Rounding Out Grasmere

On our last afternoon in Grasmere, we strolled from our rental house away from the village for the first time, or at least it was the first time for Julie and me.

I hadn't realized our stone cottage was the last one before pastures lined both sides of the road for as far as the eye could see.

Memories are funny things.

My mind went to my grandparents' farm that I visited every summer when I was a boy.

No, the bucolic landscape is not identical.

It's more that same peaceful feeling I always find in such settings.

I could clearly see how my ancestors who lived in the Lake District had ended up in Virginia and then Alabama.

Yes, the American south is more humid than the Lake District, but we all adjust over time to the climates where we live.  Granddaddy called rural Alabama "God's country."

We has arrived in stages, and for this last walk, it would be only Gina, Emma, Julie and me.

We talked a bit about Gina's upcoming move to a new home within her community outside Philadelphia that also has echoes of the Lake District, though in that case more in terms of stone walls and green landscapes than pastures. It built over time as a bedroom community, but it does include green parkland.  There's even a castle of sorts called Maybrook Mansion.

While California is now built beyond anything I could have imagined as a young boy in Westminster, when we moved there we had cow pasture three houses away at the end of the street where one day a cul-de-sac would be built.  Driving between Orange County towns took us past strawberry fields, orange groves and more pastures.

We still love our little beach enclaves in California, but Julie and I have joined my sister's family in spending more time in Montana, once again getting back to the countryside where raising cattle has been a way of life for decades.

These days, a renewal of bison (American buffalo) has been brought about through ranching for its low-fat meat in the Big Sky region.

Amy and Jay both love the cities where they live and work, but they also take time to go to the country frequently for renewal.

As we race into a future where cow farts are deemed dangerous perils to the environment, I hope we don't lose all that beautiful pastureland.

Along our cottage's driveway, not in a prehistoric cave

My Granddaddy's surname started not as Strikeland, referring to Vikings striking land as some have claimed, but rather Styrkland, with "Styrk" translating as bullock, so in essence, cattle pasture.  It's in our blood.

Interestingly --- to me, at least --- the last name of the rugged family of the North's Winterfell in Game of Thrones was Stark, which is only one letter different from Styrk, though the writer George RR Martin referred to Stark as being in lieu of York, and Lannister instead of Lancaster, from the War of the Roses.

My nephew Brooks and son-in-law Laszlo both support the cattle-raising lifestyle by adhering to the Paleo Diet, with meat at its center.  They seem to maintain the slim physiques of strident veganism without sacrificing daily rations of bacon and Kerrygold butter.

Julie and I try to practice a somewhat modified Atkins/Paleo approach.  I'm sure cave men would have eaten huckleberry ice cream sandwiches in prehistoric Montana.

That night, we ate pre-made meals from Grasmere's reasonably priced Co-op Market, played Monopoly, finished the puzzle and prepared to head to our next destination, the Beatles' home town, Liverpool.  Looking back over our time in the Lake District, it had been thoroughly wonderful.