The Little Green Road

"Keep it secret; keep it safe."

-Gandalf

There's something precious about keeping secrets. I don't mean harmful secrets or things you really ought to tell other people, or prayer requests or your own faults or failings.

I mean things like modesty: keeping the secret of your body from everyone else but the one person God has ordained to be your spouse.

I mean beauty: "I gazed--and gazed--but little thought what wealth the show to me had brought. For oft when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude."

I mean the thousand quiet things that don't need to be told/shown/spoken in order to be enjoyed.

I mean the things that are most beautiful when kept silent:

The tremendous figure which fills the Gospels towers in this respect, as in every other, above all the thinkers who ever thought themselves tall. His pathos was natural, almost casual. The Stoics, ancient and modern, were proud of concealing their tears. He never concealed His tears; He showed them plainly on His open face at any daily sight, such as the far sight of His native city. Yet He concealed something. Solemn supermen and imperial diplomatists are proud of restraining their anger. He never restrained His anger. He flung furniture down the front steps of the Temple, and asked men how they expected to escape the damnation of Hell. Yet He restrained something. I say it with reverence; there was in that shattering personality a thread that must be called shyness. There was something that He hid from all men when He went up a mountain to pray. There was something that He covered constantly by abrupt silence or impetuous isolation. There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.” 

-G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

It will seem to you that I've been in a reflective mood recently, what with the post on flirtation last time and now this, and perhaps I am. Or maybe I'm just finally finding time to write the things down that have been living in my brain, unrecognized for the longest period because my schedule has been so wacked. I'm not a huge SAVE THE EARTH person. Not at all. But in the same vein of keeping things secret, I found the perfect illustration:

I live in the countryside and there's this lovely bit of a triangle made from three different roads. The patch between the three is a secret patch of forest and I love it because it's so forgotten; nobody uses it for anything because it's too small to hunt on, it's too tangled to walk through, and I'm pretty much the only person who goes for a walk these days anyhow. On the opposite side of one of the roads, there was another patch of forest--this one rather large. And winding back into the forest was this lovely little green road that always looked like Ireland with the sun coming down, filtered through the leaves. I liked to think what sort of road it was: who took their ATV's down it to go hunting, or drove down it in their pick-ups to go fishing in one of the copperhead-infested ponds way back on Mr. Byrum's land. And someday, I told myself, I'd get brave enough to step past the No Trespassing sign and just set foot on that little green road. It was most beautiful to me because it was overlooked, unnoticed, and entirely mine. After all, when you're the only human being who cares to take walks in the country, you're bound to feel a little possessive.

The saddest thing happened...

They cleared that piece of land this past week--harvested all the pines and other trees--and my bit of Ireland is gone. Entirely gone. There's nothing secret and sacred about it. It's not even green anymore since all the equipment dragged brown pine-needles and covered its beauty over in a pall of Business. It's almost enough to make me feel like crying which is entirely silly, I know. I mean, if they planted the pines on purpose to harvest later and took the care to thin them as they were growing, then they've a right to do anything they want with them; in fact, that's good business. That's what it means to work and live in an agrarian society.

But it's not secret anymore. Someone exposed the bit of green road. It's not innocent, but ravaged. It looks like a war-zone. And worse yet, it's not mine. I don't know that piece of land anymore. It looks rakish and wretched and like the difference in Fantine between "At the End of the Day" and "I Dreamed a Dream" in Les Miserables. I hate the new look and I'm trying not to be upset and making myself drive that way and stare at the barrenness and think, "Someday it'll be secret again." Even the Triangle Bit across the road looks different because now the sun stares right in like a nosy neighbor, ferreting out any secretness it used to possess.

I guess this post doesn't have any point except that I think we're way too obsessed with moving forward and telling everything. We over-share the secret, beautiful bits about our lives and Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and even on our blogs. I love to share the beauty with you. I love it so much. I'm a huge fan of taking pictures and helping other people see the fragile beauties. It's a small way I can minister. And yet I never want to lose the wonder of knowing things not everyone in the world knows. I was the only one who cared about the little green road and so it was mine. Now it's gone and no one else will know and that's kind of a really special feeling.

Keep your innocent, pretty special-secrets; they're never going to lose value by being yours. 

In Defense of Walking in the Rain

"It is not easy to walk alone in the country without musing on something."

-Charles Dickens

I have long held a stance on the subject of Walks in Rain that takes an optimistic, hopeful, and rather fond view of them. Some people think otherwise. Why they think otherwise is beyond me, but it was only this last Sunday that I was talking with a fellow or two about my fondness for Walking in the Rain, and how everyone always thinks me daft. This afternoon after sitting on my botto for 5 hours making phone-calls for pay, I decided I needed a nice long one. I was accosted by dogs (including my own) in one direction so I switched tactics and decided to go the other way. Wise choice, that one. I ended up on a bleak, windswept, moorish sort of place and a chap passed me by. He pulled off further ahead, turned around, and came back.

         "Do you need a ride?" he asked in a hesitant, gentlemanly way as if uncertain whether he ought to have asked me, since I a young lady alone on a dreary road at dusk.

         He looked so earnest and discomfited I was not at all afraid. I laughed. "No--I'm out walking for fun!"

         "Seriously?" I've never heard a voice more incredulous. He acted rather as if I had boasted a plan for walking to the North Pole to meet Santa Claus.

