the news—floods and record rain have deluged northern England (poor Cockermouth!) and here in southern England we've seen endless gray and rainy days.

So when the sun came out the other day I was beside myself. I was racing upstairs to put on jeans and socks to take the dog for a walk when I noticed the cows out back. So I headed for my camera instead and brought a pocketfull of apples to the fence.

They were as happy to see me as I was to see the sun. After the first cow, the gray one who loves apples, spied me and rushed over, the others came racing down to the fence, literally sliding across the mud to get to me. I was glad there was a fence and a few feet of brambles between me and a small herd of 1000 lb cows. 

This isn't the best shot; I don't really know how to adjust my camera for sunny shots yet. Haven't needed to all that often, frankly. But I thought you'd like to see the cows—notice the new baby walking just in front of Mum in the back—before they're sent to the barn (or worse) for the winter. Normally that would have happened before now, but along with the rain we're having an unusually warm fall. There are even daffodils blooming in Cornwall.

Once in a millenia flooding, record rainfall, daffodils in late November...global warming, anyone?

Just Imagine If There Were An Accident...

I suspect most of my American readers don't realize the extent of the Marmite love here, so when I saw this tanker truck on the M40 the other day I snapped a photo. (Fortunately, my camera was right next to me and I was in the slow lane, getting ready to exit, so I managed to do it without causing an accident. Don't try this at home.)

That's right, Marmite comes in tanker trucks. Now you know.

In Which The Dog Examines Roman Remains

North Leigh Roman Villa in Oxfordshire

This is what the horse from yesterday's post was looking at.

It's a Roman villa, partially uncovered back in the early 1800s. The other day we drove out to the Cotswolds and explored the North Leigh Roman Villa on our own. Although it's an English Heritage site, it's open to anyone at all reasonable times of the day. It's considered a minor site—that's right; archaeological remains are so thick on the ground here that many interesting sites are completely out in the open. Fortunately, the British have taken good care of their remains. 

 

Since my dog's a real archaeological buff, we take her along whenever we can. She had a great time running around the stones, trying to figure out which room would have been the dining room. 

 

Tracing the outline of one of the bedrooms.

"Hmmm...where would they have stored the treats?"

We finally figured out it would have been the one room under the shelter, holding the remains of a mosaic tile floor.

Then she checked out the hypocaust, and the bath house.

This is the bathing area. Perfect size for bathing a muddy dog!

The floorplan of the villa was very curvaceous. Obviously, wealthy Romans live here, farming the rich land of the Cotswolds.

Sometimes my dog likes to pretend she's an ancient Roman.

Underneath the floor level—great place to play hide-and-seek!

When we arrived at the site, some pheasant hunters in a further field were shooting—I tried not to listen, but my dog knew what was up. She's not afraid of guns (or fireworks, thankfully) so we continued to explore—until she heard a pheasant in the hedge. Then she sprinted away, archaeology forgotten as she flushed the bird from his hiding place.

"Is that a pheasant I hear?!"

Luckily he got away, and escaped the guns, too. Eventually the hunters packed up and left, and we poked around the surrounding area, checking out the nearby river where the Romans must have got their water. The dog, of course, had to take a dip—archaeology is hot work!

 

Swimming in the Evenlode.

We stopped again to admire the well-preserved site, then walked back to our car, shaking off the Cotswolds mud as we trudged up the path past the horses in the stable yard.

North Leigh Roman Villa is located about 10 miles north of Oxford, past Bladon and Long Hanborough off the A4095. Follow the signs for "Roman villa" and park at the brown sign near a footpath. The villa is about a kilometre from the roadside.

Say hello to the horse in the stable when you pass.

Friday Horse Blogging

The grass is always greener outside the stable. 

This horse lives near East End, Oxfordshire. Tomorrow I'll tell you what he's gazing at.

Friday Cow Blogging

"Kathy found a sad lonely calf on Farmville...err, the real farm."

This morning I had just finished playing Farmville on Facebook (you know, that annoying Facebook application that causes your friends to post annoying "Just found a lonely pink cow/sad turtle/homeless kitten on my farm" notices). I went to let the dog out before heading off to class and noticed one of the cows near the fence. She looked so bedraggled and lonely out in the rain, I decided to toss her some apples. When I did, I saw a new baby calf lying on the other side. This wasn't one of the ones I noticed last month; this one couldn't have been more than a day old. I tossed out the apples, and Mum came over. Baby struggled to her little legs and followed Mum.

She immediately began nursing, safe on the other side where I couldn't get a good photo. Mum was very protective, even though she knows I wouldn't harm little Baby.

It's been raining all day, so I hope little Baby is staying dry.

It's a reminder that real farming is not quite as bucolic as virtual farming.

Here's Baby, getting her morning milk from Mum. I imagine the next time I see her she'll be loping around the pasture with her friends, not afraid to leave Mum's side.

