Thursday, September 13, 2007
Verderonne
Caroline went to Paris yesterday afternoon and so the rest of the household, just Leonard the Swede and Jack the American, and us, enjoyed a quiet, simple, and delicious dinner, thanks to Jack and Leonard’s trip to the store to get us cream, lettuce, and a fresh baguette. I made a green salad, and spaghetti carbonara. Leonard, Walt, and Reed worked yesterday to peel and freeze apples at Caroline’s request, and sometime today or tomorrow I’m going to try to make quince jam and crabapple jelly. We’ll see how it goes; fortunately I have good internet access here so I can look up recipes online rather than having to rely on the French cookbooks in the kitchen.
More progress made in the kitchen, too: I cleaned out the cupboard so I could see what was there, mainly to look for bouillon so I could make French onion soup for lunch yesterday. I found the bouillon, and more sugar, too, so I did make the soup with onions that Reed dug from the garden (and he loved the soup), and today I’ll make another apple tart, since we have endless amounts of apples and Caroline actually got lots of flour and butter last weekend when I asked her to, in contrast to the day before yesterday when the only things she got from the list I made were potatoes and oranges. No milk, no eggs, no lettuce. I do understand she has financial troubles but how can I cook without those basic things? We do have quite a supply of camembert, though, and there is a bag of frog legs in the freezer, so as I said, we won’t starve.
Also in the cupboard is confit de canard in a can. Jack explained that you warm up the confit in a skillet, then take out the duck, and then fry potatoes in the fat. We’ll have that on Friday night, I think, since Caroline said we’re having a little company and she also will be back from Paris that day.
The other day Caroline took us out to collect blackberries, only we couldn’t reach them because of a corn field planted too close. So we picked up fresh walnuts instead, which we could reach. We quickly filled all of our bags, and then Caroline offered to drive them back so that we could walk. Reed didn’t want to walk, so he went with Caroline in the car while Walt and I had a nice leisurely hour walk around a circle through the wooded country. We did find a handful of blackberries on the way, but mostly just enjoyed the solitude, and seeing a pasture of cows.
Today we’ll take it easy and Jack has promised to take us sightseeing in his car, so we can see some of the area. Hermine of Chateau de Sacy (our original WWOOF host for this time who asked us to postpone) has invited us all for tea at 4 pm so we can talk to her more and see the chateau, which she says is very small, not nearly as grand as this manor house. I’ve learned that Caroline’s grandfather used to own the Chateau de Verderonne and all the land around here as well as this manor house. This is the first time I’ve experienced the situation that I’ve read about in books and seen in movies, where someone from a noble family has a property worth millions but no money to buy groceries or fix the wiring. It is not a situation I’d want to be in, but I’m considering writing about it, it would be a good plot for a novel or a mystery. I suppose if I were Caroline I’d start by selling all the things that weren’t valuable at a vide grenier (empty the attic sale), then by inviting an antique dealer to pick out some things. Then, I’d make sure I had a couple paying boarders for income to buy food, and then figure out a way to get someone like us here to stay for a while to take care of the grounds and the house. But I’m sure it’s all easier in theory than in practice. The poor housekeeper who only comes once a week must never get caught up. I tried to help her yesterday by ironing all the clean dishtowels and pillowcases piled on top of the washer, and by folding all the clean towels. It’s tempting to stay on here to continue making progress but on the other hand, life is too short to spend dealing with someone’s else’s mess, right? Also, I have a feeling this room will be freezing when it gets cold outside; there’s only one small radiator that doesn’t look like it’s working. The bathroom radiator works fine but wouldn’t help this room much.
I realize I haven’t explained much about WWOOF. The acronym stands for Worldwide Opportunities (or Willing Workers) On Organic Farms. It’s an organization that started in England in the 1970s to help connect non-farmers with farms. You can join and then as a member you can access the complete list of host farms and their contact information. Usually WWOOFers are younger than we are, but it provides an opportunity for all ages, really. The deal is that you work in exchange for room and board. Leonard is 30 and he is here mainly to learn French. Jack is willing to give French lessons every day, so he’ll make quick progress I’m sure. We’re benefiting from that too but since we’re not staying the lessons will be short lived.
