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Loweswater Lake In the morning, we discovered the farmer had inadvertently locked us into the pasture. With all the foot traffic in the Lake District, the farmers, rather than risk someone forgetting to close the gate, chose to lock their pastures. We unloaded our gear and hauled it over the fence. Downhill to the lake was an impossibly steep sheep trail. A combination of squeezing brake levers and jarring holes made my left wrist ache painfully by the time I reached the lake shore. Sharon, during her explorations yesterday, had picked out a wide pebbly area to eat breakfast by. We hauled our bikes down the rock-strewn path, along a walking trail amidst the trees, to emerge at the clearing. We leaned our bikes against an appropriately situated granite boulder. Sharon whipped up pancakes, causing several walkers to comment on the delicious smell wafting through the woods. One stopped and asked, "Did you bring maple syrup?" He left mumbling, "Another myth shattered." Humidity clung to us. Sharon splashed in for another swim remarking how warm the water was. Invigorated, she took her bike and traipsed around the lake. A bridle path ran on the opposite shore. She returned with two glass pint jars of milk and half-a-dozen eggs from a nearby farm. At least an inch of separated cream sat on top of the cold sweet milk. My only complaint was Sharon hadn't found sugar. My sweet tooth I didn't like to drink tea without it. A group of shaved heads showed up, accompanied by an ugly pit bull. They went in for a dip, inner tubes around their waists. I didn't think they could swim. The edge dropped away abruptly into deep water. "I can't touch bottom! It feels weird!" one cried. They all agreed it was freezing. Sharon laughed as she climbed out from yet another swim. "I see they're convincing you to go in," Sharon said with a smile. I phoned home from the booth Sharon had found along the road. Mom finished chemo and was home from the hospital now. The doctor's said they had eradicated the cancer. She sounded in high spirits. On the way back, I stopped at the farm for more milk. The stooped old woman was in the yard watering roses. In this heat she looked like her roses: a tad wilted. "Can I trade two empty ones for two full ones?" I asked, holding up our previous milk bottles. From the cooler in the shed she produced two full jugs. As I turned away, she asked me, "When are you going to pay for them?" I told her, "As soon as I retrieve the money off my bike." She puzzled, "I thought maybe you were going to put it on the sheet," referring to the local credit system. I asked her, "Do you have a bit of sugar you can sell me for my tea?" Sweetly, she provided me with half-a-jar full at no charge. The shaved heads left, leaving a pile of garbage scattered in their wake. A pristine spot when they arrived two hours ago was now a garbage dump, littered with candies, beer cans, potato chip bags, gum wrappers, candy wrappers, chocolate bar wrappers, and the multicolored shredded remains of a beach ball torn apart by their ugly mutt. |
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