Today held a mixture of excitement and sorrow for us, as it was the last full day that we of the ‘Baylor in Oxford’ group would have in Britain for the summer.  Some bubbled with excitement, knowing that they would soon be returning to much-missed family and friends in the U.S; others were tinged with sorrow, dreading the thought of leaving behind such a rich and diverse culture.  In any event, our group decided go out with one final ‘hurrah!’ by making a day-trip to Arthur’s Seat, a mountainous area in Scotland known for its panoramic views of near-by Edinburgh.

So, as we trekked, we learned from the hike-leaders that Arthur’s Seat may well have nothing to do with the King Arthur of lore; instead, the name “Arthur’s Seat” could be a corruption of ‘Archer’s Seat’, given that the mountain could provide archers a birds-eye view of nearby prey and enemies.  We also learned that strange, human-like dolls were discovered in the mountain some time ago, likely a memorial for victims of infamous murders from the 18th-19th centuries.  The mountain had even been referenced by author James Hogg in his work The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, a man who just so happened to be a friend of William Wordsworth.

After this brief overview of the Seat’s cultural background, we moved through staircase after staircase until eventually we reached the peak of the hill.  Upon our arrival at the summit, we were treated to a resplendent view of urban Edinburgh, the surrounding country-side, and the distant Atlantic Ocean.  We took the time to absorb this entrancing image, discuss amongst ourselves what we were going to miss about the United Kingdom, and what we looked forward to most in the upcoming semester at Baylor University.  After some time, the faculty directed us to climb down from our perch and move towards a lower portion of the hill; they apparently had something to share with the group.

It turned out that the faculty wanted for us to hear each others’ final reflections on the Oxford trip as a whole.  Rather then have each of us stand and endure the spotlight, they decided to recite what we had written in a reflections’ assignment regarding the trip, and to use these insights to wrap up our U.K. experiences.  I personally found what the others had written in their reflections’ to be touching and heart-felt.  It seemed to do justice to the poignant good-byes each of us will be (and are) making towards this wonderful land, even if that good-bye is not necessarily the final one.  My consolation, hopefully, will be that the people I met during this experience won’t fade from my life.  I would much prefer that, instead of going our separate ways, never to hear from one another again, we remain in contact so that part of the Oxford trip will continue to live on; namely, our friendships and bonds.

With this final entry, I conclude my remarks regarding Baylor University’s ‘Baylor in Oxford 2012′ program.  I hope that my reflections and recollections have proved valuable to anyone choosing to read from them on this blog.  At this point, I leave further analysis to those who make the journey after me, whether they be Baylor students or fellow human-beings; to quote former Baylor pres. Samuel Palmer Brooks, “To you I hand the torch.”  Good luck, and may your own insights enrich your lives as much as my own have mine!

As part of our next adventure in England, we members of the Baylor group visited the small village of Abingdon in Oxfordshire.  A small but quaint market-town, it offered up some especially serene sights and palatable pathways.

We arrived in the area by bus and, after taking a small respite, began exploring the area of the town center.  Our knowledgeable guides informed us that, as part of long-standing Abingdton tradition, citizens of the area would throw pieces of stale bread off of the town hall to mark celebratory occasions.  As a case in point, they explained that the bread-tossing tradition has continued as recently as this year’s celebration of Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee!

Once discussion of the town-hall passed, the group pressed onward and forward towards the ruins of an old abby that once called Abingdon its home.  From what I can recall, it had eventually fallen into disuse due to Henry VIII’s leaving the Catholic faith and establishing Protestantism among the English people.  As the ruins had decayed in the time since the abbey’s retirement, partial reconstructions and restorations had since been added to what is now a lively and peaceful park.  We explored its surrounding areas, coming across various redwoods and colorful thickets, until we came upon what would constitute the bulk of our hike: a green and grassy footpath made along the river Thames.

