Trapiche

I was expecting only to catch up with my good friend Alejo, the coffee farmer whom I befriended 4 years ago on my first visit to Costa Rica with my students, and Rafa, one of our project hosts at the time, his son Reime (studying architecture in San Jose), and Dustin, leaving the students behind in their work.  I have managed to touch base with Alejo every year since, and it is always a pleasure.  In spite of their suggestions to the contrary, I did not recall ever having "agua dulce", and so it was that we agreed to meet at the "Cafeteria Flory", a small soda (local restaurant) for this specialty local drink, located north of Piedades Norte, high up in the coffee/rainforest/sugar cane boundary region, in a heavy, damp cloud based mist, delightfully in the middle of nowhere.

Our visit to Cafe Flory: (l to r) me, Alejo, Rafa and Dustin

What I was first treated to was a small glass of an orange liquid, described to me as containing pineapple and orange juice, and a bit of "contribando" - moonshine!   What a terrific wake-me-up! This was followed by two cups of agua dulce - basically hot sweetwater drink made from sugar cane, one cup "con leche" (with milk) and one without, for me to decide which I preferred (con leche!).  On this cool misty morning, this was an excellent warming treat, and I have no recollection of ever having it, but the "contribando" may have, at this point, clouded my memory!  This accompanied a lively discussion about architecture, construction, and politics,  enabling me an opportunity to work on my Spanish.

Juice laced with "contribando"

Agua dulce, with tostadas and "picadillo", a potato based
lump of goodness .  The packages of jerky - "carne" is a long
running gift to Alejo, who loves it and hoards it!

But what I was not expecting was the "trapiche" - a sugar processing facility that seemed at home in another century. Located next to the soda, I learned that the family of  Brothers Aria (Trapiche Hermanos Aria) process sugar during the season every Wednesday, in time for distribution to the local farmer's markets held on Friday and Saturdays.  We were able to wander this tightly packed ramshackle facility, shrouded in steamy fog, to see the entirety of this operation from raw sugar cane to finished "sobado" logs and "tamuga" blocks of pure sugar.

Trapiche Hermanos Arias

The sugar processing area: cauldrons on left, mold table on right
and sobado mixing at right rear.

The process is quite simple, and certainly time tested.  The sugar cane comes in on a cart, and is fed by one man through a grinder (this one motorized, in the old days, by oxen).  The raw liquid, drinkable and not as sweet as one might expect, then flows to a heated steel cauldron.  The crushed canes, devoid of their liquid goodness, is then stacked to dry. This first cauldron, the largest of three, is boiling the liquid, and is skimmed of its foamy surface.  This foam, called "espuma" is also consumable, and is purported by those around me to be even better than certain virility enhancing compounds in popular use!  It has the consistency of a fluffy mousse-like pudding, and is quite tasty all on its own, but is not sold.

 dulce espuma - the sweet cream of manhood! 

Grinding the cane, note the small
white pipe flowing drinkable cane liquid.

The fire pit, fed with dried cane stalks

The liquid in the first cauldron is ladled into the second, slightly smaller cauldron, similarly skimmed, and is then ladled into the third, smallest cauldron for a final boil, the liquid becoming more concentrated and syrupy in each cauldron.  All three cauldrons are heated from below by an upwardly sloping flue, from a fire pit below the first cauldron, stoked by a man feeding dry sugar cane stalks into the fire with a well worn wooden stick.

The molds . . .

turned out to cool . . .

before having their bath.

 From this third cauldron, concentrating all the sweetness of the cane syrup, the fluid is ladled onto a wooden chute to fill a long wooden trough, constantly paddled to prevent solidifying as the liquid is ladled into wooden molds, which then set, and are eventually turned over, still warm, onto a table to finish cooling before being packaged.  On another table, this hot liquid is used to stir in other ingredients, such as nuts, to form the sobado logs.

The final cauldron, in a thick boil.
Note the large ladle above.

