humble beauty

One of my favorite games in England was a little made-up thing I liked to call "spot the American." It was quite simple, really. Whenever traversing the streets of Chester, waiting for a bus, finding a seat on the train, or such, I just enjoyed keeping an eye out for Americans. Because they were a reminder of home, they made me smile. And, most of all, because it just doesn't take one long at all to realize that it is so obvious.


Today, then, (in Texas) I couldn't have been any more tickled when I was walking through Macy's with my mom and we passed by this lady who just seemed to be glowing. As we ambled on by her, just brushing past in a long skirt, and simple, understated prettiness, I thought to myself, "she really looked English." And then, almost as if making a bet with myself, I quickly thought, "I'll turn around and look again, and if she's carrying a Cath Kidson bag, I'll know she's English."

So I did, and sure enough, the woman had to be English.

Back in England, captivated by the country's...essence...my American friends and I frequently tried to grab hold of what it was we loved so much about the place. We found that people would always ask us what it was that made England so special to us, but we struggled to answer, because it was so big and yet so small, so simple and yet so intricate. It was something you had to feel, taste, touch, run your fingers through, crunch your boots on top of, wrap yourself up in. We wanted to put words to it, but even when you share a common language, sometimes words just won't do.

Because the summer before I had traveled to both France and England, I had struggled with this seeming ambiguity for quite some time. Having spent hours driving through both the French and the English countrysides, I found them both remarkably beautiful, yet in such different ways. France was spectacularly beautiful, so foreign and untouchably cute. So French! England's beauty was equally impressive but I wouldn't have used the word spectacular. Oh, it delighted me. It charmed me. But there was something about the rich, deep, full beauty of England that was understated. It had a sense of humbleness about it.

While the French are known for rich, scrumptious cuisine, the English seem to be known more for simple cups of tea. The English can take any normal American statement and make it sound like poetry when filtered through that refined, composed accent. But they wouldn't let you get away with romanticizing them like that. English people put up a "polite notice" when you've parked your car in the wrong place, their national flower is the the classic, perfect, not too over-the-top rose, and they make statements such as "supporting Manchester City isn't always victorious, but it builds character." (So unAmerican.)

From the way the hills roll, to the way the stiles climb over the stone fences; from the way everything is so old, yet so well kept, to the quality that marks everything from streets to buildings to postboxes; it's just...pretty.

There's even something about the way they say the very word "pretty". Whereas in America we tend to pronounce the t's as a d (and some of my deeply Southern family would even venture to say "purrdy"), the English pronounce "pretty" in a way that it sounds like it means. It's intentional, and classy.

I believe, then, that it is appropriate that late in May, riding a bus across Cheshire with these two brilliant American girlfriends of mine on a quiet bank holiday Monday, we finally decided just what it was that made England so special. Pointing out simple front walk gates on homes, vines sprouting new, baby flowers, and composed little old English ladies making their way home from the grocery with their pushcarts out of our bus window, we put words to the essence we'd spent months taking in.

Humble beauty. 

That's what it is, really. To me, it's what makes England, England. Seeing as it's such a simple phrase, it sure did take us a long time to come up with it, but it is a simple phrase that means so much. And as soon as we had found it, it made sense.

It's the way I knew that lady today in the department store, even before I double-checked her handbag. It's how I could distinguish the difference between French and English countrysides. It's the difference between American and English houses. It's the difference in our accents, too. And our complexions. And the way we handle sport, even. From their love of the Queen, to their love of discussing the daily whimsical weather patterns, it's the humble beauty of England that makes it unlike any place I've ever been.

It you haven't had tea and scones with someone's grandma, you need to. If you haven't slipped a letter into a red postbox, you're missing out. If you've never walked the Chester walls, you need to book a plane, train, or bus ticket immediately.

Really, though, if you've never experienced this kind of beauty, seek it out. You might have to search for it. But have eyes to see it. I now know more fully what beauty is because I have known England in both broad and intimate ways. I think this is one of the reasons why my soul seems to resonate with English culture so fully, because I have found at its very heart something that, with all my heart, I long to know...

the lovely,
quiet,
composed,
imperfectly perfect,
genuine,
sometimes dusty
simplicity
of a beauty, which like the alluring rose,
hides not its thorns nor its transfixing petals,
but is given the grace to cover it all
in the
sweet
scent
of humility.