Grasmere

Last weekend, Professor Ward led us deep into the dales of the Lake District. We arrived in Grasmere, former haunt of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and various other figures of English romanticism. After touring Dove Cottage, where Wordsworth and his family lived for almost ten years, and sampling some of the apparently famous Grasmere gingerbread, we began our hike up into the mountains overlooking the lake. The farther we went, the more the landscape opened up below us and around us. Halfway up, we met a dog running down from the rocky tarns, excited by the crowd of us invading its master's property. We discovered the reason for the dog and the ancient rock walls stretching up and down the mountainside when we reached the crown of our hill and were greeted by the disgruntled baas of a flock of sheep standing along the ridge above us.

On the way down, we met an older man hiking with his friend. Because of his pension, he said, he was able to spend much of his time hiking around the world. He talked about a trip he had planned to mountain-bike in Alaska and backpack through

the American northwest. He also had more than a few opinions about our government and some understandable complaints about the monopolizing schemes of a certain Mr. Murdoch.

As usual, thank Elizabeth for supplying the beautiful pictures.