Sunday bird blogging

A California towhee enjoying the sun earlier this summer.

Saturday reflections

I took this picture as we were trying to navigate our way out of the car rental lot at Minneapolis-St. Paul airport in June. I liked the abstract weirdness of that grid and the reflections on the car.

Black and white Black Hills

 

More Black Hills woods and water

The Black Hills

Since I was looking at South Dakota anyway...

The Black Hills are a national forest rather than a national park. I was expecting some interesting geology, because I never knew that the “black” in the name refers to how the hills are so covered with trees that they appear black. (Well, if you say so.)

But it is quite beautiful, and very different from the eastern half of the state.

Long ago and far away

That's how it feels, anyway. But this was less than two months ago, in South Dakota.

This is Spearfish Canyon, in the Black Hills. The waterfall was a short hike through some beautiful forest.

Saturday reflections

Here's something more recent and local for a change: cars waiting for a light on Walker Street in Lower Manhattan on Thursday.

I had just had my annual eye exam, and with my eyes dilated the patterns on these windshields looked practically psychedelic.

Teddy Hall

Continuing my peeks through the porter's lodge gates at some of the lesser-known constituent colleges of Oxford, here is St Edmund Hall, rather charmingly known as Teddy Hall.

This is one of the older colleges, dating from sometime in the 13th century, and alumni include Keir Starmer and Terry Jones. That large tub of flowers in the middle of the lawn is actually a medieval well (obviously.) I believe that the newer building you can see behind the quad is student accomodations; I like that while the gable shapes on top echo those in the quad, it looks modern and practical and comfortable. Much as I love staying in Mob Quad, you can get a little tired of the 14th century.

Urban poetry

A street of colorful houses in Oxford, near the Mathematical Institute.

Still more Holywell

The last two pictures. I'm assuming the stick cross is some kind of memorial for the Irish philosopher because of the green ribbon.

To kiss and tell

That's what is carved on the stone on top of the stack in front—an odd sentiment for a cemetery, I think.

What's almost as odd are those leaning crosses. At first I assumed they had been mounted on monuments and had fallen, and someone had propped them up, but there's nowhere to mount them on those stones. So I am assuming this is deliberate, and as those stone stacks don't have any names and don't appear to be headstones or monuments, maybe the crosses have some other purpose or meaning?

I found a lot of information about this cemetery online; in the 1840's the churchyards in Oxford were full, and, like Highgate Cemetery in London, Holywell was one of several new cemeteries that were built to meet the demand. It was opened in 1848 on land donated by Merton. But I can't find any mention of these stones with the leaning crosses. I'll find someone to ask when I'm back there next summer (going back is the plan, anyway.)

More Holywell

Solitude in the city

I visited Holywell a few times while I was in Oxford, and I never saw anyone else there. I sat on a bench and read, I watched the magpies hopping around, I took pictures, and I enjoyed the solitude and the near-silence. (The cemetery entrance is on a busy road, but the traffic sounds were muted and seemed very far away.)

I've only been in Oxford during the summer, when the crowds are tourists rather than students, many of them on day trips from London, so my experience probably isn't typical. But one of the things I love is how easy it is to get away from the mobs. Of course I was lucky to be able to retreat behind the walls of Merton, where there are benches and gardens to spend time in, but I've found unexpected alone time on Addison's Walk at Magdalen, along the canals, down side streets, and even occasionally at Christ Church Meadow.

Holywell Cemetery

This small cemetery in central Oxford is a short walk from the hotel where I stayed for a few days before the Merton program started. The entrance is set back from the street, and the sign is so inconspicuous that it's easy to walk past—and I have—without noticing it. I happened to be reading a mystery set in Oxford where the characters met here, and one of them said she'd never realized the cemetery was there.

I was curious, so I looked it up on the map and was surprised to see that it was just up the street from where I was sitting.

Saturday reflections

Punts under Magdalen Bridge.

Urban poetry

High Street in Oxford on a sultry summer night.

I had taken the daytime flight to Heathrow, so it was after nine PM when I got to my hotel in Oxford. And it was hot. The temperatures had been in the 90's that day, and my hotel room had one small window and no air conditioning. (It did have two fans, but the sensation of having hot air blasted at me reminded me of South Dakota, and not in a good way.)

I went out for a walk to stretch my legs and after only a couple of blocks I desperately wanted some cold water. But all the shops were closed, and I didn't want to sit in a bar just to drink some fizzy water. This food truck had water, which was cold only in the sense that it was maybe a few degrees cooler than the air, but I was grateful to get it.