Reed made it through the big to do on Sunday with flying colors, running around and riding on his tractor and making art, and then fell apart on Monday, whining and crying all day as a result of being tired, homesick, and not well nourished. Probably the rest of the artists leaving after they got the spectac stuff packed up made him sad too. So I made sure to feed him well on Monday and snuggle with him quite a bit, and then got him to bed early, and that helped. He’s doing very well considering how long we’ve been away from home and how different each situation is. This house, for instance, is huge, with three flights of stairs up to our room. The stairs are very wide, with large landings, and tiled with octagonal clay tiles that must date back a hundred years or more. There are books piled on the steps and the landings, and overflowing bookshelves on two landings and overflowing toy shelves on the other, for Caroline’s grandchildren. At the top landing is a small open bedroom, the door to Leonard’s room where there are actually 4 beds (the children’s room, Caroline said), and our door, which leads into a barnloft-type room with sloping celings held up by huge beams. The cold masonry floor is covered with a hodge podge of oriental rugs. There are 3 very small beds, a double bed that lists a little to my side, a marble topped secretary desk, a wobbly table that I’m using for my bedside table, a very heavy dining table, two large antique armoires, and an antique cradle. There is a modern bathroom installed in the little room that from the outside looks a bit like a tower, that you enter through a small door. Walt has to duck through it but I just fit.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
La Vernissage (The Opening)
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Verderonne
If you had told me a week ago that I would be preparing a buffet for 100 people for an art opening at a museum in a French village, with many of the guests from Paris, I would have laughed… but that’s why I haven’t written for two days. One day to cook, one day to recover.
Sunday morning I began at 8 a.m. by trying to make zucchini bread from memory. Despite the electricity turning off and on a few times, while the artists from Paris tried to get their “spectac” (think in terms of a spectacle) operating, and Caroline ran in and out of the house looking for switches and breakers to turn off, I managed to burn the bottom of the loaves. But when Walt sliced off the bad parts and cut it into cute little pieces and arranged it on a platter, suddenly we had gateau de courgette, which was quite popular. I made it again last night just for the 6 of us. Then I made two huge bowls of cold pasta salad, a large bowl of zucchini salad a la cucumber salad, another very large bowl of carrot/apple/raisin/rice salad dressed with fromage blanc and cinnamon, and three large potato/ham/onion frittatas, which also disappeared into those French mouths as fast as you can say “delicieux.” We had cornichons (pickles), saucisson (sausage), platters of cauliflower, carrot sticks, and pepper spears with dip, lots of bread, a brie cheese that was about 2 feet in diameter, and a big bowl of tabbouleh salad as well. Caroline’s friend Marie arrived in the nick of time to help make things look nice: arranging the tablecloths, potting up the rillettes in a terrine, arranging bread in a basket, etc. Thank god; I didn’t know how to do any of that or where to even begin looking for tablecloths. And Caroline’s friend Gilles came and whipped up a big punchbowl of sangria, which I was glad to get a glass of after everything was ready to go.
Russell and Caroline frantically finished installing all the black and white photos of the villagers on the wall in one room of the museum after Russell went to church and Caroline was cursing him for it, and the spectac artists found a generator to power their installation, which consisted of Gilbert dressed like a ballerina, on his knees on an electrically powered thing that went back and forth, with the little pink shoes at his knees like they were his feet, and wearing a tutu of electrical cords with little lights that twirled around. There was also a pretend monkey on a wire that tried to light his cigarette on a blast of real flame, a huge pig with a crown of flames, a few doll’s heads that twirled around, and a big armoire that shook back and forth with a mirror and doors that banged open and shut, all electronically. I didn’t understand any of it but it was amusing to watch, if a little strange, and Caroline says it was all very suggestive. Reed was fascinated by the technical aspects and fortunately didn’t understand any of the words. Later on in the evening Gilbert gave a monologue performance that was wonderful to watch; he must be quite an actor. Afterwards when I told him the spectac was great, he said the food was great too.
Walt and Leonard were in charge of the bar, so after Walt helped me in the kitchen all morning with peeling potatoes and similar tasks, he and Leonard went off to get ready to serve coffee and beer and wine in one of the outbuildings, next to where a woman was teaching people how to make paper from vegetable fibers. Reed got to do that, of course, and then he fell in love with the woman’s daughter, Laura, who is a college student and very beautiful of course. It was quite a day for Reed, really, as he spent the morning making some of his little mini artworks, which he started giving to everyone, and since they were held together with paper clips they worked well as lapel decorations. So Marie and some of Caroline’s other friends were all wearing them. There was also a painter named Connie from Germany who came to do some performance art that involved garbage cans and books, and Huberto from Germany had installed books in various places around the garden, adding to the festive atmosphere.
Guests started arriving a little before three, which was the opening time, and people milled around, going to see the spectac on the hour, looking at the different exhibits, drinking coffee, etc., and then suddenly, it was 6, and the buffet opened, pounced upon, practically, like the cats are always doing to dairy products left unattended in the kitchen. At one point when I was refilling one of the bowls, Caroline announced, “And here is the cook!” – introducing me to the crowd of people with full mouths – embarrassing me but secretly thrilling me too. A few people then came to talk to me after that, dispelling my idea that all French people are standoffish, and that Parisians especially are snobs. Not so. And the envy expressed by some young Australians of our living situation made me realize once again how lucky we are to be in this lovely old house with such nice people.
