Growing up, we spent almost every summer visiting my grandparents in Cornwall, England, and it was easily the most magical part of our childhoods. (The beaches! The boats! The pirate lore!) Now, as adults, we try to take our own children every couple years, and it makes my heart burst. Here are a few photos from our trip last week…
We stayed at my grandmother’s house in Polruan, a tiny fishing village, overlooking the harbor.
The cousins — aged 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8!
Every morning, and many afternoons, my grandmother would sit in her garden and work on her embroidered pillows. She busts out one a month, and my aunt says they don’t know what to do with them all! Here she’s working on a Klimt pattern, as she says “the complicated ones are rather fun.”
During the day, we’d often go on a boat ride into the ocean…
Other times the kids would go crabbing. (They caught zero crabs, but the attempts were valiant!)
And one afternoon, we went on an adventure to Sam’s on the Beach, a restaurant a couple towns over. My great uncle Donald ordered bottles of rosé, and we ate seafood pasta and fish and chips…
…while the kids played in the sand.
Then, most evenings, around 6 p.m. (or “drinks o’clock,” as my cousins say), we’d come together in the garden for snacks and wine before dinner. The kids would run around or watch cartoons, and we’d relax after the day.
We felt so lucky to stay with my grandmother, and I snapped this photo of her bedroom. How beautiful are the purple walls?
Right next door, in the room where we were sleeping, Anton was playing with the dollhouse my grandfather built decades ago. My grandfather was passionate about every detail, including a grand piano, a miniature cheese plate, and tiny lamps that actually turned on (!).
Doesn’t it look right out of a house tour?
At the end of the week, we flew home to New York, and I got the sweetest email from my aunt: “Now you have all left, the silence is deafening. I’ve been sweeping up sand and the odd lost toy and sock, sticky marmalade patches on the floor, the stinky crab line — and loads of empty wine bottles. The machinery is humming and the dryer buzzer keeps going off. I definitely feel miserable to have the place boringly cleaner and tidier. Sadly it all goes back. We all go back.” Truer words. I’ve been so homesick this week and miss the salty air and soundtrack of seagulls. Please don’t forget about us, Cornwall. We’ll see you in two years! xoxo
P.S. Our past four England trips — Toby and Anton are so teeny.