Post 5/2023 Friday 17 February . . . Made it here as planned, despite one hiccup. The one-and-a-half-hour delay in Atlanta meant we arrived at Heathrow a bit late (a strong tailwind helped push us into almost 600mph), but we had just enough time to pick up our train tickets at Paddington for the five-and-a-half-hour rail journey to Cornwall. Thanks to Noel and Lynne for meeting us at St Erth train station.

Now we’re in the slow-motion mode of unpacking, getting the hang of remote devices, squaring up our international calling plan, sorting out our shopping list, taking our first longer walk along the South West Coast Path, booking a Sunday roast at the Cornish Arms (where we met a couple from The Cotswolds on their own for a holiday after dropping their two teenage sons at Heathrow to fly to Boston where they would travel on to Vermont for a ski holiday and then a few days in New York). We ended the afternoon by lugging books from the St Ives library and groceries from Tesco home.

We did not meet a man with seven wives walking to St Ives, though we met a family, one man, one wife, five children and two dogs as we were leaving St Ives. Plenty of other people visiting the area during Half Term school holiday.

This post includes photos and a few stories from the past week at home in Indiana. The days before we left on Tuesday were beautiful, almost springlike. Walks were invigorating. Goodbyes bittersweet. Even so, winter/spring in Cornwall is welcome (dynnargh in Cornish).

Scenes from last week

Story of the hat

On Thursday evening (February 9) we had dinner at Twin 6 in Wolcottville, a town that straddles LaGrange and Noble counties. After dinner we stopped at a gas station to feed the car, too.

The lad at the pump opposite asked if my hat was made of real fur. “Nutria,” I said, saying nothing about the opposition to animal fur that arose a good while ago, but nonesuch that would make me give up my 60-year-old hat. “Nice,” he said, adding that he had six muskrats in his freezer, and he might have to use their fur to fashion a hat. “Nutria are bigger than muskrats,” he told me. I did not know that, but some years ago I read about a restaurant in Michigan that served muskrat. Never tempted to try it. What you don’t learn in unexpected places.

Once upon a time, when I attended college in Winnipeg, I bought a charity shop coat made of buffalo fur. It had once been worn by a Winnipeg policeman on foot patrol. Some years later I gave it to another charity shop. Now if only I can find a picture of the two being worn together. Job for next summer.

Signs of spring

First flush of Cornwall

We’re in Carbis Bay, twinned with St Ives, the larger town. It’s a two-mile walk on the South West Coast Path to the library and main businesses of St Ives.

Tired tonight. Six-and-three-quarter miles today. Just prepared a cream tea that our host left for us. Doc Martin coming on TV. Best!

-John