As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives ... Well, we got there and didn't meet anyone with seven wives, in fact, we didn't even see a Mormon church there. It was a rather gray day, supposed to warm up later in the afternoon.

St Ives is an artist colony in Cornwall. They must be dedicated to their art, because they surely don't come here for the weather. In fact, when the Brits go to the beach, they are showing the stoicism that allowed them to live through the Blitz. A trip which has me wearing a long sleeved shirt and a sweater over it, and longing for a coat, has them wearing swimsuits and paddling around lazily in the water -- which is definitely as cold as the Pacific in Northern California.




The town is charming, but filled with tourists. Most of the art is very modern, and if there are professionals making a living at it, they aren't showing their work in the shops in St. Ives. The town is very old, there's a market building in the center of town with the date of 1490 on it. There's also a nice war memorial, which uses lots of the kind of plants that show off Cornwall's vaunted sub-tropical climate.



Finally, I have a contest-oriented project on this trip. I have a picture of a puppy. At various points I am taking pictures of the puppy in interesting places. If I'm lucky, I'll find one that Purina likes and win a trip anywhere in the world -- and hopefully, won't have to take a puppy with me.

Here's the puppy at St. Ives -- not that I have a scarf on. This is because the wind is blowing about 50 miles per hour and I'm hoping not to look like a wild woman.