Speaking of the farm, all the animals and the farmers seem to be settling in to their various roles. The llamas know their routine and the sheep theirs. At first we had to plan how we were going to trick the llamas into going to the barn when we wanted. Now we can get them to go to the catch in the barn without uttering a word. For good or for bad the sheep are quite easily attracted to us as well. They are all motivated by food—and specifically the knowledge that we bring it to them—but we don’t care if it gets them to do what we want. This is especially good for us now that the weather has started to get colder.

For the most part caring for the animals takes between ten and forty-five minutes a day of either of our time. In the morning after the dogs are fed, one of us walks down to the cabin and gets grain to give to the llamas. As soon as the animals see us enter the Magic Food Cabin^TM they gather as near as they can. When we eventually come out they walk the fence line to meet the food bringer at the gate. I usually put the metal coffee can full of grain under my sweatshirt or jacket to buy myself a few seconds and to help keep prying noses and mouths from getting a sneak taste.

The sheep are pushier even though they don’t get a daily ration like the llamas—who are still growing boys…err…geldings. I have to bop the sheep lightly on their foreheads with my fist to deter them, and they still persist. Once I manage to get into the paddock, I take a direct route to the gate that closes the catch. The llamas, knowing the procedure, make their way into the catch and leave it to me to attempt to keep the sheep at bay.

Once the llamas are isolated from the sheep, I give them each their allotment of grain in their individual feeding buckets, which we’ve mounted on separate walls of the barn. If the llamas weren’t isolated the sheep would stand on their hind legs and attempt to get to the grain with their noses or by knocking the feeder off the wall. This is exactly what they do when the llamas are done with their breakfast, and I have re-opened the gate to the catch. They push through the opening before the llamas can get out and while I am still opening the gate.

Lately, I have adjusted the process by throwing a bale of hay over the fence before I enter the paddock with the grain. The more aggressive sheep—Zinnia, Manta and Aretha—will still try to crash the llama’s breakfast, but it is still easier than when the six of them work together.

Once everyone is occupied with their breakfasts, I check on their water supply. Until recently we used a hose and a Coleman cooler for their water, but we knew this method wouldn’t work for the winter. A few weeks ago, on the advice of the president of the Hooved Animal Sanctuary in Chelsea, Vermont, we ordered a heated bucket that also has a thermostat. Now the water will not freeze, and the bucket will only turn on when the temperature falls below 35°F (1.7°C). The cord is tucked under the bucket and I was able to feed it under the barn to plug it in to an electrical outlet. The cord also has a spiral of wire around it to deter the animals from chewing on it. I made some small modifications to the barn so that the cord will not be an enticement for the curious crew.

After the water, I do a quick sweeping of the barn’s floor. On the advice of Marian White, we decided to use stall mats instead of straw bedding. Straw bedding makes for dirtier fleeces, and more work when it comes time to cleaning the fiber before it is processed. Some people simply throw more and more straw on the barn floor and then wait until mud season to muck all of the manure and straw in one back-breaking chore. Since we are shooting for clean fleeces that we don’t have to clean as much once it has been shorn, we prefer to sweep the barn every few days and take the manure to a pile just outside the paddock. The pile will make excellent compost for our gardens and pastures. Luckily, llamas prefer to do their business outside of the barn in a community pile. Every few days or so the piles can be removed with a shovel and wheelbarrow. One of the great things about llama manure is that it can be applied directly to a garden even during the growing season as it will not burn like other high-nitrogen manures. We figure if we don’t sell enough fiber we can go into the llama poo business.

At this point, during the warmer months, I normally open the gate to the upper pastures and allow the animals to graze; however, with our nascent pasture already a bit weak, we gave it the winter off starting in late September. In the spring we will begin to use the temporary fencing to allocate strips of grazing areas, and the animals’ manure will help enrich the soil and build a better pasture over time. Each week we move the fencing around to give the animals a fresh area to nosh. In the fall we would normally apply some outside source of manure (cow’s) to fertilize the soil, but we did that this past summer before the livestock arrived, so we’ll do that again next autumn.

As I make my way out of the paddock, I tick off the various completed chores in my head, and check that the electric fence is on—and strong—while I lock the paddock gate behind me. If the voltage has dropped for some reason, I check the fence to see if a plant is leaning against it, or if some other animal has broken a wire.

In the evenings, one of us goes down to the barn and checks on the animals again before leaving them for the night. If we hadn’t cleaned the barn in the morning, we do it at this time. Overall, the chores are rather invigorating, and I personally find that I can work through the things I have on my mind while doing them, making the time pass quickly.

This past weekend, we administered the deworming shots to the llamas by ourselves, which was interesting. We have had some experience giving shots to our dog Mickey, but it isn’t nearly the same. Llamas are pure muscle, and finding a fold of skin loose enough to administer the shot subcutaneously was difficult. Ultimately, I ended up pulling at the animals’ fiber to give me enough room to insert the needle, while Sarah calmed each animal and attempted to keep them still.

