Books to the Ceiling

It was obvious that we would have to follow up the incredible Ursine Encounter with an adventure at least equally exciting. So where else could we go except to Old Faithful?

Ergo, we followed the signs to the eponymous geothermal phenomenon, and the first thing we encountered was…a mass of vehicles. Hundreds of them: everything from compact cars to RV’s the size of hotels. There was lots of parking, but nothing close in, so we parked - somewhere; I’m not sure where! - and walked over to the site, where we encountered… a mass of people. Hundreds of them. From all over the U.S., all over the world, really. A Tower of Babel patiently awaiting the Eruption.

As it turned out, we had to wait about twenty minutes for the main attraction. Old Faithful would get up a goodly head of steam, only to subside a moment later. (Another first: being teased by a geyser!)

Meanwhile, it was amusing to listen to the conversations around us. Here’s one commentary that demonstrated an interesting attitude toward causality:

“Every time you hit the ‘record’ button, that thing calms down again. Next time, say you’re going to hit the button, but don’t actually do it.

Okay…

Of course, there were lots of children. This did my heart good. Let’s get those kids away from their video games and text messaging devices and into the open air - even if that air smells faintly sulphurous! Of course, on occasions like this one, children are invariably the source of lively and provocative questions. To wit:

“Mom, if you lie down on top of that thing, will your head burn up?”

There were also some well-informed spectators in the crowd. A mother busily supervising a large brood still found time to provide a lively commentary on the what and why of Old Faithful. She then asked me if I had ever before been to Yellowstone. I lowered my lashes demurely and replied, “No - this is my first geyser.”

And then, suddenly - at least, it seemed sudden:

[The average height of an eruption is 130 feet.]

So, was it faintly corny to be standing amid a mass of humanity gazing out at Old Faithful? Yes. Was it at the same time thrilling and exhilarating? Absolutely! This was something I had been hearing about since I was a kid - and seeing pictures of, and even reading parodies of. But standing there, at that moment, I felt downright patriotic: we really know how to put on a geothermal spectacular, right here in the U.S. of A.!

Our Yellowstone excursion began with a couple of surprises. First, as we drove north through the Tetons, it began to rain. Oh, grand, thought I, it probably rains about twice a year in these parts and of course, today…But wait! Shortly before we reached the Park’s South Entrance, the rain abated, then stopped altogether. A good omen, we concluded, though at the time we didn’t know just how good!

We had been inside the Park for about twenty minutes when we encountered a traffic jam. Numerous cars and camper vans were pulled over onto the verge. Not knowing the ways of genus touristus in this extraordinary place, we feared there had been accident. As we got closer, I was able to make out a large, dark shape moving beyond a stand of trees close to the road. About a minute later, I realized what I, along with dozens of other excited shutterbugs, was seeing:

A bear! No - a bear and two cubs. Let’s see - that makes three bears…yes..THREE GRIZZLY BEARS!! IN THE WILD!!

Well, that was it for Your Faithful Blogger. All discretion and caution were flung to the winds. My heart started to pound; my eyelids stung. As he maneuvered cautiously through the welter of vehicles, Ron said, “Sweetie, now I don’t know if it’s really a good idea to -.” Too late. I was out of the car, dashing into the woods, trusty little Nikon in hand, clicking, clicking:

Surely this was a Benevolent God’s way of saying, “Welcome to Yellowstone, Roberta. I told you it would knock your socks off!”

And there was more to come, so much more…

The wedding of one’s only son - one’s only CHILD, for gosh sake! - followed by one’s first visit to Yellowstone - well, one is pretty much “of sense forlorn” at the moment. I’m now catching up on some much-needed sleep, and having wonderful dreams.

It was all quite fabulous. Details to follow. Meanwhile, feast your eyes…

The Grand Tetons

***************************************************

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, a sight that has enthralled Ron ever since he first saw it at age 13.

***************************************************

Some of Yellowstone’s bizarre and wondrous geothermal features

***************************************************

These guys just kept turning up by the side of the road. I think they were showing off! At any rate - long may they roam…

***************************************************

***************************************************

But of course - first, came the Main Event, after which, the celebrating began:

Erica and Ben, post-ceremony, visiting with friends - and so relieved that everything went smoothly.