When it got dark and all the food was gone around 9 pm I started cleaning up the dishes, rescuing the remains of the brie from the cats who had started feasting on the leftovers, and staggered up to bed around 10 pm, knowing I wouldn’t have to get up or do any work on Monday if I chose not to. Still, I couldn’t sleep for a few hours, knowing how happy Caroline was with the event and with Marie’s praises ringing in my ears. I’m a simple girl, and easy to gratify, I guess, like a puppy. Good girl, good girl!!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
A Cleaner but Still Dimly Lit Place
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Verderonne
The cupboard is slowly being emptied here, as I rustle up lunch and dinner for 10 or 12 people every day. Yesterday we had couscous (from the store), sausage (saucisson), lettuce salade avec tomate and avocado, cheese, and applesauce. Last night I fixed rice with a tomato/pepper/onion/garlic/mushroom kind of ratatouille sauce, and another apple tart. And we finally managed to get someone to the store to get red wine, bread, and cheese, just in the nick of time. We started with an appetizer of rillettes, which is basically shredded cooked meat preserved in fat. You scrape the fat off the top and then at the table you use your knife to get a glob of it on the edge of your plate, and then you break your pieces of baguette into smaller pieces and spread a little of the rillettes on the bread. It sounds like something you'd have to make but you can buy it in little pink cartons at the store. Yum.
Last night Walt and I talked about the hundreds of houses like this all over France that need help like us; we could be on to something, if we could find a situation where we had good living quarters and good working conditions… we like Caroline and this place a lot and lord knows she could use us but Walt and I both know it won’t do for a long-term situation. Although I did get to go for a walk before lunch and discovered how pretty this little village is; a timbered house is just down the road and there is a long double row of ancient plane trees that once upon a time lined the road to the chateau's front gate. Now, there is a little square with a park in it in front of the gates, and the trees stretch down the grassy expanse.
A German artist named Hubert arrived on Friday, to do an installation of books in interesting places outside, and then later in the afternoon, Francoise and Leo, friends of Caroline’s, arrived as well. They are artists and Leo has an opening at a gallery in Paris tonight. Marie, another of Caroline’s friends, who lives in Le Mans but who used to live here, spent the day sweeping and dusting around the house, a very welcome activity, a nice match to me in the kitchen whipping the fridge into shape with great quantities of antibacterial spray. I tossed a lot of old stuff, too. Then, everyone was here for dinner so there were no leftovers afterwards, except for 3 pieces of apple tart. Hubert had one for breakfast, and Reed and Walt and I finished off the others for a snack this afternoon. Caroline is supposed to be grocery shopping this afternoon so Marie and I can get the buffet ready tomorrow and so I can cook tonight – more roast chicken, with potatoes, a salad, bread, cheese, and something for dessert, I don’t yet know what, it depends if she gets me some cream so I can make a mousse.
The sun came out this morning and stayed out at last. When I woke up at 8 a.m. I could see the fog burning off, as I brushed my teeth in front of our round window in the bathroom that overlooks the courtyard. So we’re all enjoying the fine day. Leo and Francoise took the train to Paris, but 3 other artistes arrived to do a big installation. Russell and Leonard were off printing the photos of the villagers. Lunchtime today was a clean out the fridge and cupboard affair at Caroline’s request: I used the leftover rice and lentils to make a cold curried rice dish by adding raisins, almonds, and curry spice to it. I also made a cold salad out of a zucchini, kind of like cucumber salad, by marinating thinly sliced fresh zucchini with white wine vinegar and a little sugar, with sliced onions. Then I made the vinaigrette creamy by adding some mayonnaise. We also had cold sliced beets, and I made pretty plates of sliced avocados and surimi rolls. To start I used the two sausages that were hanging from the lamp in the kitchen, the kind that look that they’re all shriveled and disgusting but are so delicious. And I did dust them off first. We sat outside under the umbrellas at the tables, and nobody complained about not having any bread. One of the artists was very complimentary of the meal, and Caroline has been calling me the cook sent from the sky and I’m beginning to realize that the French aren’t food snobs, they just appreciate a meal prepared with creativity and attentiveness. So much for thinking that I would learn how to cook in France – it appears I already know how to cook, I just need to learn more recipes! I am, by the way, lucky to have learned how to make a good pie crust in Iowa, right before we left. I’ve used that recipe twice here for apple tarts, to great acclaim.