I think we are doing okay, so far. Now, if we can all survive the winter. Wish us luck.

I have to admit I was a little nervous about the switch. Though Marian had given us a chance to practice our sheep-wrangling skills on her flock, this was the first time we’d have to capture an individual on our farm. Sheep are crafty, slippery little buggers. They can jump like deer and squeeze through tiny openings, and I was concerned that if something went amiss we might be chasing sheep all morning.

We did our best to prepare. First, we lured all of the sheep into a catch pen that Rick had set up in the barn. Then Rick and Marian unloaded the large pet carrier that held Caramel, our remaining ewe lamb, and brought it over to the catch pen gate. We cracked the gate a tiny bit, then opened the carrier. After a moment and a little coaxing, Caramel jumped out of the crate to join the other sheep. Meanwhile, I had managed to grab the ram lamb while he and the others were distracted by grain. I was very careful to keep a grip on one of his horns so that he could not flail and jab me. He struggled for several seconds, then went completely limp as I tried to shuffle him over to the carrier. With a sigh of relief I shoved him in and we slammed the door. By this time, the females were all checking out the new arrival, and after the ram was safely loaded into Marian’s truck we let the sheep out.

Our guard llama Kuzco immediately sensed the new arrival and chased her a little, trying to get close for a good sniff. After a few minutes he too seemed to accept the new girl, so we turned the whole flock out on pasture. Marian departed and we turned our attention to other chores.

During the swap process I had been expecting Aretha to put up some sort of protest about what was going on. I’m not sure what I was anticipating, but I thought she might try to block my attempts to grab her lamb, if not aggressively at least by standing in the way or allowing the ram to hide behind her. But it had been very easy to nab him, and Aretha did not seem to notice that I had done so.  Soon, though, it became obvious that she had noticed.

Aretha is our flock matron, and quite vocal. She will “baaah” at me for grain, or to be let out to fresh grass. She will use the same short call to bring the other sheep to her if they are lagging at a distance.  But the call she made after the ram was gone was quite different. It was long, and loud, and persistent.  Periodically and throughout the afternoon, Aretha would launch into her calls, looking around the field for her “missing” lamb. She would graze, amble about, and chew cud as well, but whenever her maternal instinct was triggered (which often seemed to correspond to when her remaining ewe lamb would come over to nurse) she would let out a course of bellows.  At first I felt guilty for having taken away her baby and caused her such stress. But as the afternoon wore on I quickly understood why shepherds complained about weaning time.  Imagine having several, dozens, even hundreds of ewes carrying on like this! On Monday Aretha was still complaining but by Tuesday she had either forgotten about the ram or given up on finding him.  I was glad to see her back to her usual behavior, for my sake too.

We were pleased that the hand-off had gone smoothly, and also glad that Marian approved of our barn and pasture setup. We certainly couldn’t have pulled off the transition to being shepherds without all of her help. Having successful experiences boosts our confidence as well. We’re looking forward to our next challenge: the first sheering day, coming up in September.

Our small barn is located at the bottom of the driveway, and as I do every morning on my way out, on Thursday I slowed down as I passed to have a peek at the animals and make sure all was well. Alarmingly, I saw one of our grown ewes, Anisette, laying by herself at the edge of the barn in a very awkward position with one leg sticking up at a weird angle. My first thought was, “Oh, no, one of the sheep is dead!” This was immediately followed by “Marian is going to kill me!” Heart pounding, I hit my breaks, ready to leap out of the car, when the sound of gravel under the tires caught the flock’s attention. Anisette popped her head up, righted herself, then stood looking at me as if to say “What?” Though I was overjoyed to see she was OK, I was confounded by my misinterpretation.

After hearing this story, a coworker suggested that perhaps Anisette had been interrupted during her morning yoga routine. I thought the idea of a farmer freaking out over her yoga-practicing livestock would make a great one-panel cartoon (a la Gary Larson’s “The Far Side”). Too bad I can’t draw worth a dime, but if any of our readers can I encourage you to use the idea. Maybe it could even be printed on a t-shirt.

Our llamas did seem fairly comfortable right off: exploring the paddock, taking dust baths, lying down, and generally making themselves at home. But they were also humming quite a bit, which we took for uncertainty mixed with a bit of homesickness.  Over the next couple of days we adjusted to the new routine of feeding them their grain in the morning (at two years old they’re still growing), freshening their hay supply, and letting them out on pasture.

Then, on Tuesday, our Navajo-Churro sheep arrived.  We woke up early and met Marian at 7:15 for our third sheep-wrangling lesson. (We have been helping her with shearing and vaccinations to get a little handling experience before getting our own sheep).  This time, the whole flock was locked in her barn, and our mission was to find and capture the six sheep that we were taking without letting anyone escape. We grabbed Aretha (our flock matron) first, then her two lambs.  Next came two more ewe lambs: Zinnia and one of Sombrero’s triplets from this year, who Rick has decided to name “Manta” (”blanket” in Spanish). Lastly, we managed to capture wily Anisette (one of Sombrero’s daughters from last year). Aretha’s ram lamb will stay with us for a couple of weeks until he’s weaned, then we’ll trade him in (so to speak) for a lovely fawn-colored ewe lamb, and this will be our starter flock.

