The great thing about the rain here is that when it stops, the sun SHINES! Nothing says Spring like a stroll along the Thames on a bright morning in May. Two of my favorite places near the river, Port Meadow and the Christ Church Meadow, are areas open to the public. They both provide those tell-tale signs of the end of winter – baby ducks, yellow and blue flowers, punters on the river, and the promise of a warm touch of the sun when the crisp breeze stills for a moment. But the one thing that can make or break the experience is an animal associated with the peaceful English landscape. I’m talking about those daft, lumbering cows we see when we are nostalgic and dreaming about the “simple” life. It turns out that I am a bit afraid of cows.

Christ Church Meadow is bounded by the River Thames (also known here as the Isis) and the River Cherwell. From the entrance off St. Aldates, a wide path takes a visitor past the Meadow Building and Merton College to the north and the meadow to the south. It is difficult to appreciate the meadow without following the wider path for a ways until it forks with one branch leading to Rose Lane via the Botanic Gardens and the other following the Cherwell until it meets the Thames. The narrow, serpentine flow of the Cherwell accommodates those wishing to meander along its waters in paddleboats and punts.

The rowers take to the Thames where they glide around tour boats, punts, houseboats, and the odd kayaker.

There is a tree-lined path where glimpses of the meadow appear between trees. It is through these windows that the full expanse of the meadow can be seen. The easy walk along the river hides the distance covered over the shady path, so when the path begins to turn to meet up with the Thames, the expanse of the meadow, at least for me, is a surprise when Christ Church Cathedral and Merton College are viewed from that point.

The meadow is fenced, and within the barrier, long horned cattle graze near the New Walk, the wooded path leading from the Meadows Building to the Thames near Folly Bridge and the place in the river where the rowers turn their boats around. The best feature of Christ Church Meadow is that fence. The herd is contained. They munch the green grasses near the walkway, doing what cows are supposed to do. A cow’s purpose is to add to the ambiance of the pastoral scene. The passersby may stop and view the scene, but there is no requirement or expectation to interact with the beasts.

This is not the case in Port Meadow, because sometime in the 10^th century, Alfred the Great rewarded the Freemen of Oxford with free grazing rights on this land and then someone wrote it down in 1086 in the Domesday Book. The Domesday Book holds the results of the land survey undertaken by William the Conqueror. To be fair, this arrangement is responsible for the preservation of Port Meadow. There are artifacts and medieval peoples buried in the soggy earth of Port Meadow where no excavation or development has disturbed them, because it has not been plowed since Alfred bequeathed the land to the Freemen.

Much of Port Meadow is a flood plain. In a cold winter, the water freezes solid enough for ice skating. Someone told me that he didn’t worry too much about breaking through the ice, because drowning is unlikely with the amount of water on the meadow. I’ve seen photos of people skating on Port Meadow and it looks awesome! But I am here in the spring, a time of intermittent flooding and rain. However, to experience a dry, sunny day on Port Meadow in early May is to experience spring at its finest. I was lucky to find such a day.

My mid-morning walk began at the entrance near The Trout, a pub on Godstow Rd. On the opposite side of the river, there is a path that winds past the ruins of the Godstow Abbey. Legend and modern accounts tell of May Day mornings when, as the sun rises, spectral singing can be heard from the abbey. Unfortunately, I had to choose between the Hymnus Eucharisticus sung from Magdalen College tower or the abbey on May Day. Since I went to Magdalen Bridge, I cannot attest to the ghostly chorus in Godstow.

After the abbey, the path leads past the lock into the fields where cows and horses graze. It is most important to remember to shut the gates along the way. This keeps the cows in their rightful place. The walk is pleasant and quite tranquil at times. About half-way from the Trout, there is a path that leads to The Perch, another oldish pub and a welcome place for lunch or a drink. This junction is where I had my encounter with the mad cows.

My walk began, as most do on a life-is-worth-living day like that, with a thoughtful gaze at the abbey. I then admired the goslings and ducklings as they ventured out onto the banks of the Thames. Rowers practiced alongside the tour boats and kayaks.                                                                                        Rabbit families hopped beside me as I walked. When I stopped they stood frozen on the meadow or scurried their young into the bushes. The grass glowed with white and purple spring flowers. Bees buzzed. Birds sang. You get the picture. On a normal day I would add the picture of cows lolling about in the field, content with their life on the meadow. Those cows have lost their status in this picture of an English countryside.

If you do an internet search with the questions “Are cows dangerous?” or “Do cows kill people?,” the answer likely will include a statistic that tells you that a cow is more dangerous than a shark. The number most often given for cow attack victims is around 100 in the U.S. every year compared to the latest, global number of fatalities from shark attacks. This claim is a bit suspect because it does not take into account the number of human to animal encounters. I imagine if the same number of people that encounter cows encountered sharks, then sharks would beat out cows in the statistics. I must say, though, that I have been in the water somewhere near-ish a Tiger shark and it did not attack me. (See this link for a scary shark photo  http://www.thomaspeschak.com/kayak-great-white-sharks-/  ) I cannot say the same for a certain cow.

The plan was to drop by The Perch for lunch. Just a few yards from the gate, a mother cow, who had been grazing near the river, charged at me as I walked past her and her calf. I retreated, waited a while and tried the long way around her, but she charged again. Other than running, I have no idea how to handle an aggressive cow. Another walker joined me (he knows about cows). While we waited to see if she might leave, the rest of the herd decided to try and escape through the closed gate. They reminded me of a Gary Larson cartoon as they bunched up against the gate to nowhere. While the others jostled for position, the mother cow took sentry duty and bleated her non-stop warning. My new friend knew enough not to challenge a mother who was much bigger and faster than us. We went back the way we came.

Port Meadow is ruined for me now. What if she is just waiting to jump out at me the next time I enter her turf? What if I now have a cow stalker? One morning I will wake to find her leaning against the lamppost with cigarette butts scattered around her hooves.