The box-cutter slashes down and the box opens, releasing by now near-toxic fumes. Casey and I grab two bags each and begin to jams their spiky masses into the new cardboard crate. The first layer involves two rows of four bags with two more bags carefully wedged between the rows ("one, two, three, push"), careful not to overstuff the crate and tear through the cardboard. Then, when all 36 bags are carefully layered in, the top of the box is seals with 437 layers of heavy-duty tape, shot out of my expertly-wielded tape dispenser as Casey holds the crate in the appropriate position. Then the crate is stacked up on the massive pile we are currently working on, and we begin with a new set of bags and a new cardboard crate. Again. And again. Day One at the Swinfen Imports Warehouse on Old London Road.

The bags that I mention above are bags of cinnamon-scented decorative Christmas Pinecones from South Carolina, where I suppose such things are made. Of course. These are the precious commodity it has become our duty to restack and organize so that they can be shipped off around the UK to be sold at exorbitant prices. Now while we are both extremely aware that this easily beats working in your standard, say, meat-packing warehouse, the smell of cinnamon, at first pleasantly aromatic, becomes slowly cloying, then heavy, suffocating, and eventually, as I may have mentioned, completely toxic. After five hours in the warehouse, reorganizing bags of cinnamon cones, the smell is anything but enjoyable, so I wander around the warehouse, to be washed clean by the more muted fragrances of orange blossom, vanilla, rose, magnolia, and jasmine. This is easily the best warehouse I have ever been in (not saying a whole lot, but still).

This is, as Casey and I see it, the first real blog post. The journey across a continent and two countries, by bus, plane, car, and train is now over, and we have arrived at our first employment. I will back up to yesterday:
As Casey mentioned, we arrived at Heathrow and took a bus up to Northampton (which, if you are an avid reader of "The World at Large" you might notice is the Second Northampton we have been to, very stange. Apparently, we are not only touring all of the world's Women's Colleges [first Smith, then Barnard] but also all of the world's Northamptonses). There we were met by my Aunt Jane Mahood, (aka "Pooty," don't ask me exactly why), and had a beautiful dinner with her and her son George (my favorite cousin, don't tell Casey) and his beautiful family, including two of the most beautiful little kids (Layla and Leo) on the entire planet. Then back to Pooty's house for an incredible night's sleep in one of the most comfortable beds I personally have ever experienced. But when we woke, it got even better, as we were greeted with a breakfast of bacon sandwiches, gourmet granola (Dad, you would go nuts for this stuff, no pun intended), fresh fruit, and chocolate pudding (which apparently isn't a normal thing to have for breakfast but, after this, I think it Should be). Served with breakfast was traditional English tea, a delicacy utterly impossible to replicate in Any other corner of the globe. Pooty then sent us on our way on the local train up to Lichfield, leaving indelibly in our minds one of the warmest welcomes either of us have ever recieved anywhere, and an excellent beginning to our English odyssey. She is a one-of-a-kind hostess.

The English trains are (although heartbreakingly expensive for us backpackers) incredibly comfortable and efficient. Our train glided along through the brilliantly green patchwork quilt of open fields, grazing sheep, and tall hedges. A vastly different landscape from the corn, corn, and corn vistas of the American midwest. Before we knew it, we were at Lichfield Trent Valley station, where we were picked up almost instantaneously by cousin and Boss (or "Guvnah" as he likes to be addressed by us warehouse workers) Ben Stubbs.

Now seems like an appropriate time to give a brief run-through of all the characters of the British Stubbs clan with whom we are now living (skip this if you don't care and would rather be confused for the next 200 blog posts). The Stubbses are an ancient English line, stretching way back past William the Conquerer. A dynasty of farmers, pig owners, and groundskeepers with not a single bit of royal or even remotely noble blood in a thousand years. Hence the very wise move of my Grandfather Denys (recently deceased) to marry into the powerful and influential Cassidy family with my Grandmother Margaret (even more recently deceased). They had five children. The most well-known (although not well known for anything of merit) is Tom Stubbs. If you don't know who I am referring to I suggest you get off my blog. Then there is Pooty (married to John), with children George and Joey. George, Pooty and George's family you have already read about, John is a retired doctor and Joey is a super-high-powered Lawyer currently dominating the legal scene in Hong Kong. Then there are the Cornwall Stubbs', who I want talk about because, for now (thank god!) they remain in Cornwall. Then there is Aunt Emma, whose various eccentricities I cannot fit here but suffice to say she has a LOT of them. Her children are Jasper, Camille, and Conrad, who is starting in Estate Management at Uni this week. Finally uncle Simon whose wife is Lesley and whose children are Ben (wife Kat, children the adorable Quinn and Anya) and Toby (wife Kate, not to be confused with Kat, or wait maybe its Kat not to be confused with...nevermind), the owners and operators of the Import Business we are now working for. There you go, full circle!!

So back to something interesting: we arrived, Ben showed us into his lovely house known as White House (the Stubbses have lived here for 100 years this year), which he and Kat have recently renovated from the musty abode of my Grandmother into a vibrantly colorful wonderland of great decor and loud music. Then we immediately set to work on what is known around here as "The Cinnamon Project." Worked until our hands were bleeding etc.etc.etc., then retired for a beautiful dinner cooked by Emma (chicken curry and rice, she is an Awesome cook). Then we went to feed the pigs, which is, like, I guess, what you do on a farm. Gross, man.

Now I think we will have some more tea, watch some traditional English cinema (Austin Powers...oh yeah baby) and hit the hay. Like a pig. Or like two pigs, that is.