Adaptation

A wise and wonderful woman in my life taught me to "adapt, make do, and press on."  This advice has carried me through many twists and turns on the trail of life, including the current one that has resulted in our being sidelined from the Cotswold Way.   Somewhere deep in a forest (we think) a nymph or pixie or troll jabbed at Kate’s knee as she strode past and caused a knife-like response and resultant step-by-step agony.   Brave sport that she is, she has carried on to the best of her ability but when said knee decided to hit her with jolts of pain even when standing still, it was time to break out the ibuprofen and pop on our thinking caps as to the next direction.  And isn’t it just fate that the new direction has rewarded us so richly with the "real" Cotswolds and the ability to spend time in the villages and hamlets with the locals.  A chance to meet this merry gent, who played perfect classical music on a side street in Stroud -

Or to ride the buses, and listen to the blokes passionately discuss the latest "match."   One dear fellow asked us where we were from - and when we replied "Canada" his brow furrowed for a moment then his eyes dawned with recognition when he replied "Ah!  In Norf America, ya?"

We have been caught up in throngs of excited children being picked up by their mums after school, all looking so tidy and sweet in their uniforms.  We’ve wandered the shops, exchanged quips with the tradesman and we had the poignant privilege to spend a half hour with the curator of a tiny WW1 museum, poring over priceless artifacts and fighting back tears of respect.  We happened on a row of almshouses and explored a tidy courtyard within and then happened on a stone chapel behind a weathered wooden door.  Unexpected and humbling.   

The villagers of Wotton-Under-Edge greet you with cheery greetings, and the warmth of their smiles is both contagious and endearing.

Point is this:  None of this would be possible had we not changed course.   After a 6 to 8 our hike there is no energy left for exploration or even pleasantries.  Most of the time it has been dinner, shower, bed.  Then up at first light to reload the pack and put foot on the trail.  So - funny how life works, aye?  Now I can say I have had the best.  I’ve hiked the hills and dales and dallied with sheep and cattle, wandered through the crumbling ruins of castles and forts and prehistoric barrows.  I’ve loved every second in the rich forests and I have shamelessly flattered more trees than any forest might deserve.  And now I get to take in the flip side, the human side, and feel the threads of the tapestry of this marvellous, wondrous corner of England - untouched and achingly transparent.