Blog Goes on Holiday

Tomorrow I'm off to Italy for two weeks! Dwight will be in the U.S. at about the same time, so our England phase is on a temporary hold. I will not have my laptop along, so there will be no postings until after November 7. When I return, it should be just a matter of days before we pack up for home. Surely there will be some final thoughts, so please check back later.

Piddles & Puddles

Anyone needing proof that Dorset folks have a sense of humor need look no further than a local map. There, you will find place names like Puddletown, Tolpuddle, Piddlehinton, Piddletrentide, Pratt's Bottom, Fipenny Hollow, and Fiddleford! There's also the occasional tongue-twister like Puncknowle (which is pronounced "Punnel") and Melplash as well as names with Roman ancestory like Canocorum and Ryme Intrinsica.

On Sunday, our hike started in Tolpuddle, home of the Tolpuddle Martyrs. In 1834, the regulated wages of farm laborers was cut from nine schillings a day to just seven, creating real hardship for many families. Six brave men met in secret to start what in our time would be called a labor union and were subsequently arrested and convicted on conspiracy charges. Their sentence included seven years' deportation to England's most remote colonies, where they worked on chain gangs under slavelike conditions. Public outrage ultimately resulted in their pardon, and they eventually returned to a heroes' welcome. A sculpture and a museum still stand in their memory.

From under a giant sycamore known as The Martyrs' Tree," our trail led us along the River Piddle over hill and dale across the Dorset countryside. We passed Southover Heath, Tincleton Hang, Clyffe Copse, and Cowpound Wood, eventually rejoining Southover Lane which led us back into town. There, we got in our car and drove home to plain old Weymouth.

Salisbury Cathedral

We took advantage of yet another sunny Saturday to visit Salisbury Cathedral, Britain's finest 13th Century Cathedral. Started in 1220, the cathedral took 38 years to build and is unique in being almost entirely in one architectural style, Early English Gothic. Its spire, at 404 feet, is Britain's tallest.

A choir with stringed instruments to accompany them were practicing the whole time we were inside, making the whole experience seem even more majestic. As always, the colors in the stained glass windows were what most attracted my attention, and they really sparkled on this clear autumn day.

Adjacent to the sanctuary is a room called the Chapter House. Built in the last half of the 13th Century, this was a meeting place for the cathedral's governing body. While the medieval friezes, windows, and floors have all been restored, its "bones," the stone columns and vaulting, are original. This room is home to the finest of only four surviving original (1215) Magna Carta, the document that represents the foundation of democracy and provides the basis for many Constitutions, including our own.

Leaving the cathedral, we walked a short distance to the Mompesson House, whose lovely enclosed garden also includes a tea shop. We sat in the sun and had a bowl of soup (carrot and coriander) and a pot of tea. An appropriate conclusion to a thoroughly civilized day!

Claire and Mimi

Meet Claire Youngman (left) and Mimi Walker. They are the ladies I met at Portland's Country Market who taught me about Dorset buttons and Dorset Feather Stitchery. They also took me to their craft day on Wednesday. They are the most delightful ladies! Clever and creative...and so very kind to me. Finally I had the chance to return some of that kindness.

While I was in Florida, I prepared the materials needed to make a little purse-size tissue holder that I learned from my quilting friends in Italy. I bought a variety of fabrics and cut pieces to make about a hundred of the holders. Half I gave to my Monday ladies for their guild to sell and the rest I saved for Mimi and Claire.

We sat at Mimi's table, where I walked them through the instructions. Then they made a couple completely on their own. The holder really is clever, and they were so pleased with their results. I left the remaining materials with them so they can teach their crafty ladies. Some of the holders may wind up in the Country Market, which is what I had in mind. But even if they only make one for personal use, that will be fine. I just wanted them to have something that would remind them that I passed this way and of my gratitude for their most generous welcome.

What can I say?

No use trying to hide it: I am conflicted!
Dwight came home tonight with word that we may be leaving here in three weeks.
I'm leaving for Italy next Wednesday, which means that as soon as I get back here, we're gone! Not sure I'm ready for that. More later...

Dorset Ladies on the March!

What a great week this has been! Have hardly been home for a minute!!