Working the warm sugar into sobado 

What an unexpected surprise, this adventure!  And to be so close to bear witness to this operation, to see the family working together so methodically, was a treat.  In the course of conversation, there was some expressed regret though.  The market for this raw sugar has been steadily shrinking over the years, to the chagrin of the older brothers, who casually asked one of the youngsters (perhaps 10 years old or so) whether he preferred this sugar, or Coca Cola.  His response was predictable and a sad sign of the times.  Coca Cola, to their credit at least in Central America, uses cane sugar, but indeed, Coca Cola has not been around nearly so long as this process, which I suspect is very old.  I only mentioned that perhaps, as all things seem to work in cycles over time, the rediscovery of this pure, raw form of sugar as possessing some new health benefit, will again increase demand.  Virility perhaps?

I can only say how sweet it was!

Creatures

The groaning sound of howler monkeys surround me in this predawn moment, as I am overlooking a calm Pacific from the terrace of the El Faro Beach Hotel.

My morning blogging perch: the Pacific, two Toucans and am iguana!

For  the fourth year, I, along with my colleague Ann Becher-Ingwalsen, am privileged to be taking 18 students on a Study Abroad opportunity to Costa Rica in service to several organizations that could benefit from their work.

But this morning I am reflecting on the diversity of species witnessed on this trip, starting with an early morning wander through the Manuel San Antonio Park, a visit to the rocky beaches, and ending with a night tour of a local private natural reserve (as all the national parks in Costa Rica shut their gates at 4:00).  It was a day full of creature stimulation.

The highlights for me were observing a group of howler and capuchin monkeys on the trail to Puerto Escondido, and seeing a small snake, the blunthead tree snake, draped upon some branches, assuming itself the still posture of a branch, and thus barely noticeable.  They are no fatter than a piece of cord, and can get over 30" long, and will stretch its skin to consume a frog.  We wandered around this private preserve, flashlights from our small group flitting across the dense forest that would certainly evoke a horror film, learning as we went on how to spot these mostly tiny creatures.  Absent a guide from whom we could observe the technique, a solo wander would have missed this abundance of life, with only the frightful sense of what creatures lurked unseen in the darkness.  It was a wonderfully eye opening experience.  But also the diversity of birds, flora and fauna captured in my mind, and lens, is what inspires me to wander and absorb.

And perhaps the tale is best told through the lens of my camera, challenged as I was to capture these images adequately and hopefully, mostly in focus.  Though out of focus some may be, the memories are quite sharp.

A howler taking breakfast - I could watch, and listen to them,
for hours

Leaf litter in a stream - turtle habitat

Fugus

A rock crab evading detection

Mama and child Capuchin monkeys

This spider, a moment before on its web,
evading detection by flattening itself against the trunk

Definitely an intimidating creature, a type of scorpion spider

A common tree frog, of which we saw 8 different species

The blunthead snake,
holding this position quite long and still - branchlike!

Another treefrog - am I lucky or what?

A very large type of bullfrog

An anole lizard

Leaf cutter ants moving so rapidly it was hard to catch them,
except on my foot when I crossed their path.

A type of grasshopper blending oh-so-well into its surroundings.

I count six monkeys in this photo!

And of course these "creatures of the morning walking habit",
Peter's Walking Club 2017 with (L to R) Emily, Liz and Caty,
A dedicated crew these three - nearly every morning!

Tocayo

Last weekend I spent a long one visiting Nuestro Pequenos Hermanos (NPH) - my project currently underway in Honduras - to take stock of progress.  To remind, we are constructing a dormitory and large conference facility to host medical bridgades and to host seminars for local medical teams.  And I suppose, there will be purposes served in this large meeting room for the children and staff of the orphanage.  (See my earlier post: Brick By Brick)

Oh yes, I did take detailed stock of the progress, assessing conditions, reviewing details, clarifying the details of design, and reporting on the general progress representing as good a quality of construction as Honduras can produce under these circumstances.  I am pleased and excited by the prospect of completion, quite likely to happen by the first of March.  Proverbial light at the end of this long tunnel.

View of the front of the Conference Center

The center courtyard emerges, dormitory surrounding

Half of the main meeting room, view toward the stage, with cupola above

Rubble walls under construction, with dormitory wing beyond

But what really delighted me last weekend is being able to spend so much time with Axel, my god child whom I sponsor - my tocayo - two people who share the same name.  He turned 17 in August, recently graduated from high school, and must now complete his year of service to NPH before attending college, with the ambition to become a doctor.  So with the weekend largely free, Axel spent in tow of my inspections, tutoring me on my nascent yet emerging Spanish, and visiting with other "pequenos hermanos".  