The festivities were greatly enriched by the presence of children. In particular, there were numerous babies. They seemed to be having as much fun as the grownups!

*************************************************

Finally, some more stunning views:

These last three shots were taken from the balcony of our room at the Amanagani in Jackson.

Every time a new issue of British Heritage arrives, I make myself put off reading it until I can’t stand it any more. I can be certain that I’m in for a treat once my self-control gives way, but I have to say that the May 2008 issue is really exceptional. For one thing, there are so many fascinating news items in the “Dateline” section at the beginning of the magazine that I have yet to move on to the longer articles at the heart of this splendid publication!

First, there’s the piece on Sherwood Forest, which used to comprise some 100,000 acres. Alas, it has presently shrunk to a mere 450! Think how exposed Robin of Locksley and his Merry Band would have felt amid such reduced acreage. But efforts are underway to renew and reinvigorate this storied place. The forest still contains 997 old-growth oak trees. And when they say old, they’re not kidding; these trees can live 900 years. These oaks are carefully tended. Pride of place among their number goes to the Major Oak.

The Major Oak, as it currently appears

The Major Oak, with supports digitally removed

And before we go on to other things, have a look at the annual Robin Hood Festival.

Next, interesting news from the art world: Sotheby’s auctioned a J.M.W. Turner water-color for a cool $6 million. Formerly owned by various members of the Vanderbilt family, Bamborough Castle had not been seen publicly since 1889. Meanwhile, a Faberge egg containing a clock fetched an even cooler $18.5 million at Christie’s. This exquisite timepiece, commissioned by the Rothschild family in 1905, is now the highest-priced ever Russian objet d’art.

A sensational treasure trove of “Romano-British artifacts” has been found at the bottom of a well at a place called Draper’s Gardens in London. According to Jenny Hall, the curator of Roman London at the Museum of London, “Nothing like this has ever been found in London before, or anywhere else in Britain.”

Now - on to the Royals. Yes - I do interest myself in their doings, I freely admit to it! Queen Elizabeth has a new grandson, the second child born to Prince Edward and Sophie, Countess of Wessex. (He was actually born right before Christmas. We across the pond here are a tad late getting the news - or, at least, I am.) The little tyke will be known as James Windsor, Viscount Severn.

Finally, two items about Scotland. First: plans are under way for a gathering of the Scottish clans next year. Called, not unexpectedly, The Gathering, the event will be part of a larger celebration called Homecoming Scotland. Prince Charles will be the royal patron. This exciting series of events has all the makings of a party to end all parties!

The Gathering will feature massed pipe bands, Highland games, live music, Scottish Highland dancing, and much more.

Finally, news of the Helix Project, the purpose of which is to “…fund a new section of the Forth and Clyde Canal connecting the canal to the Firth of Forth.”

The Firth of Forth

In addition, approximately twenty miles of paths for walking and cycling are planned, and some 750,000 trees will be planted. As if all this wasn’t sufficiently exciting, a sculpture consisting of two enormous horse heads is slated to be the crowning glory of the Helix Project. This massive installation, designed by sculptor Andy Scott, will be about one hundred feet high. The inspiration for this work is the kelpie, defined by Mysterious Britain as “…the supernatural shape-shifting water horse that haunts the rivers and streams of Scotland.”

Prototype of The Kelpies

I speak as an outsider who has spent very little time there, but it seems to me that the spirit of Scotland, animated by a justified pride in that country’s distinguished heritage and bright future, is on the rise. My husband and I felt that we were standing at the heart of this resurgence when we visited Edinburgh this past fall. While there, we toured the new Scottish Parliament building and learned the story of its creation, a stirring tale of triumph mixed with tragedy, like something out of a novel.

Travel is one of the many aspects of life in the French countryside written about by Graham Robb in The Discovery of France. In a number of instances, the author refers to a singular little guidebook:

“One of the best short guides to the experience of travelling in post-Revolution France is a French-German phrase book published in 1799 by Caroline-Stephanie-Felicite Du Crest de Saint-Aubin, who is usually known as Mme de Genlis.”