Yesterday I went with Claire Youngman and Mimi Walker (the country market ladies of Easton) to a craft club, where we made these lovely scissors fobs. The teacher came with an assortment of fabrics cut and ready to use, and everyone else brought their collection of beads. In less than two hours, we had hand stitched and embellished our project. They were all so different, but all very pretty. At the end of the session there was a brief business meeting and then a drawing for door prizes. I won a box of Cadbury chocolate! Can't beat that!!

On Tuesday, Quilting Jenny took me to another of her patchwork circles, her City & Guilds friends. This is a group of about a dozen ladies who had all taken a four year diploma course to prepare them for advanced careers in quilting...teaching, judging, designing. (Go to: http://www.cityandguilds.com/ and prepare to be amazed at this massive international initiative in adult education.) Even though they completed their course more than ten years ago, they continue to meet every two weeks...each one working on her own projects but with input from the others. One woman was working on a pink quilt of her own design. I wish I had taken a picture, as it was a marvel! Perhaps I will have a chance later on.

Monday has always been quilting day, but this week our group went on a road trip instead. Our destination was Sturminster Newton, where there is a warehouse full of fabric as well as knitting and other craft supplies. What pleased me most was finding so many fabrics that were made in England. It's more common for their quilting fabrics to come from the US, only at double the price we have to pay. At more than $15. per yard, I want something different!! I bought yard cuts of three lovely pieces and also added some new fat quarters to my William Morris collection and came away very satisfied.

After fabric shopping we went to a store called "Olives et al," a gourmet food store where they offered samples of almost everything. We could have made that our lunch but wound up going on to the charming village of Cerne Abbas. After a good pub lunch, we walked around the town's famous abbey and then along a shaded stream that led us back to town, where a few of their shops proved likewise interesting.

All this, and it's only Thursday morning! My calendar is clear for today, and that's not bad.

St. Catherine's Chapel

We have travelled the coast road many times and have always been intrigued by a lone chapel sitting high on a hill above Abbotsbury. We chose it as our destination for Saturday's hike.

Standing some 280 ft. above the sea, St. Catherine's Chapel has long served seafarers as a landmark on this dangerous coast. It was built around the beginning of the 15th century as a pilgrim's chapel for the nearby monestery and is constructed entirely of stone that had to be hauled up the hillside from the quarries below. It's in surprisingly good shape, and services are still held inside. They sometimes have night services where everyone carries a flashlight up the trail. That must be an amazing sight.

Partway up the terraced hillside we came to an enclosed field filled with pheasants. We had previously spotted a few pheasants (always a thrill) as we drove along remote roads, but this was clearly different. Not only were there hundreds of them, but they did not take flight when they spotted us. They just scurried away on foot! We concluded that this was a sort of pheasant farm and that they were being raised for the bespoke tables of London and Paris. I mentioned this to an English lady I was talking with yesterday, and she had another explanation. She said that pheasants are raised for sport shooting. They are kept indoors and fed by humans. Then, at about this time of year, they are released into pens to begin their transition from domesticated to wild birds. When hunting season begins in a few weeks, wealthy bird hunters will start arriving from all over the world. Personnel at the lodges where they stay will take them to strategically located hunting spots, where they will wait in hopes of bagging their prey. Just over the ridge, bird handlers will release a flock of pheasants, and Bam! I guess it's no different from walking among the lambies by day and then sitting down to a lamb shank at dinner, but somehow I didn't like the sounds of it.

This hike started in Abbotsbury along a stretch of Chesil Beach, the same Chesil Beach I have written of earlier. It begins on the Isle of Portland and extends to West Bay, some seventeen miles to the west. From an earlier picture, you may remember the size of the "pebbles" we saw in Portland: they were roughly the size of a fist. What is interesting about this beach is that the size of the pebbles decreases as you travel west. In Abbotsbury they're the size of the last joint of your thumb, and in West Bay they're no bigger than your thumb nail. It is said that smugglers coming ashore by night can tell exactly where they are by the size of the pebbles! Another interesting thing is that when huge storms blow through they can erode Portland's banks, carrying its pebbles miles down the beach. In time, however, the action of the waves and tides will sort the pebbles and return each to its proper location.

Hike to Hardy Monument

The credibility of our hiking guide took a massive hit on Saturday. Coming off a most successful hike to St. Catherine's Chapel above Abbotsbury, we decided to add the Hardy Monument to our day's conquests.