Two Axel's - "nosotros estamos tocayo" - on the mountaintop

Sunset from the mountaintop

We hiked to the mountaintop to take in the sunset.   I brought him some watercolor pencils for Christmas that, around the table, were tested on an unusual still life of wine and hot sauce.  I brought a gift to Zuany from her "madrino", my co-worker Megan, and spent an hour goofing around with her Casa Suyapa roommates, with my resemblance to Santa Claus not missed on them.  And though Axel absolutely demolished me in a game of chess, a  tense game with Isaac in the clinic, born with aids, ended barely in my favor.  

 

Zuany with her new "trolls"

Clowning around

A game of chess with Isaac in the clinic

Axel creating his still life - he is quite an artist

A brilliant sunset from Casa Romano

And I suppose I just wore the poor lad out!

 Though the weather was mostly wet, a bit unusual for this time of year, it contributed nothing toward dampening my enthusiasm and delight with this visit.  Bricks and mortar are important as shelter, but these relationships are so important to the pequenos in any weather, hopefully reinforcing their foundations.  I am so honored to be a part of both these projects!

 

Still a Civil War?

Yesterday was a fairly dramatic day  in the mundane life of a lowly State Capitol Preservation Commission "public member", as I am.  Having  also been assigned to the Art in the Capitol Subcommittee, I did gain quite a bit of knowledge and thoughtfulness on the appropriateness of art in the capitol, especially "controversial" art.  Yesterday, the issue of keeping the six paintings depicting Minnesota's famous Civil War regiments on display in the splendidly rich Governor's Reception Room and Anteroom came to a head, with the Governor himself storming out of the meeting claiming partisan politics at play.  I was in the sausage factory!  But I have had no political ax to grind in this Commission appointment, but only my perceptions of what is the right thing to do.    

And so I delivered my one opinion, as follows, amid all the political noise:

My Fellow Commissioners,                                                   November 29, 2016

I have greatly appreciated the opportunity to serve on this commission, but especially the Art Subcommittee, where I have had an extraordinary personal learning experience, gaining not only an appreciation, but a deeper understanding the public appreciation for our State Capitol.  It is truly a national monument, not only to the architecture of native son Cass Gilbert, but to the builders of our very State, and the defenders of our very existence as a unified country.

History matters, and art matters.

That is why the Civil War paintings must remain in the Governor's reception room.  They were designed for this room, and this room, and the capitol itself, is a monument to these veterans.  Can you imagine the rotunda without the paintings?  The chambers?  All the paintings make this Capitol so very special.

Why do I argue so?

Some might say this is inconsistent with my support to relocate, within the Capitol, the Treaty of Traverse Des Sioux and the Father Hennepin paintings.  Initially, I was opposed to this, preferring to keep the Reception Room as it was, but I was persuaded by my colleagues that Father Hennepin was simply not accurate in its depiction.  Traverse des Sioux is no different, in my view, than a photograph by Matthew Brady would have been of the same event - it is a moment in time, and is more or less accurately represented without overt bias.  But I have come to understand how this defining event of our State's existence still inflicts pain on the Indian community, but whom I think will agree that even these tragic events should never be forgotten, but appropriately interpreted so we can learn from them.

We think nothing of looking at the Matthew Brady photos of the Civil War, as emotional as they are, vivid in their portrayal of ordinary men in extraordinary circumstances, and are moved by the horror of the battlefield, be it blue or gray.  If we put those photos in a back closet, never to see the horrors of what a civil war can wrought, how would our descendants ever truly learn?  How would the horrors of civil war ever really come to life?  Civil war is a historical fact around the globe, with most nations having experienced a defining civil war as part of their heritage, so we are not alone in suffering the pain of internal conflict, and we need  only read the current headlines to know civil war has sadly not been extinguished by humanity.  I am sincere in my opinion that these paintings, none romanticized, all depicting historically accurate events with ordinary Minnesotans doing extraordinary service, do more to reinforce how fragile our nation's very fabric was during this war.  

