I noticed him before he stepped aboard the Little White Bus bound for Hawes. Even through the drizzle I spotted him as the most dapper of Englishmen. Bowler hat, tweed coat, scarf, and those loose white curls. For years, I’ve tried to get Tim to grow his hair long. He’s always had the best hair. But Tim, who cut his own hair the morning of our wedding day, is more fit for a military cut than one fashioned from Woodstock.

We didn’t speak on our way to Hawes because we were sitting several rows back from where he sat, next to his best lass. But on the way home, he sat right in front of us, holding his well-used cane.

“I fell, you see,” he said. “So I use it now.”

He keep carving the handle until he got it perfectly suited to his palm. When he fell he feared he was going to hit his head against the door, but he didn’t. Mostly landed on his bum, bouncy parts, he said.

It can be dangerous, I commiserated, recallig a couple of falls I took.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Oregon,” Tim replied. “Have you been to America?” I inquired.

“No,” the gentleman said then added, “I won’t be going now.”

No, not a good time, we agreed. Not with Trump in office. It’s the refrain we hear from everyone. The antique dealer on the corner. The outdoor salesman who added his own complaints about Starmer not keeping his promises.

But don’t dare make a comparison between Trump and Starmer. Here in England and throughout Europe men and women in power are losing their positions because they had associations with Epstein and are named in the Trump/Epstein files.

One cannot have a conversation with anyone without the mention of why Americans aren’t removing Trump from office. The refrain seems to be: Why aren’t Americans in the streets, dragging Pam Bondi and Trump out by their golden locks? Tar and feathering were a real thing in the UK. So was public stocks. The English have lived through their fair share of shitty leaders but the thing is they always reached a point of oppression when they rose up and removed them (sometimes physically). Just ask Boris Johnson. Or any number of long dead kings.

When Manchester United’s co-owner Sir Jim Ratcliffe went on an anti-immigrant rampage saying the UK is being “colonized by immigrants” the pushback was fast and furious. Ratclifee, another billiionaire white dude, doesn’t even live in the UK. He plugged Brexit to the people then moved off to Monaco to avoid paying taxes on all his wealth, much like Jake Paul did when he moved off to Puerto Rico but then bitched about Bad Bunny’s half-time show. The move is estimated to save Ratcliffe $4 billion in taxes.

No matter how rich they get – Ratciiffe is the second richest Brit with an estimated $30 billion – it is never enough for them, is it? And they like nothing better than to blame the poor and disenfranchised for whatever woes they drum up in their mindless talking points.

Poor people are not the problem, rich white men are. They’ve created this world for their own uses and still they bitch and moan about how aggrieved they are, how much they have to spend in taxes while they avoid spending a dime in taxes. On and on it goes.

Of course, we the people have the power to stop them but we keep losing sight of that power. We could pull them out of those lofty towers if we decide to, either at the voting box, or by force if need be. And I think it’s the latter that the English can’t understand about Americans. Why aren’t we doing more to rise up? How does Pam Bondi get away with spewing such disrespect toward our legislators and still remain in office?

Ratcliffe faced immediate condemnation for his remarks which seem slight compared to Bondi protecting pedophiles and rapists with her every bated breath. Starmer demanded an apology which Ratcliffe begrudgingly issued. But now the Football Association may bring charges against Ratcliffe for violating its statues. Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham was none too pleased with Ratcliffe’s remarks, which were serioiusly stupid when you consider that the sport is built on the backs of immigrants from nations long colonized by England.

“Footballers who have arrived from all over the world to play in Greater Manchester have enhanced the life of our city region, as have the many people working in Greater Manchester’s NHS and other essential services and industries. We appreciate their contribution as a city region famous for the warmth of our welcome,” said Burnham.

Tim and I are trying our best to enjoy this part of the world. We come to England for our mental health. This is especially true for me. I cannot put into words the overwhelming grief I feel as a Gold Star daughter of the war Trump bought his way out of, or as a child sex abuse survivor myself, or as the mother of three daughters, or as the grandmother of seven, or even as an abandoned once faithful Evangelical. The grief overwhelms me daily, hourly. The rage I feel as those I once considered loved ones embrace this rapist and racist president is beyond containment.

The best I can do is get away from it for awhile. I do that by hiking the dales, even in the wettest of conditions. Even when my Oregon-raised husband cries out: “It’s too wet to hike.” My need for a sense of awe drives me onward. “Oh, it’s only a little mud. Follow me. Your boots don’t leak like mine.”

Yes, nature is my healing place. It’s where I go to remember Wordsworth once roamed these same dales. Dorothy and William would have seen some of the very same structures Tim and I are seeing. Perhaps some of the horses and sheep are the generational offspring of those the Wordsworth would have seen. They would have rested under some of the very same trees and certainly under the very same heavens.

It’s healing to step on firm foundation, to remember in an ever-changing world when everything feels wrong, wrong, wrong, the wrong will die out and the beauty and sacred is always right here among us.

You just can’t buy it on Amazon.