Dorset County has two native sons named Thomas Hardy. Anyone who was paying attention in high school will remember Thomas Hardy, the author of The Mayor of Casterbridge, Tess of the D'Ubervilles, Far from the Madding Crowd, Return of the Native, and others. But there was a second Thomas Hardy, born some seventy years earlier, and he found his niche in military, rather than literary, history.

As second son to a prosperous Dorset family, Hardy was not destined to inherit the family estate, so at age twelve he was sent to sea as a cabin boy. He progressed through the ranks and eventually served alongside Admiral Lord Nelson. It was this Thomas Hardy who cradled the head of the dying Admiral Lord Nelson as he lay mortally wounded on the HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar.

We might have known that the Hardy hike was doomed when we parked our car just three hundred feet from his monument but then turned away and proceeded to walk for six miles before eventually reaching it! We immediately missed the trail and went downhill for over a mile before discovering that nothing matched the description given in the book. Climbing back up to our starting point, we saw the obscure trail that we should have followed and started out once again.

The trail led us through pastures full of sheep, which was great fun. They are skittish creatures who wanted nothing to do with us, but we enjoyed being among them just the same. Passing through a fence later on, however, we entered a pasture filled with cows instead. Another pair of hikers approached from the opposite direction, each walking with two big sticks. "Have you encountered any aggressive cattle?" I asked. "Oh, you don't have to worry about these girls," one of them said. "It's only the young males that will challenge you. Just hold your ground, and you should be fine."

We came through that pasture unscathed and were farther along the trail when we entered another pasture. This one was home to what appeared to be families of cows. The first critter we came to didn't know quite what to make of us, and he let out a bleat. Hearing that voice, only one head looked up, and it belonged to a huge brown cow who locked us permanently in her gaze. We immediately struck the most nonthreatening pose we could think of...looking away, walking in the opposite direction, waiting for her young son to get far enough ahead so that we could proceed to the gate that would let us out of that field. Still not sure that she wanted us there, we began to look for alternate ways out. The only escape route we could see was over a wire fence that was clearly marked with a bright yellow sign with a lightning bolt across it: "Keep Away! Danger of Death."

If you'll look again at the picture above, you will see the fence that was our only exit -- one guarded by a half dozen young male cows! That's when we decided to burn our hiking guide book! We had to do something! Slowly, we approached the gate, calling out calmly to the cows in our path. "Hi, guys. Move aside. We need to get out. Scoot, will ya?" Slowly, they all ambled out of our way, and we were through that fence in no time flat!

The rest of the hike was uneventful by comparison. Once back at the car, we decided to travel on to Honiton, where an ice cream from the Honiton Dairy was a fitting reward. Dwight had two scoops of strawberry, while I opted for one of hazelnut toffee and one of raspberry ripple. (Next time I'll just get two raspberry ripple.)

Corfe Castle

Turning to one of the hikes in the "most challenging" section of our hiking guide, we set out on Sunday morning for Corfe Castle. Dense fog accompanied us for the ride over, but it miraculously lifted just as we set out on the trail.

The trip started at the train station, where we boarded an old time steam train for Harman's Cross. From there, we followed the guide as it led us across countryside and through pastures...sometimes passing through people's property, which felt weird. Even though a marked trail, we felt like intruders.

One thing the guide could not have known was that Farmer Brown had chosen that very day to harvest his corn. Unable to cross his land, we retraced our steps and found an alternate route to the top of the Purbeck Ridge, a glacial formation that affords incredible harbor views to the right and the imposing Corfe Castle to the left. We tallied about five miles that day and felt no guilt at all as we enjoyed afternoon refreshment in the garden of a pub in town. Dwight chose a pint of ale while I opted for pear and apple crumble and a pot of tea.

We made our way back to Weymouth and, after dinner, watched Strictly Come Dancing (England's version of Dancing with the Stars) followed by Mystery Theater, as episode of "A Touch of Frost." Another great day in "Old Blighty!"

BT to the Rescue!

This is a happy day! Our broadband service through British Telephone (BT) is finally set up. I can download pictures from our digital camera in record time, and there is a big smile on my face! Connected at last!!

To Pop One's Clogs

You may remember that I have a lovely collection of Jennys over here. There is Quilting Jenny, then, from our hotel days there is Upstairs Jenny and Downstairs Jenny. Yesterday I was invited for tea at Upstairs Jenny's.

When Dwight and I used to take our walks around Portland, we would often pass by a house that had several cobalt blue planters across the front; the one I remember most had an orange tree growing in it, laden with small fruit. When I reached Jenny's address yesterday, I found that this is her house!