Flour, butter, egg, vinegar, water, salt.
Sliced apples, cinnamon, sugar, vanilla or orange sugar, and applesauce or plum jam.
Verderonne
The cupboard is slowly being emptied here, as I rustle up lunch and dinner for 10 or 12 people every day. Yesterday we had couscous (from the store), sausage (saucisson), lettuce salade avec tomate and avocado, cheese, and applesauce. Last night I fixed rice with a tomato/pepper/onion/garlic/mushroom kind of ratatouille sauce, and another apple tart. And we finally managed to get someone to the store to get red wine, bread, and cheese, just in the nick of time. We started with an appetizer of rillettes, which is basically shredded cooked meat preserved in fat. You scrape the fat off the top and then at the table you use your knife to get a glob of it on the edge of your plate, and then you break your pieces of baguette into smaller pieces and spread a little of the rillettes on the bread. It sounds like something you'd have to make but you can buy it in little pink cartons at the store. Yum.
Last night Walt and I talked about the hundreds of houses like this all over France that need help like us; we could be on to something, if we could find a situation where we had good living quarters and good working conditions… we like Caroline and this place a lot and lord knows she could use us but Walt and I both know it won’t do for a long-term situation. Although I did get to go for a walk before lunch and discovered how pretty this little village is; a timbered house is just down the road and there is a long double row of ancient plane trees that once upon a time lined the road to the chateau's front gate. Now, there is a little square with a park in it in front of the gates, and the trees stretch down the grassy expanse.
A German artist named Hubert arrived on Friday, to do an installation of books in interesting places outside, and then later in the afternoon, Francoise and Leo, friends of Caroline’s, arrived as well. They are artists and Leo has an opening at a gallery in Paris tonight. Marie, another of Caroline’s friends, who lives in Le Mans but who used to live here, spent the day sweeping and dusting around the house, a very welcome activity, a nice match to me in the kitchen whipping the fridge into shape with great quantities of antibacterial spray. I tossed a lot of old stuff, too. Then, everyone was here for dinner so there were no leftovers afterwards, except for 3 pieces of apple tart. Hubert had one for breakfast, and Reed and Walt and I finished off the others for a snack this afternoon. Caroline is supposed to be grocery shopping this afternoon so Marie and I can get the buffet ready tomorrow and so I can cook tonight – more roast chicken, with potatoes, a salad, bread, cheese, and something for dessert, I don’t yet know what, it depends if she gets me some cream so I can make a mousse.
The sun came out this morning and stayed out at last. When I woke up at 8 a.m. I could see the fog burning off, as I brushed my teeth in front of our round window in the bathroom that overlooks the courtyard. So we’re all enjoying the fine day. Leo and Francoise took the train to Paris, but 3 other artistes arrived to do a big installation. Russell and Leonard were off printing the photos of the villagers. Lunchtime today was a clean out the fridge and cupboard affair at Caroline’s request: I used the leftover rice and lentils to make a cold curried rice dish by adding raisins, almonds, and curry spice to it. I also made a cold salad out of a zucchini, kind of like cucumber salad, by marinating thinly sliced fresh zucchini with white wine vinegar and a little sugar, with sliced onions. Then I made the vinaigrette creamy by adding some mayonnaise. We also had cold sliced beets, and I made pretty plates of sliced avocados and surimi rolls. To start I used the two sausages that were hanging from the lamp in the kitchen, the kind that look that they’re all shriveled and disgusting but are so delicious. And I did dust them off first. We sat outside under the umbrellas at the tables, and nobody complained about not having any bread. One of the artists was very complimentary of the meal, and Caroline has been calling me the cook sent from the sky and I’m beginning to realize that the French aren’t food snobs, they just appreciate a meal prepared with creativity and attentiveness. So much for thinking that I would learn how to cook in France – it appears I already know how to cook, I just need to learn more recipes! I am, by the way, lucky to have learned how to make a good pie crust in Iowa, right before we left. I’ve used that recipe twice here for apple tarts, to great acclaim.
Flour, butter, egg, vinegar, water, salt.
