Jessica Miller

But the sailor has tricked him.

He's only invited the pig aboard the ship so that the cook can serve the luckless pig to the crew for dinner.

Happily, Pig Robinson escapes and finds his way to a tropical island where he makes friends with the owl and the pussycat from the old nursery rhyme.

Although it was the last book she ever published, it was based on one of the first stories Beatrix ever wrote.

Back when she was still a young girl, spending hours in the garden at Kensington, sketching the birds and insects and mice and squirrels she spied there in her notebook.

In 1943, the age of 77 Beatrix died.

Her legacy lives on in the many books she published.

Although they have been reprinted many times, they are still just the right size for little hands to hold.

And the charming, yet precise illustrations inside continue to enchant generation after generation.

Her legacy lives on, too, in the vast acres of land she worked tirelessly to preserve throughout the Lake District.

On her death, Beatrix gifted 4,000 acres of land to the National Trust, an organization that works to preserve the British landscape.

Thanks in part to Beatrix's generous bequest, visitors to the Lake District experience a landscape largely unchanged from the scenes depicted in Beatrix's distinctive illustrations.

In summer, they might see the rolling green moors unfurled under a blue sky, ribboning through the moors the glittering streams and tiny waterfalls.

The trees that dot the landscape are in full leaf.

The gardens of the farms and cottages that stand in the fields are overgrown with a profusion of flowers and vegetables.

In autumn, they might see the moors turn a heathery purple and woodland copses burnished in autumnal colors, orange, red, copper, rust,

With every brisk flurry of wind, they would see bright leaves spinning towards the earth.

In winter, they might see frost-rimmed fields punctuated with bright bursts of green and red from the holly bushes that grow wild in the region.

The thick, white snow that lies along the moor is disturbed only by sleigh marks, or perhaps the tiny pawprint of a rabbit or two.

And in spring, they would see a carpet of wildflowers under a gentle pastel sky.