Attack of the Bumblebee

Today Natalie and I set off on a walk to the Hermitage, armed with a picnic lunch bought at Gregg's and a portable watercolour set, should we wish to practice our natural artistic instincts.

We took the bus outside of town and then walked from the bus stop through a field to get to Howe Dean Path, which would lead us to the Hermitage.

 Natalie surveys the countryside with a conquering gleam in her eye.

 Hung out to dry

 Enveloped by the green

 Reminiscent of the jungle

At one point in time, we came to a fork in the road. In the ways of Robert Frost, we took the road less traveled; and it was the wrong way.

 Finally, our destination--the Hermitage

We were about to settle down on the banks of the nearby stream to break bread, but of course Natalie has to go and get herself stung by the nearest bumblebee.

Natalie insisted that we find someone to help us. We rang the doorbell to the Hermitage, and Natalie explained her situation to the park ranger, who was very nice but also nicely unhelpful. She told Nat she could run it under cold water in the toilet.

I made the best of the situation and took pictures. Natalie was very pleased with my ability to document.

 Natalie's red badge of courage

 Picnic lunch

Shortly after lunch, we tried our hands at watercolour painting. Nat had never used watercolours before, and I hadn't painted with them in ages. Nat eventually grew frustrated with her efforts, "I have a new respect for artists." A short pause, eyeing me. "How do you do that?"
Sanna: Watercolours are subtle.
Natalie (puts her painting away from her, leans back, and shuts her eyes): Watercolours are subtle. Noted.
Sanna: I think you're better suited for oil painting.
Natalie: Thanks, Sanna.

 My piece

Lying sprawled out on the grass like collateral damage, Natalie eventually fell asleep in the warm sunshine to "give me a chance to catch up on my water colouring," seeing as she didn't want the competition to be unfair. (I am not allowed to post a picture of her painting, but she insists it is very impressive.) After I had worked on my painting for an hour or so--occasionally interrupted by dogs who came running over the green to eagerly sniff me over in search of a potential friend--Natalie finally roused herself, explaining to me that she had needed the nap to recover from her war wound.

 I'm not sure I believe her.

We struck out for home at five o'clock.