Sliced apples, cinnamon, sugar, vanilla or orange sugar, and applesauce or plum jam.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Manoir du Boulanc
Friday, September 7, 2007
Centre Artistique de Verderonne, Manoir du Boulanc, Verderonne, France
With WWOOFing, it is truly a case of getting what you ask for. Last Sunday, when our first host at Chateau de Sacy asked us via email to postpone our visit (we were supposed to arrive on Wednesday!), I sent out a panicked email to the next possibilities close to Paris, mentioning only that Walt was a gardener, and that I was an amateur cook. Well, Caroline, who inherited this huge house and runs it as an art center, wrote back and said she’d love to have us, it would be perfect since she has an opening this weekend for an exhibition and we could help with preparations. So, Walt has been mowing the huge overgrown lawn while I wash dishes and cook for the household, which at the moment includes Leonard, a Swedish twenty-something WWOOFer who is pleasant and so fluent in English he SOUNDS English; Jack, an American who has lived in France for 45 years but was raised in Kansas City and rents one of the manor’s large rooms, where he works as a translator, currently for Starbucks; Russell, an Australian who WWOOFed here for 2 years and whose photography exhibit of the residents of Verderonne is opening this weekend; and the owner, Caroline, an unpredictable, welcoming, and vivacious artiste with lots of ideas but not enough money; and finally, two old golden retrievers named Lucky and Luc, a herd of cats, and us. I’ve probably seen most of Lucky and Luc, since they enjoy hanging out in the kitchen while I’m there, lying on the terra cotta tile floor between the sink and the stove so that I have to step over them every few minutes. While I cook, I listen to French talk radio on a small boom box shoved in next to the breadbox and coffeemaker.
The kitchen is exactly what you picture a French country kitchen to look like, with blue and white tiles on the walls, an ancient wooden table with mismatched chairs in the center of the room, baskets of zucchini and peaches and oranges and tomatoes on the tile counter and great table, and a pair of doors leading out to the garden. Now, take that picture, and add more clutter, with empty bottles crowding the tiled windowsills, flats of apples from the orchard piled up on one end of the room, baskets of spice jars and stacks of baskets and trays taking up valuable counter space, a stove that doesn’t work slouching next to the one that does, applesauce canning apparatus, a deep pantry containing the basics plus the odd can of hearts of palm, and a small refrigerator desperately in need of a firm hand. For me, it is almost a spiritual practice, to work in this kitchen for only 6 or 8 hours a day, concentrating most of my efforts simply on washing dishes and preparing the next meal, rather than worrying about the state of it, which is simply the result of a busy mistress with other priorities, and a series of indifferent WWOOFers, probably. But the entire house is filled with lovely crusty antiques, dusty pieces of art, wooden armoires older than the United States filled with ancient curtains and woolen blankets, shelves and shelves of books, cupboards jampacked with antique dishes…and I’ve only seen half of the house.
We arrived here at lunchtime on Wednesday, after a strangely uneventful – no delays, no frustrations, no lost luggage, no missed trains – trip from Chicago. Must've been good juju from Ann and Harry in Chicago. Reed only slept for one hour the whole night, of course, and Walt and I slept none, but while Reed took a long nap Wednesday afternoon, Walt and I managed to stay up the rest of the day. I started washing dishes after lunch, and then cooked dinner for the 6 of us: potato soup, salmon w/ mustard sauce, carrot/zucchini “pasta,” apple tart (there is an orchard here bursting with apples). I almost fell over in the bathroom at bedtime from exhaustion, and I was falling asleep mid-sentence while I read a chapter of Danny the Champion of the World to Reed. But then a full night’s sleep allowed me to wake up bright and early at 8 a.m., which gave me time to go for a walk down the road a bit to peek at the wall surrounding the chateau and see a little of the village. There aren’t any shops, just houses, mostly very private, lots of gates and walls. Breakfast was an on your own affair at the kitchen table with toast, jam, coffee, yogurt etc., and then I made a vegetable frittata and salad for lunch. Then, for dinner, sweet corn and ham chowder, roasted chicken, rice, lentils w/ balsamic vinegar and olive oil, sliced tomatoes and mozzarella w/ olive oil and onions, and for dessert, no surprise here, apple crisp.
Last night I was awake from 3 am to 6 am, which I remember happening the last time we flew here, so I just read for a while until I could fall back asleep. That reminds me, I knew the trip was going to go well when I went to the bookstore in the Chicago airport and found not one but two mysteries I’ve been wanting to read: the newest Laurie King in the Mary Russell series, and the first of the series set in Venice by Donna Leon. To be clichéd, I felt like the cat who got the cream.
So much is happening here this weekend for the opening, and Caroline has many details to work out in a very short period of time. I expect the sh*t to hit the fan several times in the next two days, but as Walt reminded me, c’est ne pas notre probleme. It is not our problem. I am determined to remain calm no matter what, even if Caroline doesn’t go to the store before dinner and there is no bread or cheese or red wine.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Rural Electrification
Saturday, September 1, 2007
California Zephyr train, Illinois
We’re speeding across Illinois on a bumpy Amtrak train but it’s better than driving a car despite the jostling. If I was better able to nap I’d be fast asleep in no time – but I’ve only managed to fall asleep in the afternoon two or three times since Reed was born, I don’t know why. Hyper-alertness I suppose…maybe when he goes off to college I can relax again. We said goodbye to the farm this morning around 8 a.m. and drove to Ottumwa with Mom and Dad in Betty Su, and they took her back home to the farm with them after helping us get unloaded at the station.
