Spring is springing

Admittedly, it is a bit early and optimistic (esp. since someone mentioned there might be more snow this week! Wheeee! This may be a pipe dream, though), but spring is busily springing.

The snowdrops have been out for several weeks, the croci are colouring up the roadsides (and gardens) and the trees are working very hard to bud. Yesterday, I even saw a daffodil (a dwarf daffodil, as it was on pretty much a 2 inch stalk)! I would have taken a picture of it but was being regaled by Rosie the 3-year-old (who is pretty much Eloise with an English accent) as to the merits of digging rocks out of roadways and saving them in special places for the next time one walks that way... The Dawn Chorus begins about 5.15 a.m. :)

This weekend, we pumped up the bicycle tires (E had had to air his already for the emergency cycle commute on Monday last) and went for the first foray into the countryside, along Marriott's Way until we reached Chav-Land, where we turned back instead of barrelling through the children with their spawn and their herd of small Paris-Hilton-wanna-be dogs. We birdwatched. I petted the sad gypsy horses and untangled one's chain :( There were no ducks, so the stale loaf of bread is still in E's panniere bag.

We watched I Hero, a Chinese film that Lisha lent us. It is fun to try to figure out subtitle settings when everything except the word Hero is in Chinese... But I found the translation of the intro text online and it was a really gorgeous film. The water theme reminded me of Prospero's Books (and that I need to buy it on DVD).

Then, Sunday, was not quite a Day Of Rest so much... started out following a horse trailer and then a tractor (not the most efficient way to travel -- unless one is knitting), getting to Walsingham Cross about 10 minutes before 11. [Hint: church started at 11] One missed turn later, we managed to make it into St. Mary's with about 2 mins before the opening bells rang. (pic is of weathervane in Anglican Shrine, not St. Mary's. It is the Annunciation Angel.)

The service was particularly uplifting in that the hymns were sung, not in the traditional feeble quaver towards heaven (almost where you feel that you need to be singing in your whisper voice so as not to distress the people around you), but at a normal level and quite enthusiastically. Like people were actually happy to be there! Wow! Eamonn has discovered that there are nuns in the Anglican Church, too. It is interesting how it is the little things that are missed between parts of the Christian world -- in some of my conversations with various people, it is almost like discussing two completely different faiths and this cannot be healthy for encouraging any sort of unity. However, St. Mary's does seem to have a warm sense of unity, with its very friendly congregation (esp. towards so many outsiders) and its worshipful dog.

St. Mary's is a lovely church, set on the edge of the town, on the far end of the Abbey grounds. From the churchyard, you could see over the wall into the Abbey (you can just see a ruined tower through the trees). And then it became clear why people were 'going to Walsingham to see the snow drops' -- they are like snow! (Mayhap the reason for the word 'snow' being in the name?!?)

Our reason for going up in the first place was to meet up with the 21 pilgrims from St. Martin's Roath, who had been there for several days of lectures and such; and we briefly visited with them after the service at the Black Bull (meeting random people who know other Americans in London who we know!). Sadly, no lunch for us, since we needed to drive back through tractor-horse-trailer populated roads to Wymonham (pronounced, 'wind-umm') for to meet Stan, Juliet, with Rosie and Tommy (the twins) for a little wander through the countryside.

However, on the drive back, there were some funny things which must be returned to on a sunny day (the people in pic to R were giggling at me as we drove around the circle and out the other end). We also drove through Little Snoring, but I
was not quick enough to capture anything but directions to the airfield (hahahaha!)

A little knitting later, we arrived to the one-way streets of Wymondham, which does not put E in a very Christian mood. I believe some of the words were, 'I hate bleeding Wymondham!' (said in vehemence and extreme swivetude).

After catching up with the small group of explorers on the banks of a nameless stream, perhaps part of the natural border of the Abbey (lots of Abbeys today, no?), we moved through the Hundred Acre wood (where the Giant lives) towards the Pooh Sticks Bridge at the pace of 3-year olds who are fascinated by dirt, and snails, and grass, and ducks, and fences, and dirt, and rocks, and sticks, and hills, and dirt (see small human figures far back in pic -- Stan and Tommy, digging dirt and rocks). It was so much fun! (and it was so very cold by 2pm, since the temperature apparently did not want to stay at mildly mellow 10am levels).

We raced floating snail shells down the stream, and this is highly recommended for keeping small people focussed and moving. And then we played Pooh Sticks on the bridge (after the white snail shell won the race).

Juliet brought some snacks as well, which was good for keeping up flagging energy levels when you are going on a bear hunt.

There was lots of muddiness and next time, I shall take my own wellies so as to be able to splash in puddles as well.

After, we went for some much-needed sustenance (and toe-warming inside air) at the Marsh Harrier, and Tommy conned some sliced cucumber out of the servers by being cute and batting his eyes (since that is his favourite food in the world right now). Rosie and Tommy have agreed that they are willing to come to our party in Ireland, and we are happy! (I think they are two of the smartest 3-year olds ever.)