Buxton and exploring "public footpaths"

We went to Buxton today: a little driving practice for me, an opportunity to buy food for our cottage as well. The cottage has a small refrigerator: half-size we would say in North America. The main house has the same small fridge, but Aprille says, "This country has definitely decided to go for big fridges." A shame. Small ones are so aesthetic.

In Buxton, the consistent building colour from the local stone is compelling. The town looks so nice. Aprille says it's because nothing happens around here without approval of the planning commission: first the parish council, then the regional council, and finally (and most restrictively) the Peak Park. I wish we had more of that in Canada. Why give people the freedom to make ugly things? We told her about our house being sided in vinyl. She was appalled.

It was a Sunday, so lots of people out in the park, sweet shop closed, groceries at Waitrose's. This was a wonderful rich stimulating experience. Nothing quite so elemental as food, and when the food is in all new packages, sometimes with new names (Salad cream? Single cream?) it's like a wonderland.

I found that in Buxton we had a cell signal, and I was able to start trying to figure out how to put credit on the phone.

Driving was better today. After a good night's sleep (awake only from 3 to 5 a.m.) I felt refreshed.

Back at the grange, we went for a walk where the map showed a public footpath: out the driveway, along the road to the right, then along a fence line to someone else's farmyard. Thence, across his fields, and back to Boosley Grange from the back. This is quite legal.

The footpaths date from way back when, and the Park is essentially founded on them. They are the continuation of public rights on what were traditionally ways farming families would visit one another. So if you own a farm here and a public footpath comes through it, you are required to let people come through. Consequently you see little signs within farms like "Private: no footpath" meaning that you've taken a wrong turn around the barn.

But it was eerie "trespassing," (as I thought of it) through this guy's farm. Aprille said she'd herself never walked through here. I suppose that when a Walker, a recreationist from Away, passes through, he's a tourist; but when your neighbour walks through on the public footpath, it's your neighbour walking through your farm, which is quite a different thing.

Galen wanted us all to play Risk, but after dinner in the warm cottage, jet lagged as we still are, we could stay awake for only one turn.