Not in 1000 years

were we worried that our Thanksgiving break would be hindered by snow. But we would never have imagined that we might have to cancel the getaway because of rain. The Lake District is, in fact, one of the wettest areas in England. You'd think that they'd have themselves sorted when it comes those pesky little droplets falling from the sky. But it seems that Mother Nature felt it appropriate to remind us all of just how we stack up in the grand scheme of things. Minuscule.

Forecasters said the rainfall leading up to Thanksgiving was unprecedented and unexpected. The Environment Agency recorded 12.3 inches (314.4 millimeter) of rain in 24 hours in one location — one of the wettest days ever recorded in England.

Leave it to the Americans to pick this particular week to get out of London and into the countryside. After quite a few days of waffling on whether or not we should brave the flooded rivers and washed out bridges, we finally made a decision that Mother Nature could kiss our Yankee butts. We were not spoiling our As-American-As-It's-Gonna-Get-Thanksgiving on account of pissing down rain (I know...it sounds vulgar but it's just one of those English colloquialism I've grown rather fond of).

But to be honest, by the time we got through the motorway traffic, I would have warmly welcomed a flood. A flood that would swoosh me right back to London and into my nice cozy, dry, cocoon of a house. I would rather drive 100 miles out of my way to avoid...Stop. Go. Stop. Go. 30 minutes and 50 yards later, I've done nothing but raise my blood pressure.

But it was all worth it in the end. We arrived safely in Coniston, eventually. Our good friends brought the food and we brought the booze. The house was a Georgian one that was fantastic and suited all us perfectly. Big, stone and set at the base of an English mountain (for the Coloradoians think I-70 off-ramp). There were slate flagged floors, picture sash windows with working shutters, a wicked open fire and farmhouse kitchen. Thanksgiving dinner was spectacular, in part because I was only responsible for an apple pie...but truly because Brooke is a phenomenal cook. You know the type...can cook anything without a recipe ("what's that?" I ask..."just some notes" she says...it was just an ingredient list!) and she can do it all while never being a slave to the kitchen. She's always mingling and chatting and never, ever stresses about whether or not it's going to turn out. Because it always does!! I hate her.

We did some hiking, also known here as walking and managed to check out, Cockermouth, the local birthplace of William Wordsworth. The Brits just have a way about naming locations, don't ya think?! We planned our walk with the rain and frigid weather in mind and we got sunshine and a beautiful day. Mother Nature was clearly having fun with us this weekend.

PROOF there is SUN in the lake district??

Getting ready to hike up the mountain! Such a slacker this one...

At the top of the mountain!!

Our Georgian getaway...Brocklebank...tucked into the hill.

And for those wondering about my apple pie, it totally sucked. Eck! I am usually the Queen of a mean deep dish apple pie but...alas, this year it was not to be. I blame the AGA. They may be pretty and make your kitchen all warm and cozy but if you have a life, aren't extraordinarily organized and like apple pies, then you don't want one. Trust me.


Some more of our hiking adventure:

Whoa...whoa....

Umph!