Rambling in the Mud

Yesterday we hopped the local bus to Chipping Camden, then trekked back to Broadway along the Cotswold Way. Lots of slogging through dreary, mucky fields, with no views since clouds hugged the ridges. I traveled back in time, imagining myself as a villein, taking the long road home after working out my service to the local feudal overlord. (Post the arrival of sheep, of course.)

Back in Broadway, we found ourselves on the toney end of the High Street, appropriately blocked off from the original access road to protect the sensibilities of the extra-privileged class (as opposed to the merely privileged, whose second homes now dominate Cotswold real estate).

Our cottage neighborhood includes a hardware store 3 doors down, with the local library a tiny ramble down the way.

The hardware folks supply all kinds of goods, including wild bird supplies (this is, after all, the country that invented competitive birding - probably as a substitute for the competitive slaughter of earlier days.) The shopfront window includes snaps of local birdlife (plus the shop cat, for balance).

After puzzling over these bizarre nestlings, I finally ventured inside to ask their species. "Oh, you mean the ugly ones? The ones that look like dinosaurs?" said the proprietor in a broad, country accent). "Wood pigeons. They're born with those beaks. You never see them this way because fledglings don't leave the nest until fully feathered."

Back in Broadway, we found ourselves on the toney end of the High Street, appropriately blocked off from the original access road to protect the sensibilities of the extra-privileged class (as opposed to the merely privileged, whose second homes now dominate Cotswold real estate).

Our cottage neighborhood includes a hardware store 3 doors down, with the local library a tiny ramble down the way.

The hardware folks supply all kinds of goods, including wild bird supplies (this is, after all, the country that invented competitive birding - probably as a substitute for the competitive slaughter of earlier days.) The shopfront window includes snaps of local birdlife (plus the shop cat, for balance).

After puzzling over these bizarre nestlings, I finally ventured inside to ask their species. "Oh, you mean the ugly ones? The ones that look like dinosaurs?" said the proprietor in a broad, country accent). "Wood pigeons. They're born with those beaks. You never see them this way because fledglings don't leave the nest until fully feathered."

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