The full title of this little book is The Traveller’s Companion for Conversation, being a Collection of Such Expressions as Occur Most Frequently in Travelling and in the Different Situations in Life. Apparently at least four more editions of this book were published subsequent to the one referenced by Graham Robb. How do I know this? Here is a picture of the fifth edition, lying somewhat incongruously on our kitchen table! The publication date of this small volume is given as 1821. This version has been enlarged to include English, Italian, Spanish, and somewhat to my amazement, Russian.

How did I come by this artifact of another era? My mother was an inveterate traveler, particularly in Western Europe. She loved France, Italy, and the British Isles. (It is a love she bequeathed to me.) After her first trip to Italy, taken with my father when she was in her forties, she resolved to learn Italian. She accomplished this goal with remarkable speed and facility. She went back to Europe again and again, sometimes with my father, sometimes with tour groups, occasionally alone. At some point during her wanderings on the continent, she obtained Mme de Genlis’s book. It is one of the few possessions of hers that I have retained. I admit that I never examined it closely until I found it mentioned in Graham Robb’s book.

The Traveller’s Companion does not much resemble contemporary phrasebooks. Rather its entries are miniature dialogues, or, in some cases, monologues. They serve as a timely reminder that the rigors of travel are not unique to the 21st century. Below are some sample entries.

Dialogue IV: Conversation on Board a Ship or Yacht:

“I am very sick.

Lay yourself flat upon your belly; shut your eyes; remain in that quiet posture, and your sickness will abate.”

But if it doesn’t…. “I suffer extremely; I am unwell, pray, hand me a bason [sic].”

Dialogue V: On Crossing the Water in a Ferry:

“Now take off the horses from the carriage. The horses ought not to be yoked to the carriage in a ferry.”

“Why so? Because nothing can be more dangerous. The indolence, which hinders us from unyoking the horses, has caused a thousand unhappy accidents.”

Dialogue VI: Enquiries in a journey which cannot be otherwise performed than in a Sedan Chair, or on Mules:

“Is the road very dreadful? Yes, it is very narrow and on the brink of precipices.”

Dialogue VIII: On the Accidents that might happen on the Road:

“My friends, could you assist us? We are in great distress, you shall be well paid for your trouble.

We are sticking in a hole. Lend us two of your horses to draw us forwards.

You will do us a great favour.”

Followed by this plaintive outbreak:

“Dear friends, I beg you!”

Alas, things appear to go from bad to worse:

“He has a hole in his head!

We must first wash out the wound well with fresh water, and afterwards apply a poultice to it of Cologne water mixed with fresh water.”

Then later:

“Take courage, my friend! your fall does not appear to be dangerous. Poor man! I sympathize greatly with your sufferings, I assure you.”

(At this point, I couldn’t help but think of Mercutio, mortally wounded by Tybalt.

“Romeo: Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.

Mercutio: No, ’tis not so deep as a well nor as wide as a church door but ’tis enough, ’twill serve…” And so, sadly and with dire consequence, it did.)

Nature’s Engraver by Jenny Uglow. I feel indebted to Uglow for introducing me to the life and art of Thomas Bewick. In the process, she gives us a meticulous re-creation of life in the Tyneside region of England in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s. I am always grateful to authors who transport me in this way to another time and place; in this world, this is the only form of time travel vouchsafed to us .

[Thomas Bewick, and two of his engravings]

************************************

On our trip in September, we passed through Tyneside on our way to Edinburgh. We stopped briefly in the lovely village of Warkworth in Northumberland , where we had the pleasure of once again meeting with Ann Cleeves. Finally, we stopped briefly on the windswept coast, then boarded the bus once again. We raced past two places I would dearly loved to have explored: Bamburgh Castle and the amazing Angel of the North

. There is much to see along the A1, which closely follows the historic Great North Road, described so memorably by Reginald Hill in Recalled To Life.

Ass you can see, a storm was bearing down us. Shortly after we boarded the bus, the heavens opened up - real Wuthering Heights weather!

***************************************

Now, back to the books:

Salem Witch Judge by Eve LaPlante. Not only a rich, illuminating biography of Samuel Sewall, but also a provocative meditation on this country’s Puritan heritage.