We were at the farm almost 3 weeks, a long visit with the 3 of us there, underfoot all the time. I cooked a few times and baked several times – we made apple pies twice this week! – but still we were a lot of work for them. Walt did some branch trimming through, as well as mowing and spraying once, and painting the outside door thresholds which needed it badly. Walt did avoid spraying around the spruce where the mourning dove has her nest with two babies in it, and of course he didn’t spray the new stand of banner grass in the ditch, which is lovely and not noxious or overly invasive, although Glen doesn’t like the way it blocks his visibility and is trying to eradicate his portion of it.
Reed spent a lot of time up in Glen’s machine shed, taming two white kittens who were inclined to be friendly. He fed them and watered them and sang them songs; I hope that in France he will have some small animals in his care. The week that it rained all the time he played inside, arranging “parties” and watching edifying movies like Pollyanna on video. It’s an unusual activity for him but with the horrible weather so much of the time it helped pass the time. Yesterday as a treat I let him watch The Sound of Music for the first time ever. It was fun to see him recognize “My Favorite Things,” a song that I have sung to him regularly since he was a newborn. Reed also played his violin for Grandma Polly in Waterloo early in our stay. Then, it turned out that one of the residents of Friendship Village played violin with the Waterloo symphony from 1957 until 2004, and was first chair. So Grandma arranged for us to visit him and his wife so that Reed could play a little bit. He was reluctant but practiced for several days ahead of time nevertheless; then, when the moment arrived, this older couple was so enthusiastic and encouraging that Reed blossomed ever so slightly and played sweetly, especially on May Song and Ode to Joy when Mr. Wendt joined in for a duet. We then took G’ma to Perkins for her 92nd birthday. It is a strange thing to say goodbye to your 92 year old grandma when you know you won’t be back for an entire year, but of course I have been doing that for many years now and she is in good health. But going to Europe makes it seem like a bigger gap, I suppose.
Walt recovered from his back spasms by taking long walks and last Sunday I joined him for the first time, walking 4 miles around the “block.” Out in rural Iowa wherever it is flat, the roads are often laid out in 1 mile grids. That is especially so at our farm. Sunday we walked during the hot and windy afternoon, but on Monday we left at sunset and walked the last two miles by the light of the full moon, which rose and then hung suspended over the great expanses of corn while it cast long shadows behind us. We walked in the dark, feeling like it was the middle of the night and we were far from home; it was strangely conducive to talking about our hearts’ desires… although maybe that was the effect of Reed being back at Mom and Dad’s, getting put to bed by someone else instead of butting in on our conversation as usual.
Tuesday evening we tried to do the same thing, only a storm front was coming and we overestimated how long it would take for the storm to arrive. We set off to Alice Church to look at my relatives’ graves, and once there, realized we would be lucky to make it back before it hit. We jogged for a long way back down the gravel towards the farm, spurred on and given endurance by our fear, watching the lighting in the west get closer and brighter and more insistent, until we finally reached the highway and crossed, just as the wind hit us and the bridge of black clouds was directly overhead, and the lightning on either side of us. Suddenly I saw the sheet of rain coming towards us like a tidal wave, and within 2 seconds we were in it and completely soaked. We ran to Jacobson’s house and called Dad to come get us while we dripped on their carpet and dried off as best we could with some of their towels. Embarrassing, but as Dad drove us the ¾ of a mile back home I was glad to not be outside, which was dangerously wet and electrified. We changed into dry jammies when we got home, feeling clean, and more awake than I’d been in weeks.
California Zephyr train, Illinois
We’re speeding across Illinois on a bumpy Amtrak train but it’s better than driving a car despite the jostling. If I was better able to nap I’d be fast asleep in no time – but I’ve only managed to fall asleep in the afternoon two or three times since Reed was born, I don’t know why. Hyper-alertness I suppose…maybe when he goes off to college I can relax again. We said goodbye to the farm this morning around 8 a.m. and drove to Ottumwa with Mom and Dad in Betty Su, and they took her back home to the farm with them after helping us get unloaded at the station.
