Monday, 23 March 2009

I need to visit a field

One of the consequences of Dig travelling exotic locations in the tropical sunshine is that Grit invariably becomes very tired of staying put in the English drizzle.

Hey, she doesn't even attempt to be a dutiful wife. She doesn't think to stay here in the house rearranging the cushions. She doesn't weep needily over coffee cups. She doesn't stare wanly at the walls, wondering how to make a go of a solitary life. She doesn't yearn for bright lights and London. And she doesn't even pen sad and lyrical poems all full of nostalgia, regret and longing.

No. None of those. She thinks Sod it, and bundles the kids in the car and drives to Stonehenge.

And here you go, this is one of the benefits of the home educating lifestyle yet again. It can be a perfect life for the miserably displaced itinerant soul. It can respond to your emotional needs, satisfy intellectual demands, plug a gap in a marriage where there are spaces and holes for the gales to blow through, and the children enjoy it too. They might even learn something about life, Salisbury Plain, and prehistory.

Shark, Squirrel and Tiger have been dragged around a few prehistoric fields by now. They've been up Maiden Castle and down Grimes Graves and they've done it all willingly and wonderingly. I haven't even had to use a pointed stick.

And today is the same. They oblige me by scrambling out the car eagerly, shooting off down the passageway and immediately requesting the audio guide. And that's the last I see of them for the next hour, since they each progress at their own pace, stopping to listen and look. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of them, trying to stand upright thanks to the unbreakable winds hurtling over Salisbury Plain and I snap out my phone camera before the wind knocks me for six. Did gales like this blow in prehistory? I can't believe they did. Who could carry their dead sedately in ceremony, bemoaning and celebrating while the wind swept over them at this breathtaking speed. I barely catch a Squirrel before she's bouncing off at 90 miles an hour. There must have been woods or shelter or breakpoints. Then Stonehenge might have been a calm or peaceful place to mourn and celebrate what has passed, and you wouldn't have had to dig your feet into the grassy bumps of that field just to anchor yourself upright.

Anyway, enough about the sadness of the weather. Here it is. Stonehenge. Sometimes with gritlets.




7 comments:

The Gossamer Woman said...

Wonderful post, so full of humor and dry wit. Stonehenge is not bad either.

Elizabeth said...

Have you been to Avebury? My two prefer Avebury--they like that they can touch the stones there. Plus they have 2 small museums to wander round. I think they like the scones in the coffee shop best--but am hoping it's the stones & museums that draws them back to Avebury!

Jax said...

I would love to know why your blogposts don't show up in my RSS reader. It does mean that every now and then I get to have a really good catchup, but it would be nice to read them occasionally.

wonder how far it is to any of these things - I'm guessing ages, now that we're stuck on the edge of the country. Must start exploring around here to see what we can find.

kellyi said...

May be the ancients liked a challenge when burying some one? Who can say? Personally I have never been to Stonehenge when it wasn't being belted by gales, still love it though.

Rubberbacon said...

Wow that's great! Thanks for sharing the photos. I've always wanted to visit.

Wonder how they built Stonehenge with all the gales?

Jonny's Mommy said...

See you can do stuff like that. I can only go to the playground or the supermarket. That's awesome.

But it does suck that Dig is not home a lot. Seems almost like you are a single mom at times with those three girls.

Angela said...

Hi Grit and the Gritlets,
I wish I could have done that with my kids. But we went to a Henry Moore Exhibition in Hamburg once, with lots of these huge sculptures on a meadow, and my girls climbed on them and peeked through and I took pictures. Children, as you say, like to explore on their own, and I bet they learn so much more this way than just out of books and from stern school teachers! Now when they hear of English History, they will see the stones and feel the wind and always imagine the scenes of long ago! I was once in Kronborg, Hamlet`s castle in Helsingoer/Denmark, and I sat outside and watched the waves rolling on the shore, and I was Hamlet...
You are such a wonderful teacher, Grit! (and thanks for stopping by!)