Chapter 8

The Bear was a snug little inn, and its rich fabrics and low lighting showed the quality that gave the place the reputation allowing it to charge so much. Elizabeth knew that the price of two desserts and coffees at the Bear could feed a small family for a week, well almost. So she felt a little guilty as she allowed Barrett to hold the door open and she ducked under the low wooden beam to enter the cozy restaurant area of the inn. Her guilt was soon overtaken by her excitement. The more she had gotten to know Barrett the more excited she had been about getting to know more of him. This had proven hard – there were very few legitimate excuses to run into him at the farm. Yet, here they were, out at The Bear! Barrett’s plan to cheer her up had worked; Elizabeth could barely remember why she had been upset about her thesis in the first place.

The menu was full of tempting options, and Elizabeth was having a horrible time trying to decide. It had been almost 10 minutes, and the server had come to the table twice, so she knew she had to make a decision to avoid looking like a pig. “Okay, it’s time to get tough: chocolate or fruit? AAHHH, both!!”

“Have you decided?” The server and Barrett were both looking at her expectantly. “Ummmmmm….I’ll have the triple berry shortcake with the white chocolate pudding.” Elizabeth let out a deep breath and closed her menu. Wait! Maybe she did really want the Maple Crème Brule. No, it was really too late, the server had left; she’d had to live with her choice. “Stop focusing on dessert and start focusing on Barrett – silly!” She said to herself. To Barrett she said: “So how did you end up as the owner of Banbury Hill Farm?”

“It’s quite an interesting story, actually. I never imagined I would end up owning a farm. Farmers were the lowest on the totem pole in my view (although I still won’t call myself a farmer – I just own a farm – to clarify).”

“I understand” Elizabeth said with a smile “I’ll make sure never to call you Farmer Barrett!”

“I appreciate that! Being a farmer always seemed to me like such an uneducated job – although I’ve since learned that it really isn’t. But I thought that I wanted to be a high power attorney, making money left and right. I went to school and did quite well in my studies. I was well on my way to the top of the law firm I was interning with, when I got a call from my grandfather. He had never cared much about getting in contact before, but it turned out he was getting near death and he had a sudden urge to know his grandson. I was curious, so I took a trip out from London to a little village called Charlbury to visit him at his farm. Well, we had some good talks and long story short he offered the farm to me after his death. I refused, he insisted, etc. He generally guilt tripped me into it! When he died, I felt I had no choice by to take the farm. That was about 4 years ago, and it’s been a long process to get to love it the way I do now. A big step was converting it from a ‘farm’ farm to a series of cottages to rent out. It makes it more business orientated with room for growth, which I find very motivating.”

“So you have plans to enlarge it, then?” Elizabeth asked, 25% interested and 75% just making conversation. It, however, was all the interest Barrett needed: “Oh, yes, I have plans first to enlarge to a series of cottages, and then add a bed and breakfast, a park for RV vehicles and eventually a chain of “Hill Farms” across the Cotswolds, maybe across England.” His explanation of the future of “Hill Farms” was cut short by the arrival of the desserts. Elizabeth looked upon her choice with wonder – it was quite beautiful and upon first taste, she was entirely sure she had made the right choice in dessert. She was beginning to wonder about Barrett, though. They had been at The Bear for over a half an hour, and after her initial ‘conversation starter’ question, Barrett had been doing all the talking, and he was still talking! Fortunately it was about that time when Barrett noticed the glazed look that had begun to creep across Elizabeth’s face. “Heh, wait a minute – how did we get talking about my business plans? We’re here for an official cheer up! Now tell me what the problem is with your thesis.”

She was glad to notice a sincere interest from Barrett, and she felt entirely comfortable taking up a few minutes of the conversation to explain where she had gotten to in her research and why she was currently frustrated. Barrett was very understanding; he’d had similar experiences in his academic career. Elizabeth felt it was therapeutic just to be able to tell the whole problem to one person in one sitting, and it really didn’t seem so bad once she had it all talked out. “Thanks for being such a great listener, Barrett. I think I just needed a shoulder to whine on before I picked myself up by my bootstraps and got back to work.