We were so close to shredding that fabric in the early 1860's, to having the United States as we know it today not even exist. Lincoln was perilously close to losing it all, his fight for abolishing slavery sliding precariously toward defeat.  Even the English and the French were close to entering the war - on the side of the confederation - merely to protect their cotton trade, and preserve the status quo for their own benefit.

 

The Minnesota regiments were at the forefront of protecting liberty for all, for the State, the Nation, and all of us as citizen descendants - they were "our" veterans in the same way we honor more recent veterans for their sacrifices.  We would no more "relocate" their monuments than we should for these Civil War veterans - common men making great sacrifice for our way of life, critically supported by the women and families here at home, assuring our free nation and State for all Minnesotans today.  They played a hugely critical role in the War - let's honor that in the best room in the people's house.

In my humble opinion, if it is even that, there is no room more honorable for their sacrifice and enduring legacy than the Governor's Reception Room.  But in order for the lessons to be learned by our present and future generations, these painting must be interpreted, so the lessons of this horrific conflict are never lost on our present and future visitors.  And further, these paintings are sufficiently large that to relocate  them elsewhere in the capitol would take up the important, valuable "real estate of wall space" needed to tell all the other great stories that need to be told.

Please, my fellow colleagues, keep the civil war paintings in the place of honor originally planned for them, as their monument, and let's continue to honor and learn from their sacrifices.

The Second Minnesota Regiment at Missionary Ridge (Gettysburg) Nov 24, 1863
Painted by Douglas Volk

This was received with applause by the audience, including a contingent of veterans, ironically delivered in the Veterans Services Building (temporary  quarters of the Governor during the restoration), and even a  "sign on" from several of the Senator's and representatives in  attendance.  And eventually, the vote reflected my position, now in the hands of the Minnesota State Historical  Society.  And as I approached the building before the meeting, I was struck by all the war memorials on the Capitol lawn, and thought we would never approve removing these memorials that each tell their own important story to some other location simply  in the interest of change times and thoughts.

What is perhaps most interesting, is that all the local media carried the story, (including  the Pioneer Press citing a part of this speech) not as much  about the art itself, but about the Governor walking out of the meeting!  That action probably did more to call public attention to this important issue, then all  the good work  that went into just getting  to this point!

In politics, the war is no longer civil, to be certain, and as history will inform, never has been.

Offa's Dyke, Part II: Angles and Angels

This Welsh/English borderland is idyllic.  Literally bathed in copious amounts of rain, tempered by a relatively mild climate, rich in the diversity of plants and trees, and ideal for all manner of agricultural purposes, not the least of which is sheep and cows.  From a perspective of terrain, it is most like the Appalachians to me, or even the Berkshires in New England.  I can easily see why the English settlers could so readily identify with New England - rolling, green, lots of stone and timber - just like "home".

Typical Welsh scenery - Disgwylfa Ridge

Into this landscape we started walking - Wednesday August 24th.  Crossing fields of sheep (well fertilized, I might add, some of which we carried on our boots), hay, hedged verges, hardwood and coniferous forests, narrow lanes passing into small villages seems to define our walk.  But the big hills: Herrock, Rushock, Hergest Ridge, Disgwylfa presented their own challenges, steep up and down, largely bald on top with large, windy open spaces covered in bracken (fern fens easily 5' high) with great views. And then came Hay Bluff and Hatterrall ("Hattie") Ridge.

Hay-on-Wye is a small town known for its many bookshops - mostly antiquarian - started with an 11th century castle atop a short bluff with excellent visual angles up and down the Wye River.  Following a long day of hiking across these high hills, Hay was a welcome sight, a town of narrow twisted lanes surrounding the castle, and within the oldest structure in town, a "freehouse" (pub) called Three Tuns, we enjoyed a world class pub fare and a detailed introduction to how these old wattle and daub structures were built (note: people were much shorter than me!). Knowing we were at the low part of the valley, Hattie was calling just as the day slipped to nightfall.

We departed the B&B at our usual time - around 9:15 following a full English breakfast - and wandered back through town to find the trailhead south, and in so doing found ourselves in a public parking lot trying to locate where the trail started up.  We were not alone in the endeavor, for another hiker was also seeking the trailhead, and so, with a bit of guidance from a local who "thought" it lead in a certain direction we three headed for Hattie.