Indian Summer by Alex von Tunzelmann. The story of England’s grand adventure - and at times, misadventure - on the subcontinent. The author’s account is peopled with an enormous cast of characters, many of whom prove capable of astonishingly bizarre and perverse behavior. In particular, for those of us who were raised to venerate Winston Churchill and Mahatma Ghandi, there are some disconcerting revelations here.

And finally - the nonfiction book that was the most just plain fun to read, providing as it did great dollops of delicious literary gossip: Uncommon Arrangements by Katie Roiphe.

While cruising the web, hungrily searching for my next travel destination, I noticed that both Smithsonian Journeys and Abercrombie & Kent post reading lists online. These lists are provided by Longitude Books, an online bookseller I had not previously been aware of. (Study leaders for various tours can insert their own particular selections.) Several things make these lists special, the most important being that they are annotated. These annotations are not clipped from review sources; they’re written by staff. They’re brief but articulate, and they make you want to read the book - at least, they have that effect on me! (I’ve had some experience with writing annotations; the shorter they’re supposed to be, the harder they are to write.)

You can access these lists directly on Longitude’s site: just select the region you’re interested in and the apposite list will display. The ones I’ve looked at are divided into two parts: Essential Reading and Also Recommended. Titles are identified as being new, staff favorites, or hard to find. The site also features “Best of” lists and “Neglected Classics.”

I returned from our last trip desiring to read more about Scotland. I was especially pleased with Longitude’s list. One title I’m particularly looking forward to reading is Stone Voices: The Search for Scotland, by Neal Ascherson. With some books, the introduction/foreward/preface alone is worth the price of admission. To wit, this passage from the opening of the Preface to Stone Voices:

“Some countries are tidy with their past. Until recently, English historiography resembled the work of a landscape gardener at a stately home: vistas of Saxon lawn and Norman shrubbery led up past Tudor and Hanoverian flowerbeds to the terrace of the present, where the proprietor sat contentedly surveying his estate. Other countries are restless, grubbing up old interpretations in each generation. Russia, where the past is said to be unpredictable, offers a history scene of churned-up mud and broken-down cement-mixers, loud with disputing gardeners. Twentieth-century France evolved two largely incompatible narratives, a Red republican version and a White or clerical-conservative one, whose respective visitors hardly glance at each other across the fence.

“But there are also countries which have left the past in its original condition: a huge, reeking tip of unsorted rubbish across which scavengers wander, pulling up interesting fragments which might fetch a price or come in handy.” Ascherson then announces that “Scotland has been one of these.” But he hastens to add: “This is nothing to be ashamed of.” (!!) The author proceeds to explain these somewhat bald assertions; among other things, this situation “…allows space for imagination and originality” for those wishing to contemplate and understand Scottish history. Ascherson’s stated purpose in writing Stone Voices is not to provide a chronological narrative but more of a meditation on the country’s past, as seen through discreet tableaux and in myth.

I am greatly looking forward to reading this book!

I thought that I might be less than thrilled to be visiting the Bronte Parsonage for the second time in two years, but in fact, I got much more out of this particular visit. This was partly due to the presence of Robert Barnard, one of my favorite mystery authors. For Barnard, the family history of the Brontes and their immortal works of literature are a passionate avocation. He has written a biography of Emily Bronte and served as president of the Bronte Society. He delivered a talk on his favorite subject in the cramped basement of the Bronte Parsonage Museum. The talk, which centered on the efforts of the society to secure documents, especially letters, relating to the Brontes, was utterly fascinating. He also informed his rapt audience that it was due to the tireless efforts of the society that a previously unknown photograph of Charlotte Bronte was unearthed.

The Parsonage retains its power to haunt. Legends swirl around the Bronte family; recently, at least one biography - The Bronte Myth by Lucasta Miller - has sought to cut through the occasionally misleading (and often distracting) aura of mystery that surrounds their lives. Yet how could their story be viewed as anything but tragic? In 1821, the year after she had given birth to Anne, her sixth child, Maria Bronte died an agonizing death from cancer. Of the six children she had borne, none made it to age forty.