Random things I saw at Magdalen College

 

The Hall

This is very similar to the one at Merton, which also has the tables set in three long rows. But at Merton, only the center table has chairs; the other two have benches, which are really difficult to get in and out of when it's crowded. Unless, of course, you're eighteen years old.

On the other hand

I love the college bar (called the Old Kitchen Bar). I would love to curl up on that sofa with a cup of tea and a good book.

I did get a coffee in the adjoining cafe, but chose to have it on the terrace outside overlooking the river.

For example...

I took this picture through a window; it is apparently a meeting room.

And mostly it looks fairly comfortable, if a little dowdy. But that carpet! It's almost as bad as the one in my room at Merton.

15th century paint job

Just kidding—I'm sure it's been touched up in the last 200 years. This is part of the covered walkway around all four sides of the Cloister. There are some of the typical Oxford death-defying stairs without railings that presumably lead to student rooms, and a door intriguingly labeled the Cardinal Wolsey Room (he was also a Magdalen alum) which Google informs me is just a private dining room.

There is something endearing about how much bad paint and shabby furniture lie underneath the dreaming spires of the Oxford colleges.

The Great Quad

This is more typical Oxford. Magdalen College was founded in 1458; this quad, also called the Cloister, was built at the end of that century.

Here be badgers

That lovely gate marks one of the boundaries between the wilder parts of the college—the footpath, the woods, the river—and the more cultivated and manicured areas. I loved the sign on it.

Magdalen Bridge

The bridge sits at the top of the High Street, so I've crossed it many times, usually stopping to look at the punts on the Cherwell below. But from the footpath you can see the bridge from below and watch the punts as they go through the arches.

The unexpected rusticity

Another bench I passed along the way, and grasses growing along a small stream. The crowds and traffic on the High Street seem very far away here; even the college itself, with its quads and spires, feels miles away.

There are allegedly otters and kingfishers in these woods, but I didn't see any. I had to look hard for the deer!

The Water Meadow

I sat on that bench for a while, hoping the deer would come out from under the trees where they were hiding. They did not.

Addison's Walk

This time they will not lead you round and back
To Autumn, one year older, by the well-worn track.

This year, this year, as all these flowers foretell,
We shall escape the circle and undo the spell.

That's from a poem by C.S. Lewis, a Fellow of Magdalen College, referencing this footpath in the college, where he often walked. (There is a plaque with the poem on one of the gates.) Unlike the walk around Christ Church Meadow, it's not open to everyone; it's inside the college and you have to buy a ticket to visit.

I went there early on a Saturday morning, and while the other tourists clustered in the quads, I mostly had this walk to myself, through these long tunnels of trees around the water meadow where the college's herd of deer live in the summer.

Because of course they have a herd of deer in the middle of the college in the 21st century. Christ Church College has cows, doesn't it?

Eating and shopping

Except for that big castle and some nice parks, central Windsor seems to consist entirely of shops and restaurants, and a few hotels where you can recuperate in order to do more eating and shopping.

Many of the larger old buildings—like the old train station on the top left—have been converted into arcades, full of still more shops and restaurants. But it all felt very jolly, with all the Union Jacks fluttering in the summer breeze, and my Disdain-O-Meter never registered above zero.

Sunday bird blogging

Feeding time along the river in Windsor.

There were carts selling packets of food for the swans, and some children were tossing the pellets into the water here. What made me laugh was the way the Canada geese were completely shut out from the treats, having finally encountered birds that were bigger and meaner than they are.

Saturday reflections

Another castle, back in Oxford this time, reflected in one of the city's many waterways.

English skies

I've always loved the insane variability of English weather. It's raining! Wait, no it's not. Is that the sun? Oops, sorry, no.

I took these two pictures from the same bridge over the Thames just a few minutes apart. Different skies, different moods.

Urban poetry

Lunch in a park near my hotel.

The headstones along the wall behind the man are a common site in English parks. It means that the park used to be a churchyard or cemetery and the land has now been repurposed. The headstones have historical value, so they leave them there, propped up against the walls.

You sometimes see the same thing in graveyards that haven't been converted. It might be because they simply ran out of space at some point in the past, and old headstones were removed to make room for new ones. Or another churchyard nearby may have been abandoned and its headstones were moved to one that is still active.

They usually didn't move the bodies, however. So even though the headstones are moved out of the way, you're still eating lunch in a graveyard.

Guarding the guards

There were several police officers with big guns patrolling the crowds before the parade began—although most of the guardsmen were also armed, I suppose they needed to focus on marching rather than identifying threats.

But I loved that there were also several “ceremonial wardens,” standing by. I'm not sure what they do, but I love the job title.