Although I don't celebrate Thanksgiving in 'the pumpkin pie and good old roast turkey kind of way' I do have a fondness for this holiday. I was married around Thanksgiving and for many years now I have celebrated my wedding anniversary at this time.
The idea of thanksgiving and a wedding anniversary feels simpatico because there is a multitude to be thankful for if you have been married for as long as I have... In my more funny moments I am known to say that a life prison sentence would be shorter...but that is just me being prickly...I don't mean one word. Mr FF and I have known each other longer than we haven't - we met and married young, and have been best friends ever since. Marriage is all about the good, the bad and the ugly and we all know that there are very few ideal marriages but an enduring marriage, a marriage that has grown and shaped who you are today is a marriage to be celebrated and a marriage to be thankful for.
Traditionally we have celebrated our anniversary in Paris (you can read a little about that HERE) but this year Mr FF decided he wanted to shake things up a little, throw over the predictable and surprise me. I wasn't too sure about a 'surprise' - surprises make me nervous. How often are surprises really surprises and how often do they live up to expectation? Besides, who doesn't want to be in Paris for their anniversary? City of Light, City of Love and all that...but he assured me that he 'had it under control' and if there is one true thing about Mr FF, when he says he has it covered he usually does...
My adventures started in London with strict instructions to pack 'comfortable and warm with boots'. PANIC....'comfortable', that meant I could forgo the pretty footwear and 'warm', well that meant forget the little number that I had envisaged for our anniversary dinner. 'Boots', knowing Mr FF that meant walking... Did I need my passport? When a big fat NO was the answer, I knew for sure that Paris, as far as this weekend's celebration went, was to be last year's news. As we drove out of London with overnight bags full of sensible gear he came clean and said we would be driving West and hiking on Dartmoor. Dartmoor....to be precise... 958 square kilometres of moorland in the centre of Devon, England. It was a good call on his part to suggest that I forgo the silk and stilettos....
Four hours later as we turned off the motorway and neared our destination the snow started falling. England and her countryside can be a magical place in the right conditions and this was one of those moments...think narrow country lanes bordered by hedgerows, snow flakes and the rolling green fields turning silver in the early evening light...remember all those favourite Brit rom coms, the Bridgit Jones movies, Notting Hill and Four Weddings and a Funeral...that is the picture I am trying to paint. It may not have been Paris but it was perfect. We stayed at the most enchanting Hotel Endleigh nestled high above the banks of the River Tamar - a more beautiful and romantic spot he could not have chosen. Mr FF is a demon when it comes to the detail; he had even handpicked our room for its original Chinese wallpaper, knowing that I adore all things Chinoiserie....gotta love a man who knows his wallpaper....
The day of our hike saw temperatures falling below zero - I was grateful for the 'comfortable and warm with boots' warning. As we trekked our way up the snow covered hill with a wind chill factor of I-don't-know-what I forgot all thoughts of romance. Numb legs, stinging fingers and burning cheeks made it difficult to register the beauty of the moor and the majesty of my surroundings. It would be untruthful if I didn't admit to thinking, 'what's wrong with Paris' at that moment but as we neared the high point and stopped to take in the view I had the most delicious feeling and the most natural of revelations...
Together, we were on top of the world....just he and I with so many years and memories between us...and even without Paris....it was the perfect anniversary. xv
image of the River Tamar - me
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