Poor Reverend Patrick Bronte - predeceased by not only his wife but all six of his children! It would test anyone’s faith…

We went into the Church of St. Michael and All Angels, where Patrick Bronte preached (Only the tower actually dates from his time there), then walked around the village. Haworth is actually quite beautiful. The high street is quite literally high, located at the summit of a rather steep hill. (Detective Charlie Peace describes his arduous ascent of that hill in Barnard’s novel The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori. (This is, IMHO, one of his best books.) You can see by these pictures that the lush countryside of the Dales can be clearly seen from the center of town; this view down Haworth’s high street is one of my favorites in Yorkshire - well, one of many, of course. And the “old timey” apothecary shop is a surprise and a delight.

Finally - here’s Yours Truly leaning on this beloved symbol of Old England. As I was preparing for my first Yorkshire sojourn in 2005 - my first trip back to the “old country” in twenty years - several people assured me that those red phone booths were gone. What did they know, eh? There’s a saying, “Trust but verify.” Sometimes I think it should be “Don’t trust - verify, by going and seeing for yourself!”

Robert Barnard accompanied us to lunch; I was lucky enough to be seated near him. His conversation was very frank and open, regarding his fellow crime writers; he knows and has great regard for P.D. James and Peter Robinson. On the subject his personal history, he was similarly forthright, telling us that his childhood was deeply affected by his parents’ unhappy marriage. I appreciated his directness on this and other subjects.

Tour manager Moira Black, study leader Carol Kent, and Robert Barnard

Chiang Yee, a writer and painter, was born in 1903 in Jiujiang, China. In 1933, he journeyed to England, leaving behind his wife and children. He lived there until 1955, during which time wrote a series of travel books. The titles all begin with “The Silent Traveller in…”; the one I just read is The Silent Traveller in the Yorkshire Dales. (”Silent Traveller” is actually an English translation of Chiang’s Chinese pen name, Ya-xing-zhe. That name literally means “Dumb-Walking-Man,” but the publisher understandably felt that a more poetic translation might be preferable!)

This book has a deceptively simple premise: a Chinese gentleman is periodically invited to spend time with a friend who has a country house in the Yorkshire Dales. Parcevall Hall is located in Wharfedale, and Chiang Yee uses it as a base for his explorations of the surrounding countryside. He visits the various attractions of the area, such as Simon’s Seat and Hardraw Force; he describes these places in prose that is is reserved and graceful. Each chapter includes an illustration and closes with a poem. The paintings and the poetry are both by the author.

It is hard to convey the quiet power of this little book. Chiang Yee has a deep reverence for nature and describes all that he sees with a practiced eye. His art is done in the Chinese style; it is fascinating to see the landscape of the Dales - a landscape which is so subtly beautiful that it hypnotizes the viewer - transformed in this way. In addition, the sights that he sees constantly remind him of his native land, both in regard to its topography and to its culture. On the back of the dust jacket, a review from The Spectator says of The Silent Traveller in Oxford that it’s chief charm lies in its “‘…obviously sympathetic presentation of things English, with constant and enriching reference to things Chinese.’” The Silent Traveller in the Yorkshire Dales possesses these same attributes.

Chiang Yee brings the keen eye of an outsider to bear on the subject of the English character . While contemplating the ruin of Barden Tower, he finds himself meditating on “…the English affection for ruins;” during another excursion, while admiring roses in a garden, he rehearses to himself the history of this singular bloom and notes that “The habit of tracing things to their origin I have learned from my English friends.” (Peter Ackroyd has much to say concerning the penchant of his countrymen for antiquarianism in his fascinating book Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination.)

Here is Chiang Yee’s description of Simon’s Seat: “Just after passing Barden Bridge I see the hill looking like an old sage wrapt in a dark blue garment sitting on the ground with his two long legs outstretched, though I cannot behold his feet.” The author notes the likeness that the sight bears to a mountain called Fu-Chou in Nanking. ‘Fu-Chou’ actually means upturned boat; Chiang Yee avers that Simon’s Seat has a similar in appearance, but is longer than Fu-Chou, and “…perhaps more like an English boat, with a long prow and a rather even keel except just on its rock-strewn head.” An additional difference is that Fu-Chou is primarily brown, while Simon’s Seat, thickly wooded, is at its base intensely green.

