I Just Need a Little More Moor

November 2nd, 2009

And I don’t mean the moor as in Othello the Moor, or the moor as in to anchor a sailing vessel – and yes I did just choose to say ‘sailing vessel’ rather than the more succinct word – boat, because when one is in the mood to ramble upon a moor, one is not at all prepared to set sail in anything so common… so uninteresting… so base…  as a mere BOAT!  However!  If a moor is unavailable, I will RELUCTANTLY make do with a craggy cliff, but only if there is a formidable manor in the background that looms… yes… LOOMS… dark and foreboding like a blistering black cloud upon the distant horizon.  And yet… even with all this looming and glooming, you must take care to note that the moment one steps into the shadowy central hall of the formidable manor, one is quickly drawn into the cozy library replete with cheerful fire, heavy laden tray full of yellow oatcakes, strawberries, cream and hot beverage.


We are not IN THE MANOR EATING OATCAKES!  We are ON THE MOORS RAMBLING like ELVEN FOOLS!   And we are sporting some woolen, tweedy concoction, perfectly tailored in London at a shop called Burlton and Ives… or Anderson and Shepherd… or Higgins and Brown…and the tweedy concoction manages to both minimize that which must be minimized and maximize anything worth maximizing which in my case would be my upper molars and my left earlobe.

But even with our physical deficiencies so expertly understated, we are still rambling across the moors and not shopping in London people!  Stay with me!   And whilst we ramble (and yes, I did just say whilst)  there is a stinging wind which has whipped our normal pasty pallor into rosy hues of um… er… uh… rosy hues.   And there is a perpetual tear stinging thy cheek.  And YES!  I just said THY cheek!  I can say THY CHEEK if I want to!  Might I remind you that this is my moor and this is my ramble!  If I want to refer to my pasty pallor as rosy and my cheek as thy cheek and my raiment as tweeden – I can!  And yes!  I just called my raiment TWEEDEN! Plus! I used the word raiment!  I can ramble in my tweeden raiment upon my craggy moor with a tear stinging thy rosy cheek whilst my formidable manor hovers like a menacing mongrel in the background if I wish it!

And guess what!

I wish it!

Which is to say that last night – on All Hallow’s Eve (as opposed to the more common and far less special sounding… Halloween) – after the obligatory neighborhood trick or treating with my peppy seven year old and three angst ridden elder sons who really need to spend a year or two in Sub-Sahara Africa to realize that their lives are disgustingly good – our family went for a walk… upon the moors… sort of…

You see, after prowling the neighborhoods for candy, we attended a party that climaxed with an amble through a pasture, down into a creek bed, through a patch of prickly pines and back across the field, ending in a cheery outdoor fire and chocolate cupcakes.  The walk was supposed to scare the tweeden pants off of us, but a gorgeous full moon was leading the way, back-lighting the trees in blue and sliver, while the creek water shimmered with starrily stars as a pack of wolves howled in the distance.  So even if friends and neighbors took turns popping out of the trees and chasing us all over the fields with chainsaws and hacksaws, and um… other kinds of saws…  and I was supposed to be terrified, instead, I found myself in the seventh level of heaven.

Moonlight walks are a must for mental health.  

Even if you find yourself involuntarily screaming bloody murder.

Today, we awoke to a glinting fall day and I immediately decided to skip church and haul my family out on another hike.  As usual, my children responded with at best, sullen indifference and at worst, the death throes of plague ridden, boil infested,medieval peasants. I came close to throwing the whole idea over, but in the end, the Country Doctor got us all out the door and to the park as he is immune to the death cries of plague victims.

We rambled across the moors at Oregon Trail park, climbing all the way to the top of the overlook.

‘Twas then we saw the foreboding manor…

And then we climbed back down…

To a picnic lunch.

The golden fields a fierce reminder….

That dread winter draws nigh…

When the moors will become as unbearable as tweedy woolens bought off a half price end-cap at the Dollar Store.

Tis best to ramble whilst one can!