We drove Marian’s pickup truck to our place and Rick backed it through the barnyard gate skillfully. Then we threw open the tailgate with gusto and waited expectantly to see sheep come bounding out.  But there was no bounding, so Rick duck-walked into the covered cab to give the group some encouragement. Once the sheep had landed on the ground, they remained in a tight bunch while exploring their new digs. They quickly found some hay and grass and noticed the llamas but didn’t seem very interested in them (having been raised on a farm with a guard llama). The llamas however, were quite startled by the sheep.  The initial reaction seemed to be “What the hell are those things?” followed by the realization that at least they didn’t seem to be predators (seeing as how they had spindly legs, lacked sharp teeth, and enjoyed eating hay).

Rick and I watched the interaction for a bit, then decided to leave the animals to make their own introductions. By the time we had returned from dropping off Marian’s truck and grabbing a quick breakfast, Kuzco’s curiosity had gotten the better of him and he was approaching, sniffing, and even chasing the sheep. Guinness, being the more reserved llama, was still unsure of the new arrangement and kept his distance while observing and smelling his new barn-mates.

We wanted the sheep and llamas to get used to hanging out in close proximity with each other, so we limited them to the paddock for their first day in order to force the acquaintance a bit. When we let them onto pasture the next day, we were very pleased to see that the whole group stuck together, with either Kuzco or Aretha leading everyone around. Kuzco also practiced his new-found herding skills, guiding the occasional errant lamb back towards the adult ewes. It has been amazing to see an untrained animal’s natural instincts for protection and leadership come out in such a strong way.  And though it has taken Guinness a little longer to ease into the shepherding role, he is definitely adopting his new status as flock co-guardian. He and Kuzco even take turns lying down or acting as lookout. And once the sheep adjusted to being in a new space the flock noticeably relaxed and has been more spread out while grazing or taking an occasional nap.

So ready or not, we are farmers, and the first week has been a blast. Granted, we haven’t been presented with any complicated situations yet, and we have a miniscule number of animals compared to anyone who raises sheep for a living. But this is the start of yet another new adventure. Not only are the sheep and llamas fun and amusing, but we have met so many awesome people in the process of acquiring them. We are very lucky to live in such a supportive and close-knit community and only hope we can be good shepherds, good neighbors, and good stewards of this beautiful place.

Though we’re not usually beach people we were pleasantly surprised when, a few months ago, we were invited by a few of Rick’s cousins to join them in Wildwood, NJ for a Scully family reunion. Rick had not communicated with them much in the past 20 years, and I had never had the pleasure of meeting them. So we booked a room in the hotel they had selected and planned for a trip to the beach.

Driving down was pretty easy. We left the house about 7:30 on Friday; zipped through Vermont, Massachusetts, and Connecticut; had to wait for about an hour in New York to cross the George Washington Memorial Bridge; then made our way through the toll-road slolham on the Garden State Parkway, only getting a tiny bit off track just as we were crossing into Wildwood Crest. Rick’s excellent intuition and sense of direction quickly got us to the hotel just as Tami and Ed arrived.

The hotel looked like a beached cruise ship, white with tropical details and a multi-level porch/patio area off the back overlooking the ocean. Thankfully it was not one of the new over-done highrise hotels, but one of the many remaining theme hotels from the 1960’s. The themes reminded me of a more subdued, beach version of Las Vegas; an interesting combination with the ocean.

We were quickly (re)introduced to Colleen and Jamie and their kids (and one grand-daughter) and joined them on the ocean. We chatted for a bit before returning to the hotel patio for some grilling. After our food settled a few of the kids (myself included) decided to jump in the pool. I had forgotten how much I love swimming.

After the sun went down we moved up to the second-floor patio overlooking the pool. Exhausted after a full day’s drive, we retired at a reasonable hour. The next morning, I rose early hoping for a morning swim, only to find pool didn’t open until 10:00 a.m. So Rick and I headed to the nearly deserted beach to have a look around the tidal pools. I was surprised to see evidence of sand crabs and even a little beach grass on such a crowded beach.

The rest of the group rose and we headed to breakfast at the noisy and overpriced Flip-Flop Cafe, which seemed quite popular. Then we returned to the beach with Jamie, Cyd and Shannon, taking pictures and looking for shells.

The kids had made a speedy recovery from breakfast and wanted to go for a swim in the pool. I decided to wait a bit and parked myself by the pool with my knitting. Tim and Gina were giving Leanna a swimming lesson and I had a blast watching her jump from the side of the pool into her dad’s arms. Eventually I couldn’t resist and I joined the pool crowd for a few minutes, before we relocated back to the sand. By this time it was around noon and getting hot. We rented a couple of beach umbrellas, which were quickly erected by a very helpful teenage beach umbrella dude.