        "Really! I love walks in the rain." I smiled broadly, conscious of the fact that I probably looked a mess with my hair whipping about and my skirt drenched.

        He took a breath and looked at me again. "....Okay...." and off he went, looking doubtful still.

This encounter made me laugh a deal, and set me to thinking of a good defense as to Why. Why do I like walks in the rain? Why should you? And so all the way home I talked to myself merry as you pleased and compiled the list you see here. 

In Defense of Walking in the Rain.

1. Things smell better in the rain.

Proof: Have you ever smelled wet woodsmoke? Or wet pines? Or simply wet autumn?

2.Adventures are more inclined to happen.

Proof: If you were walking in the sunshine, d'you reckon a chap would stop and ask if you needed a lift? Highly doubtful.

3. Everything seems more British in a rain.
Proof: Have you ever walked through a flat bit of Eastern Virginia in the winter sunlight? There's nothing less English than that. But give yourself a wild November rain and a few upland drafts and a bit of deserted road and you are transported to Wuthering Heights itself.

4. A walk in the rain improves the complexion.
Proof: Even Mr. Darcy himself was not impervious to the charms of a woman who had taken a three mile walk in misty moisty weather.

5. It is the best way to enjoy bad weather.
Proof: You see, even the grouchiest grouches will admit that the chief charm of bad weather is getting out of it. Therefore, in order to get out of something you must first be in it. Thus a walk in the cold, nippy, wet weather heightens the pleasure of everything. If you do not enjoy the walk itself (I dare you!) you shall certainly enjoy your cozy dryness all the more having been wet a moment before. (I Rhymed, in case you didn't notice.)

6. It is a curious experiment in Diseases.
Proof: Everyone before the mid 20th century swore if you walked in the rain you'd die of pneumonia. I am proof (seventy times over) that such an oath is untrue.

7. Your brain works better in the rain.
Proof: ....I shall think of some presently. Ah! It enables you to write a post like this. {thankee, thankee}

8. It is a fabulous way to swim without any danger of drowning.
Proof: Have you ever drowned from walking through a mist? No? I am glad. Because then it would make reading this Defense rather awkward for both of us.

9. It is the best weather for thinking.
Proof: If you attempt to enjoy rainy weather indoors you are much too likely to fall into a dreamy state. If you are walking about, tromping through a gale on the high-road your chances of happening upon something Rather Clever are doubled, as you must have some measure of your wits about you in order to survive around those obnoxious little things called cars.

10. It is good stewardship.
Proof: "How?" you are asking. "How?" I shall tell you how. We all have bought an umbreller at some time or other, and if we never walk in the rain, tell me--what was the purpose of having bought an umbreller? Especially a rather nice rose-colored one that clashes with everything you wear? It would be rubbish. You'd far better have spent your umbreller-money on something else--like a ceramic goose. You'll never use that either, but at least it isn't the least bit pretty and doesn't deserve to be used.

So there you have it, dear Country People Who Stare At Me. I am not senile. I am far from bonkers. I am just a girl who happens to love a good walk in the rain, and thinks the art of doing so is not quite dead. This is my attempt at feeling Avenged.
               
Much Love,
        The Girl with the Rose-colored Umbreller

The Netherfield Walk!

 Today my pupils and I took our 3-mile "Netherfield Walk." It was a gorgeous day [not at all like January ought to be ;)] and we set out in high spirits. The rules were as follows:

• You must walk at a brisk pace, so as to get the "brilliancy" in your complexion that Lizzy Bennet acquired from her walk.
• You must speak anything you had to say in a British accent. No if, ands, or buts about it.

 

This is us in our "unbrilliant" state of countenance. :)

The Mad-Cap English Teacher....

The Cross School-Marm....does anyone else think my finger looks really long and scary? :P

I couldn't resist a picture of the bluer than blue lake. :)

At the end of the road (1 1/2 miles) we stopped to do a short photo-shoot....

....A stranger we picked up as a tag-along. ;)

 My students and I....notice the heightened color of our faces? Ah yes. Jane Austen's recipe seems to be working.... ;)

"Her hair, Louisa! She really looked almost wild!!!" :D 

What a horrid picture! I will continue to blame it on the half-wet, half-dry state of my newly-washed hair, and the wind. 

"There's a piece of blue sky--let us catch it!"

...And then we headed home, all downhill. [Well, nearly.] It was a very good walk.

Ah yes. If I weren't in the shadows there'd be quite a bit of pink in that face.

More pink. I approve Jane Austen's remedy for a pale face. How about you? :)

...The Various Reactions to Having Walked Three Miles At Once...

 Leah's main complaint was from her waist-down. 

Apparently her legs are not accustomed to much walking. ;)

 I had to drag this one home after she kept wanting to stop for a rest.

"Maybe someone will come out and offer us something!" she and Leah said at each house we passed, as if we'd been tramping through the Sahara Desert, rather than for a long country walk.

 Sarah complained of blisters, but beyond that she was top-notch. I've been training her.

Me?......

 "You must allow her to be an excellent walker." ;)

Walking is my forte. I love it. There is nothing quite like a ramble through the countryside, especially with sisters. :) I think the girls all enjoyed this experiment, and we heartily applaud Lizzy Bennet for having done it alone, in the mud, cross-country, just to visit a sister with a cold. :)

(All pictures courtesy of Sarah, except for the ones of herself. :)