  • Hmmmm…reminds me of Fields of Gold by Sting. I love that song.
    You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
    Upon the fields of barley
    You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
    As we walk in fields of gold

    So she took her love
    For to gaze awhile
    Upon the fields of barley
    In his arms she fell as her hair came down
    Among the fields of gold

    Will you stay with me, will you be my love
    Among the fields of barley
    We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
    As we lie in fields of gold

    See the west wind move like a lover so
    Upon the fields of barley
    Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
    Among the fields of gold

    I never made promises lightly
    And there have been some that I’ve broken
    But I swear in the days still left
    We’ll walk in fields of gold
    We’ll walk in fields of gold

    Many years have passed since those summer days
    Among the fields of barley
    See the children run as the sun goes down
    Among the fields of gold

    You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
    Upon the fields of barley
    You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
    When we walked in fields of gold
    When we walked in fields of gold
    When we walked in fields of gold

  • A lovely rambling post about rambling! And you guys are still in short sleeves! Dreaded winter seems far away in these pictures, although perhaps the threat of scratchy woolly tweeden is what spurs on your hope of a cold winter? Or not… ;-)

    Rambling with the dog is one of my favourite activities…

  • When I was reading those first paragraphs I felt like I was in the middle of a mix between The Secret Garden and the very end of Fox in Socks (with the tweetle beetles battling in their bottle with the paddles, and the noodle eating poodle…).
    Very funny. You always have a way with words!

  • Nancy:

    Wait…upon yonder mo’or, you were wearing shorts and no jackets, just a few measly states northeastish of you, we were wearing jeans, jackets (winterish), and smelling air, that has that “it can snow at any time”

  • Stephanie:

    I love a good long ramble myself…
    what a wonderful day….looks like fun
    was had by all, even the sullen indifferent

  • LOVE your writing!

  • I love these posts, Rechelle! If that Bronte chick would have put just a tad more of your type of rambling on the moors into Wuthering Heights, I think I would not have felt so durned wuthered about by the story line. Did you know that wuther means to blow fiercely? I just now learned that. Why did I never look it up before? Anyway, she did a fair amount of blowing about fiercely in that story, as did her characters, which left me just about wuthered out and also rather withered. If only…IF ONLY…she had just lightened up a bit with her merciless wuthering, it might have been a more enjoyable ramble upon the moors and I might not have wanted to throttle just about every one of her characters. Yes, I think you could have taught that Bronte chick a thing or two!

  • Martha in Kansas:

    Hah! I took a detour in the shadowy central hall of the formidable manor. The maid, ashen of face and unfeeling, led me to the library where I discovered the master, sunken into a chair. Dust was settled on every surface, cobwebs clogged the room. The hearth was cold, clearly unlit for a fortnight (however long that is). The master smiled, showing yellowed teeth in need of dental care, and said “I can offer you tea, but I fear it’s gone cold.”

    And I turned sharply on my heels, yelled for the maid to come light the master’s fire and bring a dustrag while she was at it. I roused the chauffer from his drunken stupor and sent him out for some Chester Chicken. All the while noting to myself to call first next time and not simply drop in unannounced.

    Anyway, yesterday was a wonderful day for a walk and that looks fun! I’m going to have to Google the Oregon Trail park, as I’d like to see it next trip west. It looks like the walk cheered up the Sullen Brothers. (Wouldn’t that be a good name for a band?)

  • Yay for walks in the sunshine!

  • Martha – Yes! Perfect name for a band. And Yes to the chauffer getting more Chester chicken!

  • Ah. Now I know what I need to cure my sourness- tweeden raiment, a craggy moor, stinging wind and a looming manor…

    I’m gonna get right on it!

    Thanks for the laugh. :-)

  • for your Oregon trail is no match for the forlorn moor, nor is the clear blue sky any substitute for ominous clouds rolling in leaving a heroine to face drenching rain and then the ague !!! What then does the brooding hero do with no feverish maiden upstairs, no doctor to be ridden furiously out the interminable driveway for?
    Back into the minivan with thee !!!!

  • You have a hill in Kansas??

  • HA! Heather’s comment is cracking me up! Hills in Kansas!

  • As it did Jenni in KS, this post made me want to drag out the Bronte! I think though that I’ll wait until the weekend when it’s supposed to be cold and blustry (or wuthering) again.

  • Tiffany:

    My now-husband, then-boyfriend drug me up that hill to propose marriage. I should have booted his bottom over the edge for making me hike up that path. I was all out of breath and sweaty and then he wants to get all romantic…geez!!! I forgave him though after he asked me to be his wife! Thanks for the visual reminder of our past!

  • DirtyKSmama - Nikki:

    I love the golden fields and your way with words. :)

  • Debra:

    Lovely post as usual!

  • Brilliant post. I needed a little moor this morn. Love the forboding manor, back to reality :O

    On this busy day I will daydream about reading a Jane Austen book.

  • I love this place. I’m always more than willing to take a hike there but every time I suggest it my girls run the other way. What’s wrong with them?

  • Pam:

    Love this post! Your pics are gorgeous!

  • Jenny:

    I love Oregan Trail Park, too. The last two times we were there, the boys skipped rocks at the lake for what seemed like hours. This post made me laugh…I’m reading Wuthering Heights right now.