Rick and I were quickly roped into helping Forewoman Shannon build sandcastles Little did Rick and I realize at this point that we had failed to get an even coating of sunscreen on our legs and feet.

Meanwhile, Leanna had been playing with her parents and was eventually due for a nap, so the three of them went back to the hotel for a rest. By this time, I was hot and covered in sand, and Tami had been gently baking herself in the sun for good while, so we decided to join Cyd for a dip in the ocean. I had not been planning to swim in the salt water, but I was so hot and the water so cold at this point that I couldn’t resist. I had a shock getting into the water but once in it felt refreshing. I was surprised how far out Tami and I were able to wade and still reach the bottom. The tide was really coming in at this point and so even though it was a bit rough I felt comfortable. Tami and I were having a great time when we spotted dolphins about 50 yards further out from us. Though we never were very close, it was my first time swimming anywhere near larger sea life, and I understood why people like to snorkel.

We finally dragged ourselves out of the sea and I lay out under one of the umbrellas reading Sheep! Magazine. Rick returned and he and I had a catnap on the beach while Jamie and Cyd headed to the surf shop. Shannon returned and once again enlisted our help, this time in setting a trap for her brother. She devised a rouse by which she would invite him to sit beside her on a beach towel, only to trick him into falling butt-first into a pit. Rick tried to convince her the retribution she might face from Cyd would be worse than the joy she would have at tricking him. But I tried some reverse psychology and, while Rick went to cool his burning feet in the ocean, I dug in with enthusiasm to help Shannon make a deeper hole. After about 20 minutes of eager preparation and gleefully imagining Cyd’s expression as he fell into her trap, Shannon began to doubt the wisdom of her plan. Eventually she talked herself out of it and we backfilled the hole just as Jamie, Cyd and Colleen returned from the surf shop.

After some more beach time we made our way back to the swimming pool, where Shannon and I played at shouting to each other under water and trying to understand one another. We didn’t have much luck. The pool was very crowded so we didn’t stay long.

For dinner Tami had planned a special belated birthday meal for her sister Colleen, with fillet mignon for everyone and a birthday cake. All the family pitched in with various side dishes, and I saved the day with the lettuce we brought from our first CSA basket.

After dinner we decided to head down to the boardwalk. Cyd and Shannon played a few games on the midway and won a couple of prizes (Sonic the Hedgehog and a lovely pink gorilla). Then it was time for rides! Cyd spotted a terrifying ride: basically a small human hamster ball attached on the end of a bun-gee line which launched passengers into the air and left them swinging and bouncing for some time. Meanwhile, Shannon wanted to go into one of those 3-D horror houses and I was elected to join her. While I was happy to be Shannon’s wing-woman those spook houses always give me the creeps and I was glad we weren’t in for too long. Rick then joined Shannon on the carousel.

By this time Jamie and Cyd had determined that the line for the human hamster bun-gee ride was going to be over two hours, so they decided to ride the “Screamin’ Swing” (a very large, hydraulic-powered number). Realizing they would have a bit of a wait for that ride as well, Tami, Rick and I decided to try the “Great White” - an old fashioned wooden roller coaster, while Shannon hung out with Colleen and Ed. The Great White lived up to it’s name. The drops were spectacular, the curves spine-crunching, and by the time we were released we were definitely a whiter shade of beach-tanned.

We joined up with the rest of the group just as Cyd and Jamie were getting onto the swing, and we had a blast watching their faces and listening to their screams. Then it was time for a round of boardwalk food, including waffle/ice cream sandwiches, funnel cake, and soft-serve. We headed back to the hotel about 11:00 p.m.

The next morning Tami and Ed decided to sleep in while the rest of us trucked over to the restaurant in a nearby hotel for a big sit-down breakfast. The food at the Coronado was delicious and we took our time eating it. Rick and I had already packed up the car in anticipation of check-out time. After saying our good-byes the two of us decided to make a quick detour down to Cape May before hitting the road for the long ride home.

If you’ve never seen it, Cape May, New Jersey is a quaint Victorian beach town at the southernmost tip of the NJ shoreline. The architecture is beautiful and the townsfolk have done an excellent job of preserving the old houses, churches and municipal buildings. We were happy to find this community tucked away from the buzz and development of the beach. After strolling about and taking pictures, we stopped in at a dog-breed-fancier’s gift shop where we picked up a Boston Terrier flag for the garden, as well as some note cards. Then we hit the yarn shop that I’d spotted on the way in to town and I bought some beautiful hand-painted cotton yarn which I intend to use for baby sweaters for a couple of friends. (Side note: Why do babies come in waves? We have several friends who had babies about a year ago, and now I have a few more who all seem to be due this year between October and December.)

