A Literary Pilgrimage

A few summers ago, after attending a conference in Canterbury, I took some extra days to travel in England. I had been to London several times, but had spent little time in the English countryside. It was beautiful, green, and pastoral, just as I had imagined it. I spent some time in Oxford and Bath, both wonderful, as was Canterbury. But the highlight of the trip was my pilgrimage to the tiny, idyllic-looking village of Chawton, where Jane Austen spent her last and, from most reports, happiest and most productive years. Austen, with her mother and sister, lived in a cottage provided by one of her brothers who lived in a mansion nearby. To get there, I took a train, and then a bus, and then walked the last half mile or so. There it was in front of me: the place where my most-loved and most-revered author had lived! There were a few other visitors, but it was mainly quiet and peaceful. I walked through the garden and then through the small but charming house. I stood in her bedroom. I saw the little table in the drawing room where she wrote. I was in awe, and felt so privileged to be standing in the very place where she had lived and where she had written several of her books. After I left Chawton, I went to Winchester Cathedral, where Austen was buried, and knelt to touch her grave marker on the floor of the Cathedral. Yes, tears came...tears of happiness at being there. It was truly a sentimental journey for me.