Jenny's mother-in-law, Win, who is a quilter, was visiting from Suffolk. I was invited so that Win and I could talk quilts...always a pleasure. What I didn't know was that Jenny is also an accomplished needlewoman. Turns out she has made wedding dresses and other fancy clothes for her daughters as they were growing up. Granddaughter Neave, who stopped by while I was there, is making a quilt of her own out of the leftover satins and other fabrics that Jenny had in her stash.

Win's current project is a whole cloth quilt that she is hand quilting for another of her granddaughters. The granddaughter is drawing the motifs (very complicated ones by the sound) and Win is quilting away. It's a large quilt, and Win's comment was that she hoped to have it done before she popped her clogs. I had to ask what it means to pop one's clogs and learned that it's the same as buying the farm or pushing up daisies. Win is an extremely fit octogenarian (who had walked up the hill to Easton!), so I feel sure her clogs will be occupied for a long time to come!

Other things I want to remember from this visit are that Jenny's daughter Jo was there with her one-year-old son Will. Precious Will is the baby who had the naming ceremony about which I had previously written. I also met Malcolm, Jenny's husband, who is a very proud Granddad. Neave's birthday is just one day after mine, and she is almost the exact same age as Izzy, my Florida quilting friend and student. Also want to remember Jenny's frosted ginger cake, which was dense and delicious.

Today I am going back up to Portland to the Country Market. I want to see Mimi Walker, the Dorset Feather Stitchery lady, and show her my practice piece. If I get there in time to buy one of Claire Youngman's Tangy Lemon Cakes, I'll invite Jenny to come for tea!

Food, Glorious Food!

During our time here in July and August, we stayed in a hotel and thus ate in restaurants every night, which was great. This time we have our own place, which is even better! While it would be nice to have someone come in to run the vacuum and clean the bathrooms, I am really glad to be in charge of dinner once again.

Just look at this plate that I put on the table the other night: slow cooked lamb shanks in a red wine/red currant/balsamic sauce with roasted potatoes, carrots, and parsnips. And it was effortless! Aside from washing and trimming the Brussels sprouts, which I added, everything else came in an aluminum pan which I just popped into a hot oven for 45 minutes! The lamb was as tender as a mother's love and full of flavor. Everything was. And it had no artificial colors, flavors, or perservatives. It's from Marks & Spencer, my new favorite grocer.

There are lots of other offerings as well...things like chicken breast with mushrooms and garlic butter, pork steaks with granny Smith apples and sage, pork shoulder stuffed with prosciutto, oak smoked salmon, leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic, even quiches and party foods. None of it is frozen but rather fresh for baking at home or freshly baked to be reheated at home. And everything we're tried has been delicious! Each item has the day it was prepared as well as the use by date clearly marked, so you know it's fresh. I tell you, these English girls have it made, and I'm so happy to be one of them!

Journey to the Jurassic

Our Sunday hike took us west of here, just past Abbotsbury where we parked the car and made for Langdon Hill. (Just to record yet another kindness, we were surprised to discover that even in a woodsy car park well off the beaten track, there was a machine where visitors must insert a pound coin and get a ticket to display in their car window. We had bills with us, but no coins. A young couple, aware of our predicament, offered to pay our fee, but it turned out they were able to change our ten pound note, thus saving our day.)

Halfway around Langdon Hill, the trail made a right leading us to Golden Cap, the highest point along the Channel Coast at 626 feet of elevation. It is named for its warm yellow sandstone, but the cliffs below are composed of a blue-gray clay that is crumbling into the sea at a rate of about three feet per year. This clay is rich in fossils from the Jurassic Age, and many were down on the beach with their small picks and shovels, poking through the soft clay. Another time we'll go back prepared to do the same. (Our trail guide says that in 1986, a 35-ft ichthyosaur was unearthed at that location.)

On the way home, we detoured to the village of West Bay, stopping for tea and cake at a cafe that overlooks the harbor.

At Abbotsbury we abandoned the Coast Road, opting instead for one of the narrow back roads that Jenny and I had driven last week. It took us through farmland where we got up close and personal with countless sheep and saw a number of pheasants as well. There is a stretch of the South West Coast Path that leads right through those fields of sheep. I'd like to hike that some day...maybe getting to nuzzle one of those lambies. Dwight says they don't smell as good as they look, but that is something for me to discover for myself.