After the light shopping excursion we piled back into the car and headed towards the parkway. Traffic was heavy and by the time we reached New York City it was at a standstill. Thunderstorms were rolling in and as we neared the George Washington bridge the sky opened up. It took us over two hours to get across the bridge, only to encounter more delays on the other side. Eventually we made it into Massachusetts, the storm clouds parted, and we were able to drive the speed limit again. We high-fived when we saw the “Welcome to Vermont” sign, only to realize that home was still an hour and a half away. I put some moe. on the iPod and we grooved our way home through the dark, foggy night. When we finally pulled into the driveway, we noticed that our friend Justin had started building the sheep barn.

It was past 10:00 p.m. when we got home, but I was antsy from the long car ride and we were expecting a lot of contractors the next day, so instead of going to bed I decided to make some cinnamon rolls for the crew. Rick put some aloe lotion on his burnt ankles and feet and we finally hit the hay at 1:00 a.m. We had an awesome time at the beach and look forward to the next Scully family reunion. Next time we’ll just have to make a couple of modifications: find a way to avoid New York City, and remember to put sunscreen on our feet.

It’s a funny thing when Rick and I start brainstorming about the projects we want to take on. Our ideas have a way of growing and expanding.

After our first winter living in Tunbridge, we decided that we really wanted to have a garage (so that we would not have to dig/chisel out our cars every time we had a snow/ice event). But why pay for just a garage when, by adding a rental unit on the second floor, we can make back the construction cost? So while we’re at it we asked Dick Robson to design in the perfect apartment for a law-school student, and asked George White & Company to build it. Rick hatched a brilliant scheme to document the project, so you too can follow along with the progress on the construction cam .

Of course one major building project was not enough for us. Oh no. When we cleared the invasive white pine trees from the front of our property, we had in mind that it was not only to improve the driveway but also to provide a sense of open space and an area for a big garden. Keeping land open in the self-reforesting climate of Vermont is no easy task, nor is converting the thin, acidic soil into a medium to support vegetables. So we started thinking of solutions to both of these problems. What would be the most economical, environmentally friendly way to keep the land open and improve the soil? Why, animals of course, specifically sheep. (Besides, I’ve become enamored of knitting and having wool producers would be an added benefit.) Fortunately we met Marian White of Land & Lamb and she introduced us to her Navajo-Churro sheep , a rare breed that is diminutive and hearty. We’ve raised rare and heirloom vegetables, so why not sheep while we’re at it?

Before getting our sheep, we realized we need to provide shelter and protection for them, so we enlisted the help of our friend Justin Ferro to build a small pole barn to shield the flock from summer sun and winter winds. We’ve also contracted with Gordon Barnaby of the Corner Rail Fence Company to install an electric fence for us. But, after further research, we weren’t sure if an electric fence would be enough protection for the sheep. Sure, it would keep them in the pasture, but would it keep predators out?

While we’re at it, we decided to enlist the help of a proven guard species: llamas. Llamas have demonstrated their ability to intimidate and literally stamp out livestock predators. They are naturally curious and instinctively move towards anything "new" or threatening. Their large size is a deterrent to coyotes, dogs, foxes, and even bear. Several shepherds I’ve talked to also said that their guard llama(s) move the flock into the barn at night, or herd them to different grazing areas during the day. And unlike sheep dogs who require months of training, llamas work purely on natural instinct. It took several weeks of searching before we found the right llamas for our situation, but thanks to Don and Sue Mellen of Autumn Mountain Farm , we found two males (Guinness and Kuzco ) who we think will be excellent guards for our starter flock. (They have excellent fleece to boot!)

When we moved to Vermont it took a while to find a small, well-built house on good property. It took longer for us to both find jobs that we enjoy. Now we’re looking forward to our new roles as landlords and farmers. There is a lot to learn, and sometimes we feel overwhelmed by all of the changes. But we moved here not just to escape city life, but to have new adventures.

Today was one of the most exhausting New Year’s Eve I can remember, and we didn’t even attend a party. Well, not including the spontaneous one we created with Chris and David the night before.

Instead we spent the entire day returning home from our excellent adventure in England. We slept in as long as we calculated we could safely do without missing our flight. We fantasized about some change in the rules that would allow us to stay for as long as we wanted if we missed our flight, but decided we missed the dogs, and should head on home.

Contemplating how thankful we were that we packed lightly, we each took a pull bag and one to sling our our shoulder, checked out of the Pavilion, and dragged our slightly hung-over bodies to the Edgware Road tube stop a few blocks away. We stopped briefly at a chemist shop and purchased some Nytol to help me sleep on the flight.

We each got a tube ticket for Heathrow, and found a place to wait on the platform. After switching trains, we settled in to our seats on a packed train to the airport. The trip seemed to take forever, and we were starting to wonder if perhaps we should have splurged on the express. We were in no hurry to leave the country, but we could think of better places to be.

Checking in with Virgin was a breeze, and going through security was much less frustrating than our domestic experiences. After running through the duty free shop to avoid being overwhelmed by the perfume stench, we found a pair of seats and began the waiting process. For all our whinging, we had arrived quite early. Our flight had not even been listed yet, so we each took turns stretching our legs and looking around before deciding to kill time in an airport pub over a few pints and snacks.

