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Follow the Summers Lovely Bits Park in Carlisle was a perfectly manicured park filled with a brilliant flower display. A pond and walkways followed the river. Picnic tables throughout the park grounds made it look like a perfect place to spend an hour or a day. In the middle of town an imposing square-walled castle, resembling a fortress, towered above the landscape. We couldn't locate B5299 out of Carlisle. We ended up lost in a residential section until we spied the road we wanted across a field and took the cross country route to it. Bikes were so handy. It was dusk, so we cut off the road onto a bridle pathway looking for a site. A farmer came towards us in a Jeep and asked if we were ]¦êr¦pot to camp fSèhe night. He offered us his field. He warned us the field was stubble, but we could take straw from the rows to soften the stubble if we wanted to. Harvest had already started. The rectangular bales laid neatly clustered in groups of six. The outside swaths were done, but most of the field laid in rows of straw. The farmer mentioned he was sixty-five years old and in November he was going to New Zealand for six months to visit his brother. "I'm going to follow the summers," he chortled. |
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