Fountains Abbey in the Snow
Fountains Abbey is one of North Yorkshire’s jewels. This stunning work of medieval architecture is what remains of a Cistercian monastery founded in 1132. If you look it up on Wikipedia as my husband and I did on our first visit, you’ll find the abbey has a very storied beginning: it was founded by a group of monks who were kicked out of the Benedictine House of St. Mary’s Abbey in York after a riot there. Something about this story makes us laugh and appeals to our imaginations.
This UNESCO World Heritage site is operated by The National Trust and is only three and a half miles from the small cathedral city of Ripon. It’s connected to beautiful water gardens with a deer park. Walking all around the property can take a few hours if you want it too, but you can also go for a shorter walk.
Six years ago my family and I spend a snowy January morning walking around the abbey. The ground is already completely covered in its white blanket when we arrive, and we follow the familiar path past the field of grazing sheep, working extra hard for sustenance in the snow.
There’s a walk downhill and around a corner, and the abbey is slowly revealed. When we finally clear the trees and the view opens up, it takes my breath away. It may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But I have that thought often in England—beautiful sights abound. The newly fallen snow is as yet untouched, and my kids make the first tracks in it, eager to build a snowman. That morning carrots, bits of coal, scarves, and hats are left out for visitors who want to build snowmen. We build a Snow Lady called Violet.
The snow brings a quiet hush with it. The water in the River Skell slips by, but all of the sudden the stillness is broken by singing. A woman’s voice rises from within the tall stone walls like a prayer. The snow begins again to fall fast.
Every story needs an exciting denouement, and this story is no exception. It’s beginning to feel like we are playing in a snow globe all alone when a group of chattering, laughing young women approach our Snow Lady. I’m keeping my camera dry for the moment inside the cloister, and my children are jumping off a stone wall. The girls have no idea we are the proud builders. They gather around Violet, wrapping their arms around her for a picture…and disaster strikes. Poor Violet. Her head tumbles to the ground amongst more gleeful shouting by the girls. She had a short and happy life.