We were at the farm almost 3 weeks, a long visit with the 3 of us there, underfoot all the time. I cooked a few times and baked several times – we made apple pies twice this week! – but still we were a lot of work for them. Walt did some branch trimming through, as well as mowing and spraying once, and painting the outside door thresholds which needed it badly. Walt did avoid spraying around the spruce where the mourning dove has her nest with two babies in it, and of course he didn’t spray the new stand of banner grass in the ditch, which is lovely and not noxious or overly invasive, although Glen doesn’t like the way it blocks his visibility and is trying to eradicate his portion of it.
Reed spent a lot of time up in Glen’s machine shed, taming two white kittens who were inclined to be friendly. He fed them and watered them and sang them songs; I hope that in France he will have some small animals in his care. The week that it rained all the time he played inside, arranging “parties” and watching edifying movies like Pollyanna on video. It’s an unusual activity for him but with the horrible weather so much of the time it helped pass the time. Yesterday as a treat I let him watch The Sound of Music for the first time ever. It was fun to see him recognize “My Favorite Things,” a song that I have sung to him regularly since he was a newborn. Reed also played his violin for Grandma Polly in Waterloo early in our stay. Then, it turned out that one of the residents of Friendship Village played violin with the Waterloo symphony from 1957 until 2004, and was first chair. So Grandma arranged for us to visit him and his wife so that Reed could play a little bit. He was reluctant but practiced for several days ahead of time nevertheless; then, when the moment arrived, this older couple was so enthusiastic and encouraging that Reed blossomed ever so slightly and played sweetly, especially on May Song and Ode to Joy when Mr. Wendt joined in for a duet. We then took G’ma to Perkins for her 92nd birthday. It is a strange thing to say goodbye to your 92 year old grandma when you know you won’t be back for an entire year, but of course I have been doing that for many years now and she is in good health. But going to Europe makes it seem like a bigger gap, I suppose.
Walt recovered from his back spasms by taking long walks and last Sunday I joined him for the first time, walking 4 miles around the “block.” Out in rural Iowa wherever it is flat, the roads are often laid out in 1 mile grids. That is especially so at our farm. Sunday we walked during the hot and windy afternoon, but on Monday we left at sunset and walked the last two miles by the light of the full moon, which rose and then hung suspended over the great expanses of corn while it cast long shadows behind us. We walked in the dark, feeling like it was the middle of the night and we were far from home; it was strangely conducive to talking about our hearts’ desires… although maybe that was the effect of Reed being back at Mom and Dad’s, getting put to bed by someone else instead of butting in on our conversation as usual.
Tuesday evening we tried to do the same thing, only a storm front was coming and we overestimated how long it would take for the storm to arrive. We set off to Alice Church to look at my relatives’ graves, and once there, realized we would be lucky to make it back before it hit. We jogged for a long way back down the gravel towards the farm, spurred on and given endurance by our fear, watching the lighting in the west get closer and brighter and more insistent, until we finally reached the highway and crossed, just as the wind hit us and the bridge of black clouds was directly overhead, and the lightning on either side of us. Suddenly I saw the sheet of rain coming towards us like a tidal wave, and within 2 seconds we were in it and completely soaked. We ran to Jacobson’s house and called Dad to come get us while we dripped on their carpet and dried off as best we could with some of their towels. Embarrassing, but as Dad drove us the ¾ of a mile back home I was glad to not be outside, which was dangerously wet and electrified. We changed into dry jammies when we got home, feeling clean, and more awake than I’d been in weeks.
Friday, August 24, 2007
When It Rains...
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Draper Farm, Grundy County, Iowa
The rain, thunder, and lightning keep rolling through. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself that our farm is in such a relatively flat area, with the Iowa River valley and Pine Lake 12 miles away near Eldora. But in a weird weather pattern like this, I’m glad to be where we are, and not on the evening news with a basement and backyard full of water. The people they interview on the news, though, are, for the moment, pretty lighthearted about their situation, annoyed yet matter of fact about the major hassle of a flooded town (“We had to park three blocks away!”), and at the same time tickled to be on t.v. for once.
I’ve never seen such soggy fields of corn, or ditches turned into streams. This afternoon Walt and I walked (slowly because of his tender back) for a ways down the road to the south, scaring up a great flock of blackbirds or starlings out of the corn. They were invisible until they lifted into the air en masse, then wheeled back and forth, glittering darkly in the overcast afternoon light. There were deer tracks in the mud by the side of the road, so I know the deer I saw in the fields last summer have remained, and a monarch butterfly came close as if to greet us as we started off down the gravel road. I’ve seen more monarchs this year than last, and more milkweed in the ditches. But I seem to have come too late for the lightning bugs. In June they go airborne at dark, flashing above the fields, a million fairy lights. Tonight brought something new, though: a hatch of some variety of tiny gnat or fly lured thousands of dragonflies and swallows to feast at dusk. The gnats were almost invisible so it looked like utter chaos, the entire yard and shelterbelt as far as I could see full of birds and bugs, flying in crazy circles and swoops. Finally I caught sight of a gnat and watched it spiral upwards in a lazy loop until zap! A dragonfly ate him.
