But wait. The landlady had bought a pair of socks for skiing. Would those do? They were a perfect fit. She wouldn't take money for it, so we made a donation to a local charity instead.
It was a good thing we only had to go ten miles of mostly flat countryside. The delay wouldn't harm us; we'd be to Osmotherly in no time. (Where have you heard that?)
In front of the wonderful Lovesome Hill Farm
On one of the first roads we walked down, we saw a man on an ATV with a dog on his lap and another one running like hell in front of him. I wished I could have taken a picture, but he was gone too fast.Later down another road, here he came again and pulled into the farm we were headed straight for. The trail ran through his farm's property. In his driveway were these two turkeys, Sid and Chad. They had been destined to be Christmas dinner one year, the farmer's children fell in love, so here are the most spoiled turkeys in all of Yorkshire.
They love the farmer and let him ruffle their feathers. The farmer also talked about the dogs. The one on his lap was sick and the farmer had just been taking him for a ride. The other dog was running just for the hell of it.
Nailed to the side of the stile that took us off his property were a couple of playful toy rats. This farmer was quite a character, and he now has four fans.
My new substitute socks were great but hadn't been washed and were a little stiff. They chaffed a couple of toes, so I had to stop to apply moleskin. So this was the scene. Frank was hunched over applying some sticky stuff to my toes so the moleskin would stick better. Mary and Tom were hovering over me and holding my things. The father and son Dutchmen and the two English brothers came on this scene and after they determined no one had died, burst out laughing. They took a picture of all of us, Frank, Mary, and Tom hamming it up, like I was the queen of the wheat fields, or something. The four guys offered to put together a litter and carry me to Osmotherly. I should have taken them up on it.
I wish every part of the trail had been as clearly marked as this!Shortly after this picture was taken, we were crossing over a teeny tiny stream, but the banks on either side were incredibly muddy and slippery. In trying to help Mary up the other side, Frank pushed her a little too hard and Mary landed in the mud. I then made it over to the other side and in trying to help Tom up the slope, pulled him a little too hard and he landed in the mud. Is this an example of "pushy" spouses?
Our last push into Osmotherly was through a forest. The area around the road had recently been logged. The path was littered with small branches. Logs were stacked by the side. The place smelled like Christmas. The further along the road we went, the more worried I got. Although we were headed in the right direction, according to the GPS, we were not on any marked trail or road. At one point a faint footpath showed up to the right. Some were convinced this was the first path to Osmotherly. I saw a faint path on the GPS, but it led down the west side of Osmotherly, not into it. We were "discussing" this issue, when a woman happened on us. She had a hat in her hand. Is this yours, she asked us. Why, yes, it was Mary's. She had lost it way at the bottom of the big hill we had been climbing for the last twenty minutes and didn't feel like going back down for it and climbing back up. Isn't this the path to Osmotherly, we asked her. No, we should continue down the big road and take the right hand lane at the fork further on. She was right.
First the little old man with his canes at Lovesome Hill Farm and now this woman who just happened to be walking through the woods. Sometimes you just have to believe that things were meant to be. My first half-pint of Theakston's Black Sheep Ale was toasted to them and to what a lucky day it turned out to be.
Tom has them eating out of his hand.
Tom is pretending to be lost. A few minutes later we almost were lost for real.
Celebratory ale.
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