Enter Tracey Brittle.

Now it is customary to exchange the usual information about your trip, especially if headed in the same direction.  As we were walking across the field, such information was exchanged, but there occurs that awkward moment when a subtle agreement is silently made about walking together, at least for a short spell.  That moment was somewhere in this first field crossing, when you would like to say "please join us for a spell" but your polite gene instead says "please don't let me/us hold you up, with such a long climb ahead", stated under the near certain presumption that they must be faster, that they want their peace and quiet, and really are here to get away from it all, including me/us. Indeed, such was offered, vigorously, but Tracey and us, but we just kept walking, instead saying "no, its fine, we/I would love the company", at least for the next mile or so, as you are certain this cannot last, as the perfunctory questions are asked and answered - the who/what/where/why and when questions.

Tracey and Becky spurring each other on the way up.

But then the hill started to get a bit steep.  What we all discovered upon cresting the first shoulder of the climb, was that Becky and Tracey, in their near constant chatter, did not become immediately aware that they were actually making good progress, that they were both not fast, and that they both liked to "pause to take in the view" frequently and at the same time when none necessarily existed.  In that 2008 foot ascent from Hay-on-Wye to the crest of Hattie Ridge, they bonded pretty solidly  They were trail angels to each other, for they both dreaded the prospect of the long and steep climb ahead, but delighted in getting to the top together.  They broke the demons in their heads that always poke your mind trying to hold you back.

Cresting Hattie ridge - Becky and Tracey down there somewhere

And for me?  I too was delighted, for I could walk my walk, as I tend to be a bounder moving quickly, eager to get to the top where the views are, and navigating the twists and turns of the way forward.  When I knew the pathway was clear (for there were no trees), I said I would meet you at the top.  I found a perfect resting spot on a rock ledge overlooking the saddle we just summited, and took great delight to finally see them both, walking together, taking their time, and chattering away, for I could hear them easily across this great open expanse. 

Taking a break near the crest of Hattie ridge

The Hatterrsall ridge is simply amazing.  While overcast, it was not raining. I have never been on such a long continuous ridge, devoid of any trees, with sweeping views 360 degrees at all times.  And it was boggy on top, which seems to defy logic - the ground cover is expansive areas of grasses, heather and bracken, all of which thrive on moist soils that peat would provide.  So the crest was one long bog, with many areas having large stepping stones to walk upon.  There were sheep, but also small herds of wild ponies. I was moving excitedly across this space, leading and awaiting Tracey and Becky, as I could see them from a great distance ahead.  It was pure magic up there.

Long views over fields of heather

But alas, good things come to an end.  The ridge is so long that we could not complete it in a day, and so a trail crossing down each side of the ridge lead to Longtown where Becky and I were headed on the east side, and  the Priory where Tracey was headed on the west.  You know it is coming.  You think about it.  It comes.  You hug, thank each other for the great day, and wish good luck on the way ahead.  And then you head down, down, down, losing this valuable ground you worked so hard to gain, knowing (or dreading perhaps) that come morning, you would have to climb up to the ridge again.  

The morning of Thursday, August 25th was deeply overcast and damp, and Hattie's ridge, clearly visible in the evening sky last night, was shrouded in thick cloud cover, invisible. Into this cloud deck we started walking, slowly skirting the side of the ridge.  When I knew Becky's pathway was clear to the saddle, I told her I would meet her at the top, and proceeded to bound up, causing the sheep to skitter into the thick bracken, and disappear, white on white.  As soon as I crested, I noted a familiar figure taking a picture - Tracey coincidently arrived but a few moments before me, and so we cancelled our previous farewell, rehearsed the usual "are you sure you and Becky . . ." with animated protestations to the contrary, and sat awaiting Becky, commenting that the dense fog in this high place enables one to experience complete silence. As we sat quietly to test this theory, Tracey thought she heard footsteps, and so Becky arrived but 20 minutes behind us into this white fog, equally surprised and delighted to have her hiking angel back.  And so we began day two, hiking up to Hattie, only to hike down again!