When our flight finally was listed on the departures board, we walked a long way to the assigned gate where we were randomly selected to have our carry-on bags checked. The security personnel were courteous and respectful, and we were on our way after only a few minutes. Sitting outside the gate before the boarding process started we saw a man with a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket on, and I called “Go Steelers!” to him. He smiled politely and I thought I remembered the guy. While at the drink machine I spoke with his daughter and asked if they had been in Cambridge the Sunday before Christmas and she said they had. I told her that my wife was the one who had shouted “Go Steelers” at the sight of her father’s jacket that day, and she laughed. She returned to her family and relayed the story to her dad, who looked over and smiled.

It wasn’t too long before we boarded the crowded flight to Boston. We took our seats and waited, listening to various Americans stowing their luggage—and teenagers arguing over who got the window. We whispered to each other about our fantasy to stay in England.

Having popped my Nytol dose a few minutes before boarding, I adjusted my earplugs and read the sport page, hoping to sleep the whole way to Boston. I ended up being groggy and cranky, but thanks to much less turbulence than the previous flight, I wasn’t nearly as anxious. I realized we were on the same plane as our flight over when I tried to use the same dodgy entertainment unit in the headset. Naturally, the damned thing waited until I was on the last clue in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire!

Trying to sleep was impossible. Because the flight was going west the flight attendants were preparing people for the time change by constantly feeding and watering the cattle … errr … people.

Eventually we landed in Boston, got off the plane, went through customs, picked up our bags, and made our way to the area where we were to catch the Dartmouth Coach back to Lebanon, New Hampshire. It ended up we had missed the last bus by about 15-20 minutes, but we were on schedule for the bus we had planned to catch, which arrived about 40 minutes later.

The bus was quiet and dark. We set up the laptop to watch The Big Lebowski. The bus was playing a Will Smith movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, of which neither of us had heard. As I glanced up occasionally it looked like a slow-moving tale, and one that had significantly fewer special effects as most of Will Smith’s films.

The bus rumbled on in the dark, and the battery on the laptop pooped out on us a few minutes before our film ended, but not long before we pulled into the bus station. Sarah sorted out our stowed luggage while I walked to the truck and cleared it of snow. The vehicle was already warm as I picked up Sarah and we embarked on the last leg of our journey home.

It was nearly half ten when we pulled up our steep drive and entered the house for the first time in a fortnight. We had been invited to two parties in Vermont this New Year’s Eve, but the long travel day coupled with jet lag kept us from going to either event. We turned the heat up, unpacked some of our stuff, and cuddled on the couch where I drifted in and out of sleep.

Sarah woke me shortly before midnight. I poured us each a snort of scotch from the gift set Sarah had given me for Christmas; and as Dick Clark and friends counted out 2007 we toasted the new year, and each other, before making our way to our bed.

When we woke we were glad we had been talked into the full English breakfast buffet when we checked in the night before. We stuffed ourselves knowing we would not be eating until later when we met up with David and Chris. After breakfast, we grabbed our bags and walked the few short blocks to the Reading train station. A short wait and we were on the train back to London.

We arrived at Paddington Station a bit earlier than we expected, so we made our way to a coffee shop around the corner from the Pavilion, where we had booked the same room we had two days prior. At the coffee shop we sipped our drinks and shared a pastry while finishing up the last of the post cards.

We were at the hotel only long enough to drop our bags, and use the loo, before making our way to the Tate Modern. On the way to the museum we stopped for a pint at one of my favourite pubs, the Blackfriar. The place seems to be more of a tourist spot than anyone’s local, but the building is unusual, the decor is lovely, and the beer is good, and in warmer months than December one can sit outside in the garden and watch London rush past.

No time for such nonsense today as we still had plans to see lots and lots of art. We walked along the river and crossed via the Wobbly Bridge, cautiously making our way around the giant spider, and the throngs of tourists. Inside the place was a madhouse. We found a floor map brochure and made our way to the closest floor with free art, using the stairs to avoid the lift queues.

A former power station, the Tate Modern has huge spaces, which is probably a good thing when it is busy like it was. Sarah and I did our best to stay in the same room together so as not to get lost, but allowed ourselves the freedom to explore pieces on our own. It was very odd to be in an art museum and have it buzzing so, but the vibe was eventually something of an art itself, and when I wasn’t looking at the interesting (and sometimes odd) art works, I found myself watching the visitors. I heard so many languages, but rarely English. If you had asked me earlier if I would want to go to a huge museum knowing it would be packed, I would have said no. I’m glad I wasn’t asked.

We wandered for hours, looking at sculptures, paintings, video, and more; pretty sure we had seen everything available to us. I wish I had taken notes. With a dinner date at the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese coming up, we decided to drag our hungry selves away from all the culture, and go meet Chris and David.