To this chapter, Chiang Yee appends a poignant poem which he calls “On the Way to Simon’s Seat”: “The morning mist gradually disperses, / And I step out to the hill before the Hall. / After the rain the grass is greener; / The flowers yield their fragrance to the rising wind. / I lift my head to look at the frontier of the sky. / There is a curve of the stream there; / Beyond the stream the mountains recede; / And above, the white clouds float free of care. / In the white clouds lies my fatherland. / When will the Silent Traveller go home?”

One of my favorite chapters in the book is entitled “On the Way to Bolton Abbey.” What’s interesting about this particular sojourn is that although the Traveller never reaches his stated destination, he has an excellent walk nonetheless. The reason for his dilatory progress is that the natural world has so distracted him along the way that he is forced to turn back due to the ebbing daylight.

The experience puts him in mind of a story told about the Chinese scholar and poet Wang Tzu-Yu. Wang has decided rather suddenly that he desires to visit a friend of his, a fellow poet named Tai An-Chieh. This being a journey of several days, Wang’s servant must hire a boat and make the necessary preparations. After being on the water for more than three days and finally reaching their destination, Wang confounds his servant and the boatman by telling them that he wants to go back home without calling on his friend. They are vexed with him, understandably, but he tells them that “…when they had set out her had wanted to see his friend: now the mood had passed: his mind and senses had been satisfied by the beauty of the journey, and he wanted to go home.” So that, of course, is what they did.

The Silent Traveller in the Yorkshire Dales was published in London in 1941 and did not appear in this country until 1948. It is dedicated in part to “the little London flat in which I wrote this book and which was destroyed by bombs on the eve of the re-opening of the Burma Road.”

See this link on A Yorkshire Dales Walk to get a sense of the area explored by Chiang Yee during his visits to Wharfedale.

In researching the current status of Parcevall Hall, I found that while its gardens are open to the public, the house itself now serves as a retreat for the Bradford Diocese of the Church of England.

[Note on availability: Several of Chiang Yee's books are currently in print; unfortunately, at this writing, The Silent Traveller in the Yorkshire Dales is not one of them. I obtained my copy through abebooks. com.]

On our first day out and about in the Dales, we visited several small cities and villages in Wensleydale. We went first to Ripon, about which I have already written. Next, we arrived at Middleham, where we took in the magnificent ruins of the town’s eponymous castle. (I am always looking for an excuse to use that word!) This was Richard the Third’s boyhood home. The castle’s keep dates from the twelfth century and was at one time the largest in the north of England.

My husband and I both felt that the town itself was as great an attraction as the castle. Middleham has in abundance those virtues commonly associated with the beautiful towns and villages of the Yorkshire Dales: buildings all constructed from the same pale gray limestone that acts as such a perfect backdrop for the profusion of flowers in window boxes, hanging baskets, pots, and gardens.

The town is situated on a hillside between two rivers, the Cover and the Ure. (Rivers are a dynamic, energetic presence in many parts of Yorkshire, adding greatly to the beauty of the landscape.) Middleham is additionally a center for the breeding and training of racehorses, an industry originally founded by the monks of nearby Jervaulx Abbey. (The Abbey, founded in 1156 by monks who came over from France in the wake of the Norman Conquest, is yet another picturesque ruin, but one, alas, that we did not have time to take in. There is an absolutely astonishing wealth of things to see and do in Yorkshire!)

Leaving Middleham, we rode through yet more gorgeous countryside until we arrived at Hawes, another attractive market town which is situated just above the southern bank of the River Ure. A visit to the Ropemaker of Hawes was well worth while, as was a stroll down the High Street, which featured a number of attractive shops.

Hawes is home to the Dales Countryside Museum as well as the famously delicious Wensleydale Cheese, cheesemaking being yet another enterprise begun by the resourceful monks of Jervaulx Abbey. (Item of local interest: I’ve seen Wensleydale Cheese on sale at Roots Market in Clarksville.)

These little citizens of Hawes gave us an especially warm welcome!