English Health Farm

On my morning drive to work Ma Petite Auto nips along the 16 mile stretch of country roads, whilst I sip my morning coffee and soak in the country landscape with country tunes to boot. My Grandma Vagher calls me a "country girl" and I am finally livin' in the country. I quite enjoy my cheery commute to Hay barn, Daylesford, an organic and sustainable farm residing on the Daylesford Estate, where Lady Bamford (Lady because her husband was knighted, Sir Anthony Bamford, in 1990 and his company, JCB, has won a host of accolades for engineering and is Europe's premier manufacturer of construction equipment) nurtures a community/subculture of refined rustic elegance in produce, meat, cheese, chocolate, tea, clothing, garden goods, body products, treatments and yoga. Divine. The spa, named Hay barn (pictured above), is the final stop a visitor will experience on their trip to Daylesford after visiting the Farmshop, the Butcher, the Garden Shop and Bamford Barn (a clothing boutique). Hay barn is a refurbished barn made into a bright, dreamy smelling, spacious and serene spa...which is where I work in an all-white uniform, politely polishing my English hospitality. We offer tea to nearly everyone who comes through our barn door. Sounds perfect? Well, it is not, but that is alright...tell me a job that is perfect! I am learning to enjoy the good and ignore the bad. The good includes my one on one massage time with the high society of England, most of whom are nursing a hunting injury and filling my ears with blood sport stories, i.e. fox hunting, seriously steeped in tradition. My favorite quote thus far came from a quintessential British gentleman: "In America, they think 100 years is old. Here in England, we think 100 miles is far!"

How to be a Local (In the English Countryside)

One thing we wish the council handed out on moving to the English countryside was a badge that said something to the effect: "I live here, so I am NOT a tourist, as my accent makes you think." There's something about living in a small village that makes you want to immediately be recognized as a local. We discovered this weekend that it's all in the uniform. Our Wellies have arrived and we went out for a walk on Saturday that ended at the antique market in town. And to our delight, when chatting with the gentleman selling wonderful old brass implements, he said: "Where you two from? I mean, I know you must live here now by the Wellies on your feet, I was just wondering where you came from before living here." And the wisdom in his observation becomes very clear when one goes walking the paths around Woodstock, only to discover that many of the paths are in fact closer to rivers!

Quail Eggs, with a side of Streaky Bacon

As the previous post describing our local butcher's fair may have suggested, the food in the English countryside is not quite what we're used to. Take for example the breakfast consumed in Appletree Cottage by Alex this morning: Quail's eggs (4, as they are very small) with two pieces of "streaky" bacon (read "fatty", even though the bacon back home is far fattier), toast with red current jelly (not jam) and tea (not coffee). Working our way up to the local pigeon and blood sausage!

Ma Petite Auto

We are now the proud owners of a little French car, a Renault Clio. This is the island of small, fuel efficient cars (smart considering that the petrol is twice the price as the US). When searching for our car we were rightfully humored by the British style of marketing their cars: tidy, great runner, reason for sale fancy new car, two lady owners, mechanically sound, good tyres, lovely condition, first to view will buy, (oh and our personal favorite) nippy. And boy is our car ever nippy! Yes the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car and yes they drive on the wrong side of the road and yes we have to change gears with our left hand; it's amazing how quickly we noticed our left hand weakness. Surprisingly, the biggest challenge at first (foreign and seemingly obscure road signs set aside) was finding the rear view mirror to the left instead of the right. Driving on the left side of the road with these minor changes can be a bit disorienting and also kind of entertaining, given one's ability to adapt. Ahh, and the roundabouts...don't even get us started! We might strangle each other over those damn roundabouts. Renae is happily driving deeper into the Cotswolds 18 miles each way for her new work experience. Stay tuned for a blogger-tour of Daylesford Organics. Maybe Alex will also give a blogger-hypothesis of his research fellowship thus far.

Fresh Pheasant

The Woodstock Family Butcher is amazingly "country." Alex and Renae have marveled at the array of meats for sale: pheasant (see hanging in the picture), poussin, pigeon, partridge, guinea fowl, duck and quail to name a few. Alex is dying to cook up a pigeon and Renae's time in NYC has given her the lasting sensation of repulsion for pigeons, poor little guys. We are hoping to order up a turkey for Thanksgiving if we are able to convince our American friends (come on Wuj, Ian, Jeremy and Joey!) to come over for a feast. On our daily walks through Blenheim Park we see many of the said birds and wonder whose the lucky Sir or Lady to stalk the Duke of Marlbourough's land. It is tempting to bring along a gun for our walks, as we often see a fence lined with precious pheasants.