Horses in heather and fog

Hattie was different this day - no view at all.  I stayed close by so we could be sure to navigate the correct trail in this fog.  It would probably not make most hikers happy but for us, it was a way to experience Hattie in quite a different mood.  The wild ponies seemed to appear out of the mist, as if in a Sherlock Holmes story - eerie, quiet, calm, moving quietly amidst the heather, muted in color yet glistening with dew.  Gradually we descended this long mountain, back into the valley of fields, vales and wood plots.  And it turns out, we were all headed to the same very small town - Llangattock Lingoed.  Following a long enjoyable dinner with an English ex-pat couple of walkers from Cyprus at the Hunters Moon Inn and freehouse, we again said our goodbyes, for Laura joined us from London, late and in from the rain to complete our trip.

Two Hikers Cowed

Friday, August 26th greeted us from our amazing picture window in the Old Rectory B&B with bright sunshine and a clear blue sky.  We departed, as was our custom, around 9:15 and visited the small, very old Norman era St. Cadoc's church across the way.  And once again, Tracey appeared, though perhaps the mutual trail angel characteristics that both Becky and Tracey exhibited are best displayed in just such a church, with mutual delight at having company yet a third, though known-to-be final day, for Tracey was hiking farther to Monmouth.  And so we enjoyed a beautifully clear day of relatively easy, pastoral walking, and the company of both Laura and Tracey, until the Old Hendre Farm where we were staying.  So with the practice of two previous evenings, we did finally part company, full of sincere warm feelings, and most especially between Becky and Tracey, for having shared this rich experience together.

Who knew it could be so fun!  And goofy . . .

In all of my travels, I have experienced similar situations, and have told Becky about them, but it is hard to comprehend the level of personal enrichment these sorts of interactions enable.  It does support the notion that people really do need people, and that you never know when that need will manifest itself and be answered in an unexpected way. 

Thank you Tracey, for enriching our lives and our wanderings, for though it was one stop on our longer journey, it is one we will remember and cherish.  Until we meet again . . 

Offa's Dyke, Part 1: Tracing History

What a massive earthwork undertaking this was, and who really knows of it?  The Romans had their Hadrian's Wall, the Chinese the Great Wall, both less of an earthwork project and more of a masonry rampart.  The Mercia Kingdom had their dyke - Offa's Dyke.  We are following that undertaking with one of our own, hiking 87 miles from Knighton to Chepstow, Wales, the southern half of the 177 mile length of this trail.

The dyke, clearly discernable between Knighton and Kington

The Anglo-Saxon's, of northern Germanic and Danish descent, gradually filled the vacuum left by the Romans departing England in 406 AD with seven "kingdoms".  Following a civil war in 757AD, Offa became the ruler of the Mercian kingdom, somewhat brutally, of what we now know to be central England. Though desiring the rich territory of  Wales, west of England and representing the "native" English who migrated away from the Anglo-Saxon invaders at the time, two forays into Wales to expand his territory failed due to the fierce independence of the Welsh.   So if you can't fight 'em, build a barrier, as much a protection of Mercia from the Welsh as protecting the Welsh from further forays into Wales by the Mercians (and they did not have to "pay" for it!).  Offa undertook this massive rampart for 59 miles of the 64 mile border between Powrys (in Wales) and Mercia, north to south.

The "logo" for the trail: Offa's image from the penny coin

Though not merely a ruthless ruler, Offa did have larger global ambitions for trade, and existing records indicate a correspondence and visit with Charlemagne, thought to be the first record of a meeting between two European leaders, as well as a visit by the Pope in 786AD.  He also established the English penny to facilitate trade, which bore his likeness and the phrase "Rex Anglorum" - King of England, which is the basis for the Offa's Dyke logo, seen on many signposts.  He died in 796AD, and thereafter his accomplishments were superseded by more famous Kings, including it is supposed, King Arthur (or is that merely legend?)

One theory on how it was constructed (Hill and Worthington) suggests that  a total of 5000 men were needed, divided among village leaders each being responsible for the peasant labor to build a section of the dyke that is roughly 4' long of a deep and wide ditch per man, from which the spoils would build an equally high dike, up to 8 meters high, atop which a palisade wall was placed.  With a lot of rock as well as clay soils, personally evidenced along the walk, a variety of materials and techniques were likely used, the bulk of which was pure manpower. 