Barrett set down his coffee mug. “Well, it sounds like the work you’re doing is really important, so if you ever need a good encouraging talk, or someone to pester you to get to work, I’m here.” “Thanks,” Elizabeth said, “that’s very good to know.” Barrett offered Elizabeth a ride home, as matter of fact, and she was quite happy to accept. He dropped her off at the door to the cottage, and as Elizabeth gave two mighty heaves at the door, she felt such a sense of happiness that she had found a true friend in Charlbury.

A few weeks later, Elizabeth sat at her desk in the cottage, and crossed another week off her calendar. She was surprised at the sense of melancholy that overtook her. She had lived in England about 4 months now, and her life had settled into a routine, or was it a rut? She did the same things every day, went to the same stores and restaurants and met with the same people each week. “I need some excitement, add some spice to my life! Why shouldn’t I throw all caution to the wind, and just get up and go somewhere?” She was suddenly very motivated. The wheels started to turn, but her urge to be spontaneous needed to be planned out – she’d have to do some research. She hurried to get dressed to catch the 11:20 train from Charlbury into Oxford.

Once she arrived at the station, she made her way quickly to the Bodleian. She didn’t even stop for her customary coffee at ‘her’ coffee shop. The idea of adventure had overtaken her regular compulsions. She flashed her Bod card and took the stairs two at a time to get to the computer lab. She stuffed her satchel bag into the space between the computer and the side of the desk, and logged on. “Where will I go?” She thought excitedly, as she looked through a variety of discount airline sites. Her years of travel had made her an excellent budget traveler – many friends had expressed amazement at her ability to plan a wonderful trip very thoroughly and for the lowest price possible. Although she didn’t really mind helping others plan, her favorite thing was to travel by herself. “The man who goes alone can start today, but he who travels with another must wait till the other is ready” thought Elizabeth to herself, remembering the quote from Thoreau’s Walden. She had no desire to have to wait for any one else – she loved the feeling of being able to pick up and go when she felt like it, and not have anyone to worry about. She assumed this feeling would change in time and she would want the ties to hold her down – but right now she was treasuring the single traveler’s life.

The flights she was finding were tricky, it seemed to be the most expensive week all spring for travel. It was really the only time she had the luxury to take off, Dr. Nottim was on vacation herself, so Elizabeth had no tutorials she would miss. It also seemed to be the busiest time in the libraries, undergrads preparing for exams, or something, and Elizabeth would be happy to avoid the Bodelian for a week or two. But as much as she was ready to go, there seemed to be no place in Europe ready to welcome her, at least not for a reasonable price.

“Hmmmm. Time to think outside the box. Where can I go?” She had picked Venice as her #1 choice – the canals and masked figures had played a large part in her favorite book as a child, and she had always held Venice apart as a sort of dream world. Elizabeth had hoped to change her dream world into reality, but the only reality she got was that a flight to Venice was way out of her student budget. “Okay, so Venice will have to remain in the realm of imagination. Where else? London?” London was certainly an incredible city, full of literary history and enjoyable museums and sights. She could afford London, but she had been there quite a few times. Of course, there was always more to explore and discover in London – but she didn’t feel like any run-of-the-mill tourism, she was looking for something new and different. “London’s too ‘been there – done that’” thought Elizabeth, so she continued her mental journey across Europe – searching the back rooms of her mind for inspiration to lead her in her adventure planning.

On a whim, she decided to search for “retreats” in southern England. To her surprise, it seemed to be quite a popular request, she found a bevy of sites that offered the spiritual pilgrim a place to be quiet and still, usually among a community of nuns or monks. It suddenly struck Elizabeth as the perfect solution – a quiet place of rest and prayer, where she could focus on something other than her thesis and have a full week or two of silence and peace. It would also be a much needed boost to her spiritual life – although she enjoyed the tradition and structure of the local Charlbury church, she missed a sense of devotion and spirituality that she assumed she could find in a retreat.

