Hiking and History

Yesterday we took the dogs for hike with my brother Darren. I am pretty sure Buddy felt like he was on a death march when we were done but he was such a trooper! 

This week I wrote a story about Anastasia per request of The Fly On The Wall. It was a lot of fun to pretend to be someone from history! I hope you enjoy it! 

Our house is over the ridge somewhere!

Week 10 (9-15 March 2015)

Climbing Trees and Causing Mischief: A Tale of the Youngest Romanov Daughter

She was supposed to be studying but grammar would have to wait. Anastasia, or Nastya as her family called her, could hear the birds chirping outside the walls of the Alexander Palace. Her wild spirit was aching to burst through the doors and run the grounds of her family's favorite imperial home. Her tutor had left for just a brief moment while Nastya quietly studied, what a mistake that was. She peeked her head out of the room and checked the halls. As soon as she was sure the coast was clear she darted down the hallway to freedom. The constraints of rigid studying were just not for he; she liked to play in mud and chase fantasies. She was almost out the door when a servant saw her.

“Grand Princess, aren't you supposed to be studying? Your father would not approve of you fleeing your duties little miss,”

“I am just Anastasia, not Grand Princess, and my father doesn't have to know now does he?” announced Nastya with as much attitude as her little 11 year old self could muster.

“Oh little imp, I answer to your father not you. Now you best go back to your studies,” the robust servant knew the children's schedule and knew Anastasia was a feisty child. She also knew better than to bend to the whim of an insubordinate imperial princess. She sternly locked eyes with the little rebel but the child had a mind of her own. She kicked the servant in her right knee and charged the outside door. She knew she would be in trouble for that later but she would bunker out in a far off tree until someone physically removed her.

The bright summer sun kissed her cheeks and flushed her eyes in a temporary white blindness. She covered her eyes and ran as fast as she could across the perfectly manicured green grass. The crisp air was filled with hints of citrus and lilacs. She slowed her pace as it seemed no one was following her, she was free for now. She found her favorite tree at the edge of the grounds and began to climb. Her mother and sisters would die of embarrassment if they saw her climbing like a boy but she didn't care. Sitting in the trees was her peaceful place. She grabbed the rough bark, settled her feet and scaled the tree until she was hid from sight. She cozyed into the crook of the tree. It was a comfortable spot she found as a young child. In her tree she took pictures of the bugs that crawled up the branches. The leaves as they swayed in the wind. The landscape as it sat picturesque on the horizon.

When Nastya was done taking pictures, she gently set her camera down next to her. She could hear her tutor yelling for her but she did not budge. Her father would eventually come to take her down from the tree. Only he knew where she secreted away and, though she would be punished, he would never give away her hiding place. She was the beloved youngest Romanov daughter. Shorter than her sisters and more prone to chubbiness, as they said, she still managed to obtain the ageless beauty of her mother. Her two older sisters, Olga and Tatiana, would soon be an age where they would make their debut and find suitors. Anastasia and her other sister Maria were still too young but everyone knew Maria would make the best wife and mother. Nastya liked to think about her life as she sat in her happy tree.

She wouldn't debut in public for several more years but she imagined the balls she would dance at with her sisters and her brother. They would laugh and prance showing all of Russia how glorious the imperial family could be. Most likely her sisters and herself would be shuffled off to various cousins in Europe but as long as she dreamed her family would stay together. A lot of Russia did not like her mother for being a foreigner but at her imaginary ball they adored the Empress. They would stay up all night long, roaring in joyous laughter as they ate sweet treats with no care in the world if they dirtied their white gloves.

As she daydreamed about chocolate stained gloves, Anastasia grabbed some flowers and leaves out of her tree. Her mother loved her hair pinned up and tied back but Nastya preferred it loose and wild. She hummed a nursery rhyme her father taught her and created a floral crown around her head. She was well known for her “undignified” flower hair pieces. Her aunts did not approve of the flowers in her hair but her Papa told her that the Russian people were very fond of the new vogue style she had rebelliously created. Pride glittered her face as she made her latest crown from nature. A cool breeze kissed her cheek and her little Pomeranian, Shvibzik, barked in the distance. As she placed the pretty head piece atop her flurried hair she heard a sweetly stern voice.

“Anastasia, you are supposed to be studying.”

“I am Papa, see, I have my camera and I am thinking about my grammar,” she smiled at her dear father, the Emperor.

“My little imp, I do not believe your grammar is playing in your daydreams,”

“Okay Papa, I am not thinking of my grammar lessons. They are so boring! I cannot practice words any longer,” she furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose in disdain.

“Your mama will be very upset. You hurt that servant you know. You will have to write an apology since you did not finish you grammar and spelling,” her Papa ascended the tree and reached his hand out for his Nastya, “Let's go home now. I will have to punish you you know, we cannot let Alexei and other Russian children believe they can be so naughty.”

“Yes Papa,” she took his hand and crawled onto his back to be carried from her happy tree.

“If you take your punishment gracefully I will bring you a treat when I come to read you a story before bedtime but don't tell your sisters or brother... or Mama,” he pinched her nose and kissed her cheek. She felt like she was a small child again, safe in her Papa's arms as they crossed the lawn to their relatively simple palace. She hugged her Papa's neck and nuzzled him tightly. She loved her family and knew that they would live merry lives whether they lived in far off lands or stayed together in Russia. In spirit they would never be apart.