More dyke walk - defining a boundary between fields and nations

Today, this dyke has, except along certain stretches, mostly disappeared, but has defined, more or less, the boundary between Wales and England, and over the southern half, created a "crossover" area called the Welsh Marches, where the boundary seems arbitrary, and the people identify both as Welsh and English - peaceably now at least!

Remains of the dyke in the uplands - well worn and diminished

What has been so interesting about walking this dyke is the sense of some man no different than me in every earthly respect, actually building this.  It is as if I am walking in their shoes, imagining the alignment across this varied landscape, the organization of the workforce, the sheer logistics to getting this accomplished, especially in the very high and barren Black Mountains area, themselves a significant barrier.  Even to see a farm fence and thick hedgerow, and in places enormously large oak trees that themselves could be almost as old as the wall, seems to validate the historical significance of this barrier.

And the prevailing question is, even as you walk it, did it really matter any more than simply as a political boundary - a "line in the sand"?  A monument to a royal ego? A "make work" defensive infrastructure project with limited value in actually accomplishing its goals, whom the locals routinely circumvented to trade among each other within the synonymous agricultural lifestyle on each side of the wall? 

Questions that sound as eerily applicable today as 1200 years ago. . .

Change in Time - Change in Values

During the course of our England visit, I had on my list to visit Chatsworth House, the large, impressive estate of the Duke(s) of Devonshire, the gardens of which were originally designed by the preeminent landscape architect Capability Brown in 1758-66 under the fourth Duke of Devonshire, and later maintained and expanded by Joseph Paxton, the object of my particular study and the point of this visit.  Joseph Paxton was the architect of the 1851 Crystal Palace for the World Exposition, but was really a landscape planner and manager - a "gardener's boy" according to Queen Victoria - for the sixth Duke of Devonshire as his patron.  I wanted to see these gardens, his greenhouses, and to get the sense of the place and all that inspired the Crystal Palace.

Chatsworth House on the Derwent River

It is magnificent, to say the least, well maintained, very popular, active gardens.  The house is a demonstration of the various Duke's commitment to art and other worldly pursuits over the centuries, sumptuous in its abundant decor, ceiling murals depicting scenes that could be construed as deference to the King - in a word, over-the-top.  It is said that much of the rich work done in these rooms was to impress the King upon a visit therefrom, such visit had never come until Queen Victoria visited Paxton's lily house.  All that effort and expense just to please your Highness.  What would the peasants think if they could even have seen.  But such a treasure the site and estate is for its promotion and preservation of some priceless art and grounds.

Only one tiny part of the gardens - and Paxton's greenhouses

The private Chapel at Chatsworth

Just the day before, staying in the town of Bakewell, Becky and I hiked the several miles on a wet and muddy track to Haddon Hall, not realizing ahead of time that it existed, and  that we could take the time to visit it and get a bit of walking in before our longer journey.  We arrived at this 11th -14th century Tudor/Elizabethan estate, muddy and a bit wet, thinking we would not gain admission (even though wet and muddy seems a common trait in these parts of  the English Peaks District).  But we did get in, and were completely humbled and taken in by the simplicity of the place, the hallowed sense of the place, indeed, it was as if the ancestors merely left and made no special attempt to shut the door! It was as if transported back in time, especially the tiny, austere, and very simple chapel.  The great hall with its stone floor and walk-in fireplace where events were held might have hosted one yesterday.  And the rooms, while certainly opulent for their time, did not seem overly so.  And even as a visited site, the Rutland family still lives there, accommodates visitors simply with no guided path or audio guides, able to almost sense the living in this place.  And there were not that many visitors.  It was a remarkable step back in time, and so completely unlike Chatsworth House, both as a visiting experience, and in its very creation, that made the rain and mud quite worth it.

The Inner Court at Haddon Hall

Haddon Hall from the excellent English gardens

A detail of the "fresco" at Haddon Hall private Chapel - note the skeletal figure

Hiking back to Bakewell over the hills and vales of the Derbyshire countryside gave me an opportunity to reflect on these two distinct places, and what life must have been like - was it really any different?