Having decided on her goal, she went about researching which retreat to choose. Some were much too expensive, some required too much travel. She didn’t particularly feel comfortable with being the only woman in a community full of monks, so she limited her search to communities of women. Finally, she found a beautifully designed site that made her feel peaceful just searching it. It was by the sisters of St. Cecilia’s Abbey on the Isle of Wight. Everything about it was instantly appealing to Elizabeth. It had a lovely name, and a sort of mystique of being on an island. The abbey was fully cloistered, but Elizabeth was very impressed by the extent of their hospitality ministry and what looked like a beautiful guesthouse they kept. She sent an enquiring email about prices and availability, and sent up a quick prayer that it would work out.

She had spent three hours trying to plan her little getaway, so Elizabeth felt it was time to get to work. So she left the library and walked to the Covered Market for her customary hot drink. True work on her doctoral thesis could only be done after she had properly consumed her tea. She stepped into the market and made her way to “Ricardo’s.” Ricardo was waiting with a smile. “The usual?” he asked, already moving to make it. “Yes,” replied Elizabeth. Her ‘usual’ was what was known as a “London Fog” or Earl Grey Tea with steamed milk and a shot of vanilla – a drink that would cost a fortune at Starbucks, but was only half the price at Ricardo’s – which was why she was a regular. That, and the fact that Ricardo knew her and her ‘usual’ which was all she could want in a coffee shop. He handed her drink over the counter, and she paid her quid and sat down at the small metal patio chair and table, tucked into the alley between Ricardo’s and the next small business in the Covered Market.
She took a sip of her London Fog. “Heavenly!” The dreams of travel had stirred Elizabeth’s wanderlust and she was feeling particularly reflective. It was times like this when she felt like she stepped out of the life she was currently living and observed who she was, where she had come from, and where she was going from an outsiders view. “I wonder if everyone does this?” It seemed to be a healthy mental exercise, she certainly felt it helped her gain perspective on her current situation and what should really be the focus. If she didn’t have these little times of extended navel gazing, the days and weeks all ran together and the problems she faced took on too much importance. She pulled out her journal – which had it’s own special pocket in her satchel, because she never knew when she’d feel contemplative. The dip pen and ink stayed in their pockets, though, because even Elizabeth felt it would be a little bit much to pull out in the middle of the Market. She, instead, reached for her more traditional writing tool, her trusty purple ballpoint pen, and opened up to a fresh page.

April 14
Should every day for the rest of my life be half as good as this day, I will live a very content life. It is such a wonderful feeling to know where you have come from, why you are where you are, and where you are going. It is like a secret I hold within me, that makes me smile at the oddest moments, and I feel like whispering to the person sitting next to me: “I finally know who I am and what I want to be when I grow up, aren’t you happy for me?”

Elizabeth looked back over the entry, and slid the satin ribbon between the pages to mark her spot. She had the suspicion that if she leaned over to the person next to her they would not be especially happy for her, perhaps would only question her sanity. But it was one of those inner truths that she didn’t need to validate by sharing with anyone. Instead, she put her journal and pen away, threw out her cup, and walked from the dull grayness of the Covered Market out into the startling gold of the April sunset in the Oxford streets.

The late afternoon was such a fragile time – she wondered how everyone around her could continue to hurriedly walk facing the stones underneath their feet. To Elizabeth, every moment of sunset in Oxford was precious and fleeting – meant to be savored like a dark chocolate truffle. She walked slowly, eyes roaming from one golden building to the next. It did mean she occasionally bumped into garbage cans and got odd stares from merchants watching out their store windows, but it did not matter to Elizabeth. To her, Oxford was truly, richly, beautiful; and although she enjoyed the sunset reflecting on the hills of the Cotswold’s, the most intense beauty was the union between the beauty of nature’s sunset and the work of man’s hand through history. The fact that the city itself was something of a monument to learning made each passing step a step in the ancient footsteps of many people more knowledgeable than she. Elizabeth caught her breath at the wonder of it all.