15 October 2023

 Another glorious morning—how long can this last? A perfect day for walking in the Yorkshire countryside. But first, church. We walked to the church right behind our house, a United Reformed Church (I think it’s the English version of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland). Services were to start at 10:15 am, but a small sign on the door informed us that, due to road closures in York for the York Marathon, the church would not meet that morning but rather have a 6:30 p.m. service. 

So we went instead to the York Baptist Church just yards away, which started at 10:45. We did this with fond memories of Betty and her sister, two older women who had once welcomed us with great enthusiasm and warmth years ago to a tiny Baptist church in Scotland. 

This Baptist church was no different. I lost track of how many people shook hands with us, asked where we were from, and looked delighted that we’d come. One older gentleman went around asking other members if they remembered anyone else who’d come to their church from Minnesota; he was sure there was someone, and I think he thought we must know them if we were from Minnesota also. Lovely sermon on Habakkuk 2, and also the Lord’s Supper. Several hymns were familiar. We left feeling greatly fortified and encouraged by this particular manifestation of the communion of the saints.

After a ploughman’s lunch we took off for the white horse of Kilburn, about a 45-minute drive north of York. For part of the way we drove on small lanes, through scenic villages, past ancient churches, gradually getting into hillier countryside. We parked in a forested area below the white horse and began our walk. This was our first view of the horse:

The actual prehistoric white horse is somewhere in Wiltshire, I believe, but in the 1800s a schoolmaster and his students decided to create one on the hillside above Kilburn in North Yorkshire, so they did, and it has been maintained to this day. It is set just below a wide plateau that overlooks the Vale of York, and our path today led us around the edge of that plateau, with sweeping, wide views of the vale below. (There were also a number of glider planes circling above us, eventually landing on the field—brought into the heavens by being towed by a small airplane, then released at a certain height and lovely to watch as they silently circled above us, like great birds of prey.) Some scenes from our walk:

The day was perfect for walking: warm sunshine, brisk air, and a clarity that made every scene before us sharp and distinct. Far away we could see the distant Pennines and the moors, but spreading out before our feet was the rich farmland of the Vale of York. We appreciated God’s eye for color—a perfect October combination of greens, blues, white, grey, and russet. 

We walked more than six miles, up to where views of the valley ended. The best part of the walk for me was the minutes we took to stop and enjoy the view, allowing ourselves to simply absorb the sounds of wind and rooks calling to each other, to watch gliders move silently overhead, to say to ourselves, “We are here now,” knowing that we were actually present in what would soon become a memory. At the end, after a steep descent, our toes were crying out for mercy.

Home to a strong cup of tea and big bowls of leftover stir fry, then hot baths. I had a video call later with members of the writer’s workshop I attended last June, so had an enjoyable hour or so of chatting about writing and catching up with where everyone was in their projects. A common theme was trying to find time for writing. Ha! I’m not the only one…