I was in Wiltshire for the weekend, with an open diary and plans to walk in the countryside around Frome with a friend visiting from North America. Whenever I head to the West Country, I feel a lightness come over my body. My head lifts as I start to glimpse hills from the motorway and turn off down ancient ways. I am held steady by limestone and spectacular views.
But the weather turned wet, and our intention to stomp over to Mells on Sunday shifted to coffee in town instead, allowing for more metaphorical ramblings. Our conversations always range over interesting terrain, sometimes strolling companionably over level ground, on occasions straying into the thrilling dips and crags of impassioned debate. We have known each other for nearly two decades, walking and talking together across continents, politics, beliefs and major life events. Sitting in the coffee shop behind steamed-up glass, we explored the different and unconventional paths we have taken, the women we have become.
Although my ambitions for a proper country walk were thwarted, we did manage to take a wander round Frome. We walked up Gentle Street, a steep cobbled lane that was apparently called Hunger Lane before the Gentle family made their mark because of the fatiguing nature of the climb. I liked to think the Gentles found it pleasurably ironic to add their name to such a challenging highway.
I spotted another delicious commentary in the window of one of the eighteenth-century houses lining the stone road: a copy of Susannah Walker’s The Hard Way. Intrigued, unsure if this was the author’s home, I looked the book up and discovered it is an account of Walker walking the Ridgeway alone, contemplating the movement of independent women in the countryside, and encountering the histories of “feminists, rebellious widows, forgotten writers and artists”. Before I drove home in the rain towards rising floods in West Oxfordshire, I ordered a copy.
Walking in nature is my therapy. My latest post is about the moments of joy I experience on my walks. When I eventually move to England - some day! - I can't wait to take long, rambling walks in the beautiful countryside or meander through cobblestoned village streets.
I'm compiling a list of women who walk books. Wish I could afford to buy this one. Adding it to my list. Your walk sounds lovely. There's something about walking in the great outdoors that satisfies the wild urges of my heart. My mother loved to walk. At the end of her life when she lived in a retirement home and was still healthy in her 80s, she would take long walks in the woods behind the retirement home, much to the staff's dismay