That title might sound dramatic, but it’s completely true.
My husband and I drove to Cadbury Castle hill fort on Sept. 2, 2025. We had just finished a wonderful tour of Stonehenge. Having studied the navigation in advance, we knew it would take a few hours to get to the hillfort from Stonehenge, as there are no quick roads. England is full of tiny, hedged roads that look like they are barely wide enough for one vehicle (by American standards), and yet they are meant for two-way traffic. Needless to say, we did not drive very fast.
Our GPS had been prepared in advance, the route determined while still in the USA, just to be sure that we didn’t miss anything. And yet, when we arrived at the spot where the GPS said, “Arrived,” there was nothing there but a tiny dirt trail that looked like it belonged to the farmer, not the general public.
My husband doesn’t love hiking, so, as usual, he decided to stay with the car while I got out to investigate and walk the trail.
There were a lot of cows. That’s what really struck me once I got up the short burst of hillbank and onto the main pasture.
Now, my mother grew up on a ranch, and as a child, my family would go out for two weeks each summer. There we would enjoy life as if it were still, almost, frontier times. I had seen a lot of cows in those years of childhood. I had seen them up close, at a distance, in the corral, in the milk shed. I was not afraid of cows.
But… these were not my family’s cows. I was not on my family’s land. And I had not yet come to fully understand the do’s and don’ts of the English countryside, especially when it comes to venturing into traditional sites and whatnot.
I determined those cows would not stop me. After all, the tiny sign had said that this was indeed the path to Camelot. So I walked toward that barbed-wire fence with confidence, knowing I had been an expert at climbing through them as a teenager.
What I did not anticipate was that… I’m old now.
I thought I had cleared the barbed wire when, in fact, I had not. The wire caught my favorite jacket—down-filled, black, beautiful, and perfect.
Rip.
Now there were feathers flying out behind me, and my favorite jacket was ruined. And not only that. The cows began to bunch tighter and tighter together on the path in front of me, totally blocking the trail that ascended the hill.
Cold, damp, frustrated that I was scared of a few cows—my younger self would have slapped one or two on the butt and hollered for them to get out of the way. But my older, more-polite-even-to-cows self was too shy.
That honestly sounds soooooo dumb. What a chicken I was.
So I walked back to the car, and we drove down the lane looking for angles to get pictures of the hillfort, all the while my jacket was bleeding feathers.
Down feathers. Fine. Floating. Get-in-your-hair-and-up-your-nose feathers.
Thankfully, we found a lovely parking place that was actually meant for the hillfort and walked up the opposite side.
When we reached the top, it was glorious. I had not settled on an ideal location for Camelot, but I had done my research online. Everyone says that this is the spot, and it’s for a reason. As I ascended the hill, I knew the road to Camelot was perfect for my book. But when I reached the top of the hill fort, I was stunned. It truly looked like I had imagined my Camelot. It was more authentic than all the other sites we had seen so far. And it remained the undisputed perfect site, even after hiking all over Southern England.
But the most important moment for me was when I walked toward the northern wall and realized what I was seeing.
Avalon.
Camelot and Avalon are only 11 miles apart.
I determined to spend the rest of my research efforts on the history of the hill fort, specifically the Iron Age. I knew a lot about Cadbury Castle before I arrived. But after seeing it in person, walking it over and over—we went back three times—I knew this was the place.
I also knew something else. I had to include reality in my books. Feeling the air, the wind, the smells… Camelot had become real, and I had to make that reality part of the series.
My coat was destroyed. I tried to repair it with a sewing kit. My first attempt—the feathers kept peeking through. My final attempt—the feathers stayed inside, but the stitching was visible. I was sad. I gave the coat away.
Honestly, though, I still miss the coat.
BUT… would I do it again? Sacrifice the coat to find Camelot?
Absolutely.
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