Blackberries!

As you can see, I needn't have worried about missing blackberry season. I think it will be ongoing for some time yet. In fact, someone told me that the picking is best right after the first frost.

Our walk yesterday took us up a narrow trail that apparently few have traveled, as the brambles were loaded with fruit. We just couldn't stop eating them! In addition to this photo, Dwight took a closeup of my outstretched tongue...a vision in hues of dark blue and purple. Lucky for you, that shot was out of focus!

The Gestation of a Quilt

Just as we were leaving England in August, I met Mimi Walker, the woman who said she would teach me to do Dorset Feather Stitchery on my Winter Wonderland quilt. Today I went back up to Easton on the Isle of Portland to see her once again.

I took the quilt with me (the center part anyway, which is all I have completed), and Mimi really liked it. Several of the other women at the country market stopped by to admire it, which made me feel good. Mimi agrees that the feather stitch would be an ideal enhancement to the already embroidered central panels, and we hope to get together one day next week for my lesson.

As I've mentioned before, the walk from Portland back down to Weymouth takes about an hour and a half. I was past the last bus stop and on the Rodwell Trail when it started to rain...just a light sprinkle at first, but increasing steadily. My quilt was in a fabric tote bag slung over my shoulder. Not wanting it to get wet, I turned my back to the rain, unzipped my Goretex jacket, and slipped that tote bag over my head, letting it hang down my chest, and then zipped the jacket around it.

There weren't too many walkers on the trail this morning, but eventually one young man appeared in the distance. We exchanged smiles from afar, acknowledging a fellow traveler caught in a sudden shower. As he approached me, however, his friendly smile changed to a look I did not understand...not exactly horrified, but definitely more than puzzled. After a moment's thought, it came to me: "He thinks I'm pregnant!" That bulge under my jacket must indeed have made me look like I'm in my third trimester, and my sixty-year-old face definitely did not fit the image! I laughed out loud.

Walking along, I imagined this scenario: What if he had permitted himself to comment on my "condition". He might have pointed to my belly and said something like, "Aren't you a little old to still be doing this?"

Patting my bulge lovingly on one side, I would have responded, "Why, no, I couldn't possibly stop now! Why, I'm just getting good at it!"

"How many others do you have?" he might have asked.

"Oh, mercy," I'd have to say, "I don't really know. I guess I've lost count!"

"Lost count!" he would gasp in horror. "How could you possibly lose count?"

"Well it's easy," I'd say, "since I give so many of them away."

"You give them away?" he would shriek in disbelief.

"Yes, many of them I do...to friends and family, mostly," I would say. "They always seem so pleased to have one. They're very pretty, you know."

Sensing his disappointment, I would then add, "I've been working on this one for nine months now, and I think it's going to turn out nice. I believe I'll be keeping this one."

Indian Summer

The weather has been amazing since our return! While there aren't as many people on the beach, the seafront continues to be busy with tourists milling about. Pubs with tables outside do a brisk business on these lovely evenings. Sunny weather has lasted longer than anyone imagined it would...a real bonus. Taking advantage of a lovely Saturday, we went exploring.

The Coast Road links Weymouth to the village of Abbotsbury to the west. It's quite a high road, and there are lovely views along the way. Abbotsbury is a perfect English village with carefully manicured thatched roofs and window boxes, and plenty of tea rooms to accommodate the crowds who flock there to visit its famous swannery and sub-tropical garden. From there, we continued on through equally lovely Burton Bradstock and then hopped on the A35 to Honiton, our first destination.

I had been in Honiton the day before with quilting friends Jenny, Del, and Sheila. The four of us had gone to Exeter, where there was an amazing crafters' market...not just for quilters but for everyone who likes to create things with their hands. (I especially thought of sister-in-law Sue Moore, whose greeting card creations are legendary in our family. She would have swooned, for sure.) Anyway, on the way home, we stopped in Honiton at an ice cream shop that the ladies knew. Even if you haven't been to England, it's likely you have heard of Devonshire cream, and when churned into ice cream, especially at The Honiton Dairy, it's pretty legendary, too.

Our objective was to go back to Honiton, not only to sample a couple more of their forty-three flavors, but also to visit the wine shop across the street. Sheila had double parked in front of the wine shop, so we had to grab our cones and go...giving Jenny no time to investigate a sign out front advertizing a special on Australian Shiraz. She recognized the label and knew it to be a really good deal, so Dwight and I went back to get a case for us and one for Jenny as well.

