I am
reading
The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis (Vol. 1). It is rough going
since the first half is obligatory letters to his father, which, in order to avoid
all potentially controversial subjects, keep Lewis confined to discussing health
and weather. But the second half has some nice nuggets. In a letter to
his brother, Warnie, in April of 1927, he writes of a recent walking expedition.
Apparently, he didn’t mind all the discomforts of an all-day hike as long as
there were good places to stop for meals along the way. This particular trip
did not start out well.
Thursday
opened with discussions. A survey of the maps showed a lamentable discrepancy
between the route we wanted to follow and the possible places for lunch. Then
emerged the dark and hideous prospect of ‘taking’ our lunch. Perfectly simple
you know. Buy some bread and cheese before we start and have lunch where we
like. Makes you independent you know. Drinks? Oh, get a few oranges if you don’t
feel inclined to carry a bottle of beer in your pack for the first ten miles. I
need hardly say that our novice member was entirely in favor of the scheme. I,
of course, who have seen days spoiled this way before, was the head of the
opposition. The wrong party won. We stuffed our packs with bread, butter,
cheese and oranges. The only thing I look back on with satisfaction was that
the butter, at any rate, was not in my pack.
Because of
rising winds all day, the group was cold and miserable by lunchtime. The packed lunch was entirely unsatisfactory. He
continues: The midday siesta, that great essential of a day’s walking, was out
of the question in that abominable camp, and we set off gloomily.... [at dusk] no
one can describe the delight of coming to a sudden drop and looking down
into a rich wooded valley where you see the roofs of a place where you’re going
to have supper and a bed: especially if the sunset lies on the ridge beyond the
valley. There is so much mixed in it: the mere physical anticipations as of a
horse nearing its stable, the sense of accomplishment and the old romance of travelling. It always seems to sum up the whole day that
is behind you – give it a sort of climax and then stow it away with the faintly
melancholy, but not unpleasant, feeling of things gone past.
In an earlier letter to Arthur Greeves he describes the delight of finding a perfect spot for sitting and "soaking" in the beauty and peace of nature. He writes, I have
one great addition to my comfort here, in the discovery of a ‘soaking-machine,’
which conveniences are very scarce in England, owing to the strict customs
which prevent the mildest trespassing. My new palace, is at the foot of a great
oak, a few yards off a lane, and hidden therefrom by a little row of shrubs and
small trees. Completely private, safe from sun, wind or rain, and on a ridge.
Soaking up the beautiful
countryside, conversing with like-minded friends, and arriving at the end of the day to a good meal, warm fire
and comfortable bed. Sounds perfect!
Blessings, Hope
(Photo by Tomasz Filipek on Unsplash)