We got turned around a few times, but eventually found the famous, and well-hidden, alleyway pub… which was dark … as in closed. We had checked the hours and they had Sunday hours listed, but perhaps their Fleet Street location and it being the Sunday before New Year’s Eve changed things. We stood outside the alleyway waiting for the Mears, and in the short time before they arrived, we noticed many people make their way toward the door only to return to the street with looks of disappointment on their faces. We hope we can visit the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese the next trip.

When the guys arrived we passed on what we knew, and then moved on, looking for food and drink. There wasn’t much open, so when we found a Thai place we jumped inside before they changed their schedule too. Dinner was delicious and we got a chance to catch up. It had only been a few days since we last saw Chris and David, but we missed them.

After dinner we followed Chris’ lead and found a slightly-posh place near the theaters, where Sarah was dismayed to learn they weren’t “making cocktails” at that time. My guess was because it was a busy theatre crowd, but no further explanation was necessary. Four pints please! And thus, without a word of discussion, began our pub tour.

After the posh West End pub we wove our way over to Covent Garden and had our next shout at a touristy little spot called The Salisbury. Being crowded, we stayed for one round and moved on again. Where, I do not remember. Not because I was drunk, but because I couldn’t keep track of where we were in the maze that is London. I do know that we finally ended up a cool, small, pub in SoHo, near Piccadilly Circus, named Glasshouse Stores, which served Sam Smith’s! Sarah and I each had oatmeal stouts to start, and eventually tried this cherry flavoured Sammie Smith’s that tasted just like cherry cola (C-O-L-A cola), which I didn’t particularly like, and could see how easily one could get drunk off of it.

When the last shout announcement went out, we staggered out of the pub and started making our way to the Tube. We were stumbling through the crowd and dragging our heals because we knew it was the last time we’d see Chris and David for a while. At the station we said our goodbyes as a busker sang “Fearless” by Pink Floyd.

We survived the Tube ride home, despite the movement of the carriage, and made our way back to our hotel room where we drank lots of water and watched some telly until the room stopped spinning enough that we could sleep.

Next: Tube, Tarmac, Tour Bus & Truck

When we went to bed last night the wind was howling and rain was beating against the windows. We were concerned we wouldn’t have good weather for our trip to Glastonbury; however, when we got up the sun was shining and the sky was a beautiful blue.

I went down stairs to rouse the sleeping, and loudly snoring Tait, which is how I learned the poor sod had been up half the night watching a film. I am not sure he could sleep well on the floor and so stayed up until he crashed. It was very nice of him to let us stay in his bed, but now I was feeling guilty.

Once we were all up, and had a quick cup of tea, we made our way to the train station, where we easily caught a fast train to Basingstoke. Waiting there was Tait’s girlfriend Paula, who was serving as our guide. We made introductions, hopped into her comfortable car, and I began to drift off in the back seat.

Our first stop was Stonehenge. I had toured it previously (with Tait, no less) but Sarah had not seen it, so Paula and Tait were kind enough to stop. The place is a bit of a zoo with tour buses, and they charge to get within 20 meters, so we decided to park the car and scurry across the highway to steal a peak and a photo without shelling out money. Sarah snapped a few photos of Stonehenge—as well as the sheep lounging around nearby—and then we all dashed back across the highway to continue on our way.

Not having had time for breakfast, we decided to make lunch our first priority once we reached Glatonbury. Most of the shops in the village of Glastonbury serve a community of spiritually-minded people and the like-minded tourist who flock there. Swing a cat and you’ll bump into a crystals shop. Same with cafes. We quickly found a quirky little bistro-ish place where we had a lovely lunch and espresso. The place was filled with paintings of musicians—pop icons and jazz greats. It would have been a fine place to sit and have a cup of one’s favourite beverage. And, perhaps, have a proper first chat with Paula. Up until lunch, I had only really seen the back of her head. She has wonderful hair, by the way. However, as luck would have it, there was a toddler nearby who had trained his mother to give him anything he wanted as long as he pointed at said item, and screeched as loud as his little lungs would allow. Lunch, therefore, was delicious, and brief.

After lunch we wandered around town for a bit, peeking in at the abbey, and browsed some of the many shops. Tait would pop into every music shop he saw, and purchase something at each stop. He is a dedicated—if not obsessive (in a good way)—lover of music. Consuming as much as time allows. We were glad to hear he is taking up the bass.

Many of the shops in town are tucked down tiny walkways between ancient buildings, which makes shopping a bit like solving a labyrinth. Sometimes you are rewarded, and such was the case when Tait found a beautiful angel harpist statuette for Paula. While they were finishing up in that shop, I wandered into the courtyard to window shop and snap a photo of Nicolas Cage who I had seen when we entered. He had a cap on and was walking with a cane and a distinct limp. When we went by him the first time he was posing with a lesbian couple—in matching rainbow sweaters—we had seen in the cafe earlier. They had asked him to take a photo with them. He smiled, and obliged. When I turned around again, he appeared to be signing something for another person. At this point I knew I wasn’t going to intrude, so I set my camera on zoom and pretended to be photographing something else. What I ended up with was a dark picture of Mr. Cage (and his wife?) glaring at me from 20 feet away. I was trying to be respectful, I swear!

