Chawton - Jane Austen's Hampshire

I've been told my preferred reading material is a bit odd. When I was younger I tried reading novels but I just couldn't get into them. I get bored because the characters aren't real so it seems pointless to read about their lives. I'm happy with a good biography or a solid teaching book that will challenge me to look at life differently and grow in my relationship with Christ. Oh... and if I'm on vacation then my vice is picking up a copy of InStyle (a fashion magazine).

I enjoy the movies based on Jane Austen's books, mostly because of her clever dialogue and commentary or mockery of society's expectations, but I've never read any of her books... I tried reading Pride and Prejudice but I got bored. I know, go ahead and gasp. I find it really amusing to visit with people here and listen to them casually mention locations from Jane Austen's writings as though it's totally normal. Yesterday somebody mentioned a hike up Box Hill and I gasped and said, "Like from Emma?" and she looked at me like I was crazy and said she had no idea what I was talking about.

Jane Austen spent most of the last eight years of her life living in Chawton, which is a small village about twenty minutes away. Ama borrowed a book of walking routes in Hampshire from a coworker and we chose a five mile walk in the countryside around Chawton. I think some of the route markers mentioned in the book have changed because we ended up getting quite lost, but we managed to find our way out of the fields and back to our car.

The home where Jane Austen lived and wrote or edited her books from 1809 - 1817.

One of the things I love most about spring is the sight of daffodils blooming. When my dad was a child, his father purchased about five acres of land near Victoria and the land had previously been used as a daffodil farm. The previous owners tried to clear out all the daffodil bulbs, but many were left behind. After my grandfather passed away, my parents got married, and my grandma moved downtown, my family lived on the farm for a couple of years. I was about five years old, but I still remember wandering the fields, picking daffodils under the fruit trees. It's a memory I treasure - the freedom of not having a care in the world as I tramped through the tall grass, looking for the sunny yellow flowers.

A window in the church entryway in Farringdon, a town we went through during our walk.

The book's instructions were insanely confusing at certain points, but we found our way eventually.