With both of those missions accomplished, we headed east to Sherborne. As our neighbor Lynne would say, we hit a trifecta there: three really memorable experiences in that one little town. When we got out of our car, we immediately heard music playing and followed it into the park, where an orchestra in a gazebo was playing "Autumn Leaves." The music, the flowers, the sunshine, the music...the moment simply could not have been more magical! We lingered in that lovely park for a while before making our way to Sherborne Castle.

Built in 1594 by Sir Walter Raleigh, the castle was originally called "Sherborne Lodge" to distinguish it from an older castle, now in ruins, on the hill across the river. When Sir Walter lost his head, literally, for crimes of treason, his glorious property was forfeited to the crown, who sold it in 1617 to Sir John Digby. While owned to this day by Digby descendants, the castle has served other purposes. In WWI, it was a Red Cross hospital, and in WWII it was Commando HQ for the D-Day landings. The current owners live in a modern farmhouse elsewhere on the property, but the castle remains fully furnished and is used by the family for parties and ceremonies. Otherwise, it is open to the public for tours and serves as a popular wedding site for well-heeled brides.

Leaving the castle, we walked to the center of town, which is dominated by Sherborne Abbey. Built of golden stone, parts of the abbey date back to the first century AD. While it has been damaged, rebuilt, and expanded over the centuries, today's abbey stands in breathtaking beauty, both inside and out. Most notable are the ways in which subsequent additions have been integrated into the existing structure...always beautiful even if not exactly matching. The ceiling's elaborately carved and intricate fan vaulting is also memorable.

From Sherborne, we headed for home via the A352, making the compulsory stop at Cerne Abbas to see The Giant. Carved into the chalk hillside, the giant (the outline of a man carrying a club) is 180 feet tall and is considered a fertility figure. Exact dating is unknown, and there is debate as to whether it is from Roman times or perhaps much more recent.

Rereading this all now, I would say we packed quite a bit into our first Saturday. Looking forward to several more!

We're Back! (Well, sort of...)

Just a word to let you know we've safely arrived back in England. Our long silence is, as usual, due to connectivity problems, as yet unresolved. Having tried a number of potential solutions, we have found only one that gets us fairly reliable Internet access, but it refuses to work with pictures! We are still investigating further options. In the meantime, I will add posts as connectivity allows and insert pictures once that becomes possible. Needless to say, this has been a source of major frustration for both of us. But we're still glad to be here and to continue this great adventure. So, again, off we go!

Dorset Buttons and Dorset Feather Stitchery

What an awesome last day this has been! Regular readers of this blog already know how warmly I have been welcomed by so many people here. Today provided more evidence of the kindness that abides in Dorset hearts.

Through the Monday quilt group, I learned about Dorset buttons, an art that supported thousands of local people from the late 1600's onward. These buttons, handmade and intricately woven, (some on rings of bone or brass) were much sought after not only in Europe but also in New York, Boston, and Quebec. It was the invention in 1860 of Ashton's Button Machine that put an immediate end to this industry. The art of making many of the designs has been lost forever, but the Dorset Crosswheel button survives. Local needlewomen still make them in the old way and use them to decorate clothing, costumes, and other needlework projects.

My Monday quilting friends also told me about Dorset Feather Stitchery. I had shown them my "Winter Wonderland" project, an embroidery that will be sewn together with other embroidered panels to make the center of a quilt, and they suggested that I embellish the seams with Dorset Feather Stitchery. There's a book, they told me, published by the Women's Institute, that teaches how to do the stitchery and also the buttons. I've been looking for it in museums, bookstores, and libraries, but without success.

The lady who owns a card shop in the nearby village of Easton suggested I look for it in the Country Market. This event is held every Friday morning in the village and gives local people an opportunity to sell their handicrafts, baked goods, preserves, produce, etc. There would be members of the Women's Institute there, she said, and maybe one of them could help me. So I walked down to Easton this morning, not knowing that I was about to hit the jackpot!

Soon after arriving at the market, I felt a hand on my arm and heard a voice say, "Are you looking for information about Dorset buttons?" That voice belonged to Claire Youngman, who had heard from the card shop lady that I might show up on Friday. Claire had come prepared with a folder full of information and even had a small card with some of those original buttons sewn on it. They were amazing: no bigger than a shirt button but so intricately woven from fine white thread into various shapes...some conical, some domed. Showing me the rest of the information in the folder, Claire discovered that she had two copies of an instructional leaflet and insisted that I take one.