Neither Tait nor Paula were interested in walking up the Tor, so they dropped us off near an entrance and said they would be back in thirty minutes. Sarah and I climbed the steep steps that wind up the Tor, stepping aside occasionally to let those descending pass. It was a much shorter climb than I had anticipated, but significantly breezier at the top than we expected. We circumambulated St. Michael’s Tower at the top of the Tor, and it took all our energy to move forward when the wind was in our face, and every muscle we had to keep from being blown off our feet when the wind was at our back! The wind brought a chill and after a short while we returned to the spot where we had been dropped off, and took in the view of the Tor as the sun began to set behind it.

Paula and Tait picked us up and we went back to the village. Sarah wanted to buy some local sheep’s cheese, but we ended up with a local cow’s milk cheddar. On the way back to the car we stopped in a pub for a pint, where Sarah and Paula talked about how to ideally record an instrument like the harp.

As soon we finished our beverages we hopped in the car and headed back to Basingstoke to catch a train back to Reading. The ride back was mostly in the dark, but we were still able to make out Stonehenge in the shadows as we passed. The train ride to Reading was short, so we made a bee-line for an (Australian) bar to catch the Arsenal match. When we arrived the Gunners were down 0-1. I went to the loo, which was down in the bowels of the places. While there I heard a huge cheer. Not knowing the bar patron’s allegiances, I wasn’t sure who had scored, so I chanted to myself “Come-on Arsenal.” When I got back to the pub, a quick glance at the giant telly screen showed that Arsenal had, in fact, scored the equaliser! They went on to score three more goals to beat Everton 4-1.

When the match was over, Sarah, Tait and I popped over to the local Pizza Express for a late bite to eat. The pizza was delicious, but damn if it wasn’t the most expensive pizza dinner I have ever had!

Stuffed, and tired, we made the long walk back to Tait’s to pick up our things and call a taxi. We had decided to stay in Reading that night—and based on a suggestion by Tait—we stayed at the Novotel near the train station. After staying in a cramped London hotel, this place was a luxury (shower and tub, Internet, etc.), and cost twenty quid a night less. Plus, the stay included a full English breakfast buffet in the morning! Sarah had a soak in the tub, I had a relaxing shower, and we both slept very well. We highly recommend this French hotel chain, and will seek them out wherever we travel.

Next: One for the Tarmac

The Friday morning of our last weekend in England started pretty much the way the night before had finished—looking for food. We awoke hungry for food and eager to get out of the city for a few days. The night before, while wandering about in search of food, we had seen a middle eastern place near Edgware Road that also offered variations on the full English breakfast. We decided to try our luck. We were the only diners and we very much enjoyed the generous portions, which we knew would keep us until dinner.

Once fed, we went back to the hotel to gather our belongings and walk the few blocks to Paddington Station to catch a train to Reading where we were meeting Mr. Tait. We had decided it was cheaper to check out of the hotel and book ourselves back in for Sunday in order to save money. After schlepping our luggage to the station, we bought our tickets and waited for our departure platform to be sorted. Sarah wandered over to a vendor’s booth and bought a Paddington Bear pin, while I watched pigeons and train schedules.

The train was on time, and we ended up on a “fast” train that had us at our destination in just under thirty minutes. When we arrived we called Tait to see if he could pick us up. He suggested we grab a taxi at the the station as we were at the further—from his place—of the two train stations in Reading. We easily found a car to hire and arrived at Tait’s shortly thereafter, where we had a cup of tea and enjoyed him showing off his delicious-sounding stereo.

We ended up going on a long walk, up and around the main streets of Reading as Tait showed us some sites. We made our way to the ruins of the Abbey before ducking into the Hobgoblin for a pint. We stopped at a butchers, a Halal market, a microbrew/retaurant for a mini keg, and at an amazing coffee place for an espresso before making our way back to Tait’s. Once at Tait’s we tapped the keg and relaxed while he made a delicious curry dinner; the recipe from a cookbook I had bought him seven years earlier! The meal was a spicy and tender chicken dish that went well with the Pale Ale we were drinking.

After dinner we watched Ross Noble on Tait’s laptop and laughed our asses off. There were times I was laughing so hard I didn’t dare take a sip of beer for fear of having it come out my nose—and let’s face it, that’s a waste. When the video was over, Tait broke out the backgammon board and I broke Tait’s spirit by beating him 3-1 in a best of five competition. I spotted him the first game and then beat him harder than a man really should beat someone who is putting you up and just fed you a tasty meal. But he needed to be taken down a peg, and it was all for fun.

Tired, full, with a bit of a buzz, and wanting to be rested for the next day’s roadtrip, Sarah and I went upstairs to sleep, while Tait stayed up to watch a movie.

Next: Magical Mystery Tor