London: It's a Small, Small Victorian World

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dickens

London is such a small town, I keep running into the same Victorians.

Yesterday we went to Charles Dickens' house on Doughty Street. I don't have much to say about it, except that there's a nice collection of Dickens memorabilia, including his desk and some fine portraits and photographs. Dickens didn't even live there very long—he moved to posher digs after he became a successful author. And if it's a typical Victorian home you're after, you're better off at the Linley Sambourne House.

But as my friend and I toured the home, there was one display that caught our eye. It was about a friend of Dickens, a philanthropist named Angela Burdett Coutts, who I'd never heard of. Or so I thought.

After inheriting her grandfather's banking fortune in 1837, Baroness Burdett Coutts became the richest woman in England. Dickens and Angela Burdett Coutts shared an interest in improving the plight of poor people.

As I was reading the display about her, I almost made a comment to my friend about a place I'd seen the week before while walking near Highgate Cemetery. A sweet cottage with an imposing Gothic entrance gate had caught our attention, so much so that we stopped to take photos. But I remembered that it had been two different friends with me on the trip to Highgate, and besides, the cottage we'd seen had nothing to do with Angela Burdett Coutts. At least that's what I thought, though a niggling thought still stirred in my mind.

My friend and I were so interested in Angela—she's an overlooked figure of Victorian history—that I took a photo of the display, so that we could look her up later. When I did, I realized why the place we'd seen—called Holly Village—had popped into my mind when I read about her at the Dickens house. Turns out she owned Holly Lodge, including the area in Highgate around the lodge. She was well known for entertaining there—you can read about it here.

I looked at the photos I took of the lodge, and sure enough, on the gate is a plaque which reads:

No Public Entry

HOLLY VILLAGE homes were built by Baroness Burdett-Coutts & Henry Darbishire, architect, in 1865.

Some piece of my brain had retained that name, and when I read it at Dickens House, the memory popped into my consciousness long enough for an image of the lodge to pop up.

Here are some of the photos I took that day:

 

The Gothic entrance which first attracted our attention, in the middle of a North London residential area.

 

We peeked inside at the sweet looking cottage, with a table outside ready for tea.

I took this picture because I wanted to remember the architect's name.

If the No Entry sign doesn't deter you, maybe these heads on the wall will. 

Holly Lodge (or Holly Village, as the plaque reads) is located directly across from the south end of Highgate Cemetery.

For more photos of Dickens House, keep reading.

A Modest Proposal Regarding Those Who Voted No

While I was sleeping, a health care reform bill passed the House. That's nice. Now if it passes the Senate and becomes law, about a million people a year who would otherwise declare bankruptcy when faced with mounting bills for medicine and other medical expenses probably won't have to. And around 40,000 people a year will get to keep on living instead of dying from a preventable illness or medical complication.

It's hard to believe, but 215 Representatives, mostly Republicans, voted against the measure.

I have a modest proposal: Each of those no-voting Representatives should have to attend the funerals of those who die for lack of health care. Since the new proposals won't take effect for a while, there are still certain to be a few thousand who will die this year alone before the legislation is enacted.

And before the Senate even has time to vote, thousands of families who won't get a chance to purchase affordable insurance on the new exchanges will have to declare bankruptcy when faced with the cost of medical treatment. I propose that the dissenting Representatives have to explain to their creditors why they didn't vote for legislation that would have prevented this from happening in the future.

And then all 215 should be striped of their own health insurance, so that one day they will have to face the choice of paying their mortgage or paying for a daughter's operation.

And finally, I propose that those Representatives who voted against providing health care for all Americans be excommunicated from their church congregations.

Because Jesus dies just a little inside every time someone votes to deny one of His loved ones health care.

Friday Horse Blogging

More horses on our hike this week, this time around West Wycombe. They're starting to get a shaggy coat for winter. Some horses already have their winter coats out, but this was a fine sunny day, so these horses were enjoying the feel of a naked roll in the grass.

 

The one in the middle has that look like, "Did you just catch me rolling around on my back? Cuz I'm usually too cool for that."

Highgate Cemetery: Pompous Victorian Ghosts

Last week seemed like a good time to visit a Victorian cemetery, so we trained into London to see Highgate Cemetery. It was the first private cemetery to be built outside of London, to bury the growing number of dead Londoners. It opened in 1839 and although it is still occasionally used, it's mostly fallen to ruin as the families of the inhabitants have died out.

Victorians were pompous in death, as in life. Gothic monuments, now crumbling and grown over with vines, are crowded in the cemetery. Stone angels, draped urns, and Egyptian obelisks line pebbled paths. Once fashionable mausoleums are now covered with cobwebs. Sentimental statues depicting the pets (including a pet lion) are left to stand guard from the tourists who make the steep hike up Highgate Hill to the cemetery.

Be sure to check out all the photos below...there's a ghost in one!

Inside the entrance to the private Highgate Cemetery.