Bedford. June 24 & 25

These past few days have been spent resting, shopping for groceries, and visiting with Rob, his kids, and Nic's mom. They have been quiet pause in our travels.

I have taken the time to walk, run, sleep late, nap, and go to bed early. 

The thistles are blooming in the fields as Nic and I roam through them around Bedfordshire. Throughout our trip he has repeatedly warned against the thistles; be wary of their spines. I have been mostly successful in avoiding their stings, but not entirely. In my own garden I wage a brutal war against the thistle. Years of working the land, as I call my humble garden, has taught me where my thistles like to pop up and present their fearsome thorns. Early in the season I find their haunts and pull the tender thistles up from the ground. Throughout the season I return to their favorite spots and fight them back - pushing them out of my garden in a never-ending battle of wills. I have been a declared sworn enemy to the thistle for many years.

Yet time has grown in me an appreciation of the thistle and its flower. Artichokes are in the thistle family and their flowers are exquisite, not to mention how much I love to eat them. Learning that that thistle is the national flower of Scotland seemed perfectly appropriate - not to mention their national animal is the unicorn. My literary mind loves a good metaphor, and I can't quite let go of how much I love the thistle as Scotland's flower - not that anyone asked me, or cares what I think, but I do. I love the thistle as a representation of Scotland. It perfectly captures how I feel about Scotland; the weather completely sucks, and it might be the most beautiful place on earth. It is the purple blossom springing forth from the angry thorns, the vile weed-turned-flower. Although I am no expert on Scotland, I have a much deeper appreciation for this place than I have ever had before. I can claim no Scottish heritage, nor any real ties to their culture or land, but I have a newly found, and deep respect for the people of this land. Prior to my visit I did not really appreciate the rich mythology, the monsters of the lochs, the magical beings who inhabit the woods and mountains. Having seen this land with my own eyes, I understand how magic could spring from a world so harsh, so inaccessible, and so breathtakingly beautiful. I have a new, deeper, richer understanding and appreciation.  (I am a little in love with Scotland, but it's a sordid love affair. I am hot and bothered and want more, but then we fight and it rains, and pours, and storms and I hate her. And then I forget, I long to go back again).

As I get older the thistle speaks to me more than ever. Life is often a thorny weed which makes the flowers that spring forth even more wondrous, even more valuable. I feel this moment in my life is blossom budding out of what has been, for a long time, a thorny bed of thistles. This trip and the coming weeks afterward are and will be (I hope) a bright blossom. I am wise enough now to know that life and marriage are not a bed of roses. I am hopeful that maybe life is like a bed of thistles; stinging, unexpected, and seasoned with just enough beautiful, purple flowers to make it all worth while.

Pictures from our hike with James over Dunstable Downs. According to Nic, Dunstable Downs is a 'thump,' not a hill, not a hump, not completely flat. We walked (hike is too strong of a word) this thump yesterday. It was a lovely afternoon, followed by a trip to the nearest pub and a slice of pizza. My allergies continue to plague me, but I am self-medicating with medication, naps, and wine. The wine is just there to deaden my nerves and help me forget how miserable my face actually is. The sun is up, and the wind is mild, so I am off to run down in the Putnoe Woods. All three of the boys are home today, so our hope is pull out the never-before-used grill and have a cook-out with Rob and his boys, and maybe even Nic's mom!