No one goes to England for the good weather, and strictly speaking, I didn’t either, but in the weeks preceding my February 28 departure, the weather was one of the things I was looking forward to the most. With highs consistently in the upper 40s and lower 50s, England has had a good 20 degrees on New York for the past few months. Fifty sounded positively balmy.
What I forgot to even anticipate was spring. But oh—the daffodils, the snow drops, the crocuses, the lambs in the fields. New Yorkers, I am happy to report that spring has not deserted the world; there is hope. A few years ago, during the hottest summer ever recorded in the United States, Jeff and I took a trip to Nashville, a city that isn’t known for cool summers. In comparison to Oklahoma, however, Nashville was a dream. The grass was green, there were local tomatoes and watermelons for sale, and fireflies bobbed heavily in the twilight, all things you miss when you are living in the middle of a drought-ravished wasteland. It was a short, beautiful respite. Jeff and I have always referred to it as the time we took a vacation to summer, and it was just what we needed to survive until September. I think this trip to England, and especially my friends’ wonderful garden, might just get me through until May.
I have more photos to share from my trip, which was actually in celebration of my dear friends’ wedding, not spring, but spring is always a good place to start.