When our discussion turned to the Dorset Feather stitch, Claire called another woman over... Mimi Walker, the recognized authority on the subject in these parts. After just a few moments of talking with Mimi, she asked me if I could wait there for five minutes so she could go home and get some of her work to show me. What she brought back was a cushion she had made...richly and meticulously embroidered with a variety of stitches in a palette of tourquoise, gold, and white. It was truly a work of art. She also brought me the book put out by the Women's Institute, the one I had been looking for. She insisted that it be her gift to me, and with a beholden heart I accepted it.

Mimi told me that her chapter of the WI meets each month to practice their art and invited me to join them, which I shall. My new goal is to finish embroidering the last of my Winter Wonderland quilt panels and have them sewn together in time for our return in the fall. Then, under Mimi's supervision, I will add to it this lovely stitchery. I'll also put some Dorset buttons among the snowflakes that are already part of the design. Won't this be a perfect souvenir!

I never want to forget the kindness of these women.

Winding Down

Tomorrow night after work, Dwight and I will drive to London so we can catch our flights to America early Saturday morning. The time has gone so quickly! I've been here six weeks! Incredible! Since we will be returning at the end of September, we have had some special organizing to do. Our maps and tour books, along with some of our clothes, hiking boots and raincoats will go into a suitcase and get stashed in Dwight's office. My quilt will go into a closet at Marilyn's house for safekeeping. The rest will somehow need to fit into our luggage for the trip home.

We've also been saying our good-byes here at the hotel. People have been so kind to us and, after such a long stay, we have formed friendships with several of them. There have been a couple of envelopes slipped under my door this morning: a lovely note from Margaret giving me her mailing address, and a collection of post cards of the island to take home as souvenirs. The ladies who serve our breakfast have stopped by the table to wish us a safe journey and to say that they'll miss us. Needless to say, we'll be missing them as well.

Then there is this island. When we return, we'll be living down in Weymouth, and Portland will be that hill way in the distance. While we can, and will, come back to our favorite shops and restaurants, the everyday sights and sounds of our lives will be different. I wonder about the people who will become our neighbors. I wonder if, with the summer tourists gone, the people who work in restaurants down there will want to know who we are and what we're doing there. I wonder if the ladies at the launderette will be as friendly. I'm already feeling a little bit homesick for this place!

I think today I'll walk down to Chesil Beach once again. I want to hear the surf and the tumbling rocks...and eat an ice cream.

Quilt Festival, Birmingham, England

The Quilt Festival was great fun! There were a thousand quilts on display including a number of special collections. Lots of them were what I call "art quilts," but there were some incredible traditional ones as well. I took 146 pictures! Several ladies from the local guild were there, and I joined them for dinner both evenings. Jenny I already knew from the Monday group, but I also met Mary, Mante, Sheila, Desera (she has pink hair!) and Liz.

On the first day, my new friend Rona came up from King's Sutton to see the show with me. Rona is not a quilter but is an artist, and she added a lot to my understanding of some of those art quilts. I was delighted to have someone with me, as the quilts reflected so much creativity; I needed to talk about them!

On the second day, I found Liz Dieppe. I had written earlier about Liz, having met her via E-mail last fall while we were both doing an Internet search on a French quilting technique called Boutis Provencale. Liz was there helping her friend Sandie Lush, a quilt designer and one of the show's teachers. Sandie was among the hundreds of vendors at the show and had a booth where she did demonstrations and sold her patterns. While Liz took a break from the booth, we had tea and then looked at quilts for a while. She's a fun gal and seems to like the same kind of quilts that I do. (I think she's better at it than I am, so I look forward to getting back together with her once we return in the fall.)

Most of the vendors were selling fabrics and accessories that are available in the U.S. at half the local prices, so I looked more than bought. I did find one line of fabrics made in England that included some lovely William Morris prints, so I treated myself to a few fat quarters. I also bought a kit to make an appliqued wreath of roses, designed by an English woman. She had beautiful work displayed in her booth...lovely and graceful designs that I would call Victorian.

How lucky for me that our stay in England coincided with this show! I'm glad I found out about it in time; it would have been such a shame to miss it.