The Moors

Sam and I wanted to take advantage of the relentless heat that scorched the pavements of Britain while we could and so decided to take a trip into the North Yorkshire Moors. We packed the car with very little idea of where we wanted to end up, so instead put our faith in the heather lined roads to guide us. We first found ourselves in the picturesque village of Thornton le Dale which holds a lot of sentimental value for me. I walked through the streets with the sun beating against my back, remembering moments I thought were once lost. There was almost a skip in my step as I relived my childhood trips to quaint, idyllic villages such as this and felt content knowing that so much of it had gone unchanged.

After a certain someone dragged me to visit the local car museum, we stopped at one of the bakeries that were tightly stacked against each other in a neat little row, picking up the usual order; a couple of pork pies and a decadent brownie to share (I have made it my mission to travel the bakeries of the country to find the perfect pork pie). We sat on a bench that faced the road running through the middle of the village, gazing at the quiet activity that unfolded before us. We soon moved on to my favourite part of the trip.

Down a lane, and up some steps there is a little path, running adjacent to the shallow stream that trickles between the houses and cafes. Here stands the iconic thatched cottage, which is to Thornton le Dale what the Colosseum is to Rome. I remember when I was young I would visit my Grandma and I remember staring up at my Grandads painting of this little building, over grown with the colour that decorates its front. As I stood before it now I was comforted, knowing that 2 decades ago he would have been gazing upon the cottage as I was, mapping out it’s details on his canvas. Many years later, after his death me and my family would visit the village and my mum and her sisters would look upon the steps, and the little path and the shallow river with tears in their eyes.

I sat in front of the stream, cruelly picking the heads off daisy’s and placing them in the cool water to watch them float away like yellow boats, Sam got some pictures for the blog and we moved onto the next adventure of the day, finding our way home…

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