The Lake District, 17-19 September 2006: Levens Hall

It's been a while after my trip to the Lake District. Endless travelogues, it seems.
When I was there, it was the end of the summer, and it's autum now (sigh... this lament is a sign of senility.)

Yes, autumn has been around for a while. These days whenever I have a chance to step on the gorgeous orange carpet--a seasonal mantle of the earth woven from golden leaves--the crackling under my feet is very comforting, assuring, even though I also bear in mind a melancholic notion that this path is leading the year to an end, and the cycle of nature to winter.

Around this same time two years ago, when waiting for bus in front of Heslington Hall, I chanced to "hear" a squirrel crossing a field covered with fallen leaves. It made me giggle. : )
A lady sitting on the same bench smiled and said, 'isn't that lovely! It's my favorite time of the year!'

This year the crispy sound constantly recalls to me rustling of green leaves in Levens Hall this summer.

Levens Hall is a 19th-century house especially known for its magnificent gardening.

I only visited the garden.
It was a very comfortable and peaceful experience. Astounding experience too! It must have taken incredible efforts to maintain this huge garden since two centuries ago.

One essential design of the garden contains some spaces that are walled by well-trimmed bushes. It almost looks like a labyrinth.

Standing between the walls of bushes was an intimidating audio experience to me.
I heard nothing but the rustling of leaves.
The sound was so close to the ear that it silenced me.
The rustling was so close and so intense that I was getting nervous.
The sound was so close, so intense, and so unfamiliar that I was led to suspect if there were creatures lying in ambush.
The sound was curiously inviting, I was almost tempted to sneak into the narrow path.
But the sound was also disquieting, so monotonously powerful and overpowering.
I hesitated and, took another route.

I know, it's nothing but wind rustling through leaves as if glasses are chattering.

'Then you are very patient.'

It is my conversation with a worldly-famous and well-respected scholar (abbreviated as S) in a conference dinner,

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S: When I was in the E dept. in H Univ., H the postcolonialist was invited to take a position there. The faculty in the department was wondering why he was invited since he hadn't had a single book published. You know, in order to be in H Univ. you have to publish at least 6 books. Some faculty answered, 'but he had been a main contributor to this field of study'. Some others confronted the defendants instead, 'but no one understands what he's talking about'.

(the conversation was carried on with the discussion of applications of theories and close reading in literary studies.)

I: H's writing is difficult, but the style is also considered to be a means to assert his identity and idea as a postcolonialist.

S: Have you ever read his work?

I: Yes, I did.

S: Did you understand what he was talking about?

I: yes, but it took some time.

S: Then you are very patient.
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I don't remember whether I was patient or not when I read his work years ago. My english comprehension ability was rather poor at that time, I remember. But I believed, and still do, as long as I tried and as long as I could follow the class instructor's guidance, I would get there sometime.
Even until today, I don't know if I really fully understand every single bit of his thought, but at least I always remind myself to be open-minded and humble whenever I feel upset and impatient with some difficult works like H's.
I always try to keep in mind that before I understand anything, I shouldn't criticize.

Before this conversation, I thought, and still believe so, patience is one of the most important virtues of researchers.
This part of conversation somehow disillusioned me.

Why cannot we be patient?
What are we busy about so that we do not have time to understand other people's thought?
It's this being impatient that really irritates me.

What does patience have anything to do with one's scholarship? It does, and it matters a lot.
Everything should be considered within history and as a bit of history, a part of the history of literature, the literary history.
Why can people easily make value judgement prioritizing one approach over another?
In the spectrum of literary history, these 'notorious' theories did re-enactivate the literary studies once and still do in one way or another, it would be very narrow-minded of anyone to see them as old-fashioned monsters.
They are also a part of the entire culture, which have more or less contributed to what we know, to what we learn, to what our being is, to what we are enabled to know, and to what we can move on with.

Patience is important, for academics in particular.
For me, it's an important virtue that enables the mechanism of acadmia to operate along an ethical path.
It's the starting point of any possible mutual respect.

Or is it 'only' a matter of patience? I hope it is. At least it's simple and seems to be possible to deal with.
But perhaps, or in fact there is, an enormous ideology behind this I-don't-have-time-for-something in context.

Ah! Orange Autumn!

I really love the colors of autumn and the sky of this orange season.

The Lake District, 17-19 Spetember 2006: Kendal Castle

When I saw the castle through the arch from this side of the river, I didn't know that the ruin on the hill top would become one of the most memorable places on my tourist diary. It is Kendal Castle.
The castle was not on my original itinery as I reckoned it would be too far away to reach. It wasn't on my guidbook either. When I strolled across the park, an old lady persuaded me to take a 20-min walk to take a look. 'It is very worthwhile,' she recommended.

So I marched on.



I crossed river Kent and walked into a quiet residential area, seeing the castle ahead of me. The lane was pretty empty then.
I was worried about being a loner in the peaceful quietness and about getting lost, but somehow the steady presence of that target assured me. It never abandoned me every time when I looked up to search for direction.
Its enormous omnipresence continued calling me to move on.




Here I saw the entrance.
Some real hiking was going to take place.








Walking up to the hill was not difficult at all, but the feeling of loneliness was a bit worrying. How long will it take? Can I make it? Shall I just head back? What if I get lost?
But again the castle stood there with ease. I was enchanted.


A dog just finished his daily walk and was walking down the hill. It smartly saw through my nervousness and inexperience on this empty and boundless ground.

My heart was drumming fast. I was nervously excited. I seemed to expect a totally new vision of the world. And I was right! After the last turn of the path, the ancient ruin stood there against the backdrop of the sky.
No strident self-assertion but an air of elegant solemnity.



Kendal Castle is located, perhaps, on the highest point in the region. It overlooks the entire town. Nothing can block the sight of this world. My visual scope of the universe was enlarged and extended as if I could easily reach the seam where the shining green and bright blue met.



The space is free of boundaries.
The experience is empowering: the world seems to be within one casual glance.
But the experience is also belittling: the world is always bigger than it is perceived.






Here I listened to the complete quietness: my own breaths, my steps on the meadow, wind flirting through cracks on castle walls, rustle of tree leaves.
The comtemplative quietude is the sound of Nature.

Here I stood in repose, feeling empowered and humble.

The Lake District, 17-19 September 2006: My collection of pigs

Part of my research work happened to be about sows, and it opened up my intuition for this interesting creature.

Does Cumbria have any particular connection with the industry of pigs?

I kept seeing images of this meaty animal during my entire journey. Pigs are indispensable in the economic life in the Lake District, I suppose. Piglets are exchanged for valuable goods. Pigs' hair is a good material for brushes. I even saw gargoyles of pigs, whose representations are rare I think. In Beatrice Potter's imaginary world, they are gentlemen from the countryside.

I am now quite intrigued by this search for pigs in the UK, any popular pig icons in the country? (I don't like the pigs in George Orwell's Animal Farm though).