With the sun now beating down upon our brows, we diligently made our walk beside this now famous river.  Beyond witnessing some expected boaters, happy as they made their way across the gentle waters, I also noticed what looked like a public pool area and other modern conveniences.  Such an establishment, in my mind, only further emphasized Abingdon’s dual commitment to ancient practice and modern, cultural upkeep.  These were the sorts of thoughts I found myself entertaining as we finished our foray next to the Thames.

Weary from the workout so far, the group later took another small break in the Abbey garden for a short lunch.  Once finished eating, our last official stop in our Abingdon journey was the local church.  The only one of its kind in the town, the church stood as a monument to Abingdon’s cultural heritage and pride.  I and others made sure to give a thorough look-over of its architecture, until finally we felt ourselves satisfied.  The faculty informing us that the ‘required’ portions of the hike were completed, we were then left to explore Abingdon of our own accord.

My personal observations outside of the ‘official’ hike may have been few, but I nonetheless found them telling.  I briefly found myself visiting a small antique/general store near the town square where we had first arrived, and decided to sift through its wares.  Some of it looked to be of relatively recent date, while other portions acted as reminders of a more distant past.  All in all it reminded me of the contemporary feel that comes from towns close enough to major hubs to be kept ‘in the loop’, but still distant enough to maintain their own unique charm.

Finally I and the others found ourselves on a bus headed back to Christ Church in Oxford.  Upon reflection, I would say that the hike was a relatively enjoyable one, giving me insight into how smaller English towns manage cultural and historical pride with the ever-present need to maintain relevance to newer generations with unique needs and viewpoints.

Besides learning about the trials and tribulations of Wordsworth, the students and faculty visited the Beatrix Potter Gallery in Hawkshead.  It was a small location with a small collection of items, but it was still quite a delight to indulge in some childhood nostalgia.

Many children grew up on such inspiring yarns as Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddle-Duck, and Mrs. Tittlemouse.  What those children probably don’t know, though, is the author behind those imaginative works, Beatrix Potter.  Her own tale is not as innocent as her characters’, but still offers hope and promise.

Beatrix was born to strikingly wealthy parents, and so was able to go on fun summer outings with her parents at an estate near Windermere.  There she would explore the natural surroundings, finding various creatures and plants to both study and draw.

Eventually these passing interests in the fuzzy creatures around her developed into more of a passion, as Beatrix found herself studying them more closely, creating sketches and even making notes on occasion.  She would later use these skills when making drawings for the children of her former governess, Annie More.  At one point, to entertain the eldest child Noel, Beatrix penned for him the story which later became ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’.  At the behest of More, Beatrix sought the publication of this new story of hers.  Due to the prevailing attitude that a woman’s place was in the home, various publishers initially rebuffed her.  However, she eventually wore one of them down such that they eventually published Peter Rabbit.

It was an instant success.  Children who read ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’ were enthralled by this mischievous little bunny and his wild antics.  Eventually the publisher begged Beatrix to continue writing more stories.  She more than happily obliged, producing what would become a very fruitful writing and literary career.

Neither her parents nor the world at large were supportive of Beatrix’s choice of profession, at least initially.  Though her stories detailed talking creatures of a most fanciful and playful nature, her own struggles did not possess such qualities.  One must note the resolve and determination it must have taken for Beatrix to continue on despite the strong disapproval of her friends and family.

This became more evident as my group moved throughout the gallery, reading of letters and correspondences Beatrix maintained detailing her frustrations with said disapproval, but also the satisfaction that came with being an author who manages one’s own material.

We later visited Beatrix’s home of Hill Top, which she had donated to the National Trust, an organization devoted to maintaining cultural and environmental treasures in England.  Moving through the property, I could at once recognize the love Beatrix must have had for woodland creatures big and small.  I even noticed an occasional rabbit darting through the bushes every now and again.  I suppose the moral of this small story would be to follow your passion; if truly worth it, then obstacles will eventually be overcome and the artistry of your skill will flourish.

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