This Is Actually An Assignment, But I Am Posting It As An Entry (ignore the citations)

Before Saturday, I had never thought “strolling across the countryside” (Bailey) to be a definition for a particular activity. Although I had read that “rambling” was the action in question, the idea served only as a label in my mind of an English trademark. After Saturday’s ramble, however, the words were brought to life, and I realize that the reason for the origin of the delight makes sense. Bailey tells us that rambling birthed from workers in industrial cities who sought a “perfect recreational antidote” to their bleak working conditions. Even though I have not been in harsh working conditions, this weekend’s walk surely did some good to my own mind and body; I can hardly imagine how the original ramblers felt at their escape.

The first leg of our journey was from the town of Dorchester to Little Wittenham. We walked through some kind of garden, where a man was tending the plants. The flowers there were beautiful. I had never before seen a sunflower as big as my face! We then walked “around” a field with huge, cylindrical bales of hay. The path we followed made it so that, being behind the rest of our group, I was able to see the single-file line we made. I found it quite humorous, actually, because it reminded me of a chain gang, only we were doing this for enjoyment (and we weren’t actually chained together). I wondered if the English ever ramble with this many people at once or if they keep it down to a smaller number. Personally, looking back on the entire experience, I would have rather rambled alone. I find it more difficult to enjoy the outdoors purely for its sake when I’m with others. Maybe it has something to do with nature’s special sacred silence, which is not really silent at all.

All the while, we were walking through green. The intensity of the greenness everywhere, topped off with the rolling clouds, formed a sandwich, with us in the middle. We crossed the Little Wittenham Footbridge and soon we were at a field. There were a few people there walking with their dogs, and one man was even jogging with his canine. I noticed a single wooden bench facing the area from whence we had come and realized that we had gradually climbed above much of the land of the surrounding area without even knowing it, due to the slight slope. The bench symbolized, to me, the English people’s love of nature. It said that, although they love walking out in the open, they also love to just sit and meditate on it, soaking it all in. This love brings them to advocate and participate in conservation institutions, such as the ones Pickle writes about in his paper. I am thankful for their efforts and appreciate their tenderness towards God’s creation. I can only hope and pray that they hear Him declaring His glory through it like I can.

I think the hardest part of the entire journey was from this field area up a ridiculously steep hill to one of the Wittenham Clumps. After an agonizing half an hour (okay, it was a lot shorter than that), we were at the top, and were rewarded with a delicious view of the Oxfordshire area. I say “delicious” because I felt like I was eating a Thanksgiving meal with my eyes: the differing shades of green and yellow fields, the varying textures of the land and vegetation, the hydrating splotches of water, the power plant (which was like an unexpected and more than unwelcome splinter of bone in the turkey). Reluctantly, we descended this miniature mountain and slid down its side, on to the last leg of our journey.

In this last segment of the ramble, we specifically employed the footpaths that were created as a response to the Battle of Kinder Scout (Pickle). Our jaunt along the Thames wasn’t hindered a bit by the fact that it sprinkled; in fact, it is partly because of this afternoon ramble that I no longer view rain as interference. I have been learning in our less than two weeks in the country that rain and gloom is an intrinsic attribute of English weather, and I am starting to embrace that difference between here and home. We passed fields of wheat and fields of cow patties, as well as people boating along the river. We came across a WWII pillbox, from which I ran because a big, furry, yellow and grey spider had found its way onto my leg as I was about to go inside. This made me question whether or not spiders are included in the British’s love of nature.

After feeling overwhelmingly lost simply because we missed the sign that led us in the direction of the correct footpath, we eventually found our way to Shillingford, where we caught the bus back to Oxford. After a day of natural cleansing, I can see why Rhondra Brandrick would create a counseling program based in the outdoors (Pickle). The movement works the body, the senses work the body and mind, and all together, they work the soul.