The Road to Grantchester

I had been told by a lady at the tourist office that the walk to the village of Grantchester just southwest of Cambridge was time well spent so with map in hand I headed off.  After making a few wrong turns I almost made another one following a couple into a nature preserve.  That's when an elderly lady appeared and asked if I was looking for the path to Grantchester.  I replied that I was and that was my last contribution to our conversation for awhile.  She pointed me in another direction but in the same breath began to talk to me about her garden and "her "birds.  Her border garden was lovely with lots of Chinese lanterns ("physalis") and fuschia that were as large as small shrubs. Local children had asked to pick the berries of the Chinese lanterns and she told them to wait until she found out if they were edible.  I told her we had eaten them as a garnish at one of our college dinners and that they were both lovely and delicious.  I wanted to tell her how magnificent her fuschia were but I couldn't get a word in edgewise.  She asked if I could hear her birds and said that they knew it was time for her to feed them.  She went on to describe feeding the geese that had nested by the river:  a loaf of whole grain bread and an extra piece for the leader.

She was convinced that the geese understood her when she told them she had no more bread and had to head home.  I felt like I had encountered a proverbial "bird woman"--a lovely person in need of some company.

Finally on the footpath, I watched another walker playing catch with her dog.  The collie seemed to love 

retrieving the stick, laying it down before her, racing around in a circle, and then crouching down on all fours awaiting the next toss.  The owner said this was simply the dog's nature, no human training involved.  So much energy! So much fun!

The footpath is through a meadow where cows graze.  No fences separating us.  They didn't bother me and I didn't bother them.

Grantchester is known for its thatched roof houses.  Thatch is made from the reeds and sedge of the fens (marshes).  I don't know how long a thatched roof lasts; I did notice that the thatch seems to be covered with a wire netting.

I ate lunch at a local restaurant called the Rupert Brooke which was named for a British poet of the WW I era who had lived in Grantchester for awhile.  One of the specials of the day was "deviled whitebait on leaves with white mayonnaise."  I knew what leaves and mayonnaise were but I had no idea about "whitebait" other than it must be some kind of fish and "deviled" sounded tasty.  To my dismay I was served a bowl of many little whole fish all arranged neatly on a bed of lettuce.  It was disturbing to eat something that was staring back at me but I did--quickly--and made a hasty retreat back to Cambridge.