I take back what I said about being a bread snob. I’m an Iowa gal; how could I be elitist? It is not snobbery to want to eat only what tastes really good and was grown and produced in a sustainable way. What I’m after, really, is simply to live in a place where to act on such principles doesn’t make me remarkable. I want to live where eating in the way I prefer makes me normal.
Draper Farm, Grundy County, Iowa
The rain, thunder, and lightning keep rolling through. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself that our farm is in such a relatively flat area, with the Iowa River valley and Pine Lake 12 miles away near Eldora. But in a weird weather pattern like this, I’m glad to be where we are, and not on the evening news with a basement and backyard full of water. The people they interview on the news, though, are, for the moment, pretty lighthearted about their situation, annoyed yet matter of fact about the major hassle of a flooded town (“We had to park three blocks away!”), and at the same time tickled to be on t.v. for once.
I’ve never seen such soggy fields of corn, or ditches turned into streams. This afternoon Walt and I walked (slowly because of his tender back) for a ways down the road to the south, scaring up a great flock of blackbirds or starlings out of the corn. They were invisible until they lifted into the air en masse, then wheeled back and forth, glittering darkly in the overcast afternoon light. There were deer tracks in the mud by the side of the road, so I know the deer I saw in the fields last summer have remained, and a monarch butterfly came close as if to greet us as we started off down the gravel road. I’ve seen more monarchs this year than last, and more milkweed in the ditches. But I seem to have come too late for the lightning bugs. In June they go airborne at dark, flashing above the fields, a million fairy lights. Tonight brought something new, though: a hatch of some variety of tiny gnat or fly lured thousands of dragonflies and swallows to feast at dusk. The gnats were almost invisible so it looked like utter chaos, the entire yard and shelterbelt as far as I could see full of birds and bugs, flying in crazy circles and swoops. Finally I caught sight of a gnat and watched it spiral upwards in a lazy loop until zap! A dragonfly ate him.
I take back what I said about being a bread snob. I’m an Iowa gal; how could I be elitist? It is not snobbery to want to eat only what tastes really good and was grown and produced in a sustainable way. What I’m after, really, is simply to live in a place where to act on such principles doesn’t make me remarkable. I want to live where eating in the way I prefer makes me normal.
Where the Corn is as High as an Elephant's Eye...
Sunday, August 12, 2007
KOA kampground, Mitchell, South Dakota
Coming home, there is a slow sensual familiarity that creeps over me, starting when we cross the Missouri and leave the arid Badlands far behind. I can identify the crops in the fields, copses of deciduous trees again soften the rolling landscape, the sky grows slightly less squintingly blue, and as I awake in the morning my hair has curled in its old way and the air has a substance, a presence on my skin, that carries the smell of earth and growing things, that I never feel in my adopted West. After a few more hours of driving we will be back at the farm.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Draper farm, Grundy County, Iowa
The air here can be eaten with a spoon, and our nighttime dreams have often been accompanied by strobe-like lightning and low peals of thunder. The ground is saturated with rain, the ditches like swamps. But still the farm works its spell on me: 12 miles from town, with nothing to see but acre after expansive acre of corn and beans and the comfortably spaced windbreaks and farmhouses, I settle into an eat-work-read-sleep routine, lightened by my mother’s willingness to wash dishes and cook and my dad’s tidiness that is as reliable and reassuring as sunrise. I am not yet required to be parent to my parents, and I am grateful to slip back into being their child.
The robins are all finished raising their families, and their abandoned nests are dropping out of the trees now in the downpours. But there is a mourning dove sitting on her newly hatched babies in one of the spruces in the new windbreak; she was still there after the tremendous storm Sunday night, watchful as ever.
All is not complete rest at the moment, since Walt succumbed last night to agonizing muscle spasms in his back. He spent all day Saturday trimming the gigantic honeysuckle hedge with the chainsaw, forgot to continue his regimen of ibuprofen yesterday, then spent several hours yesterday evening scrunched up in his theater seat watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. So today he was confined to bed, a complete invalid. One day of this and I know I was not meant to be a nurse. Reed, however, might be; he ran up and down the stairs with water and food, sang songs, tried to read a Frog and Toad story for Papa, etc. We made it all the way down the stairs so Walt could take a shower this evening, and made it back up again, so I have high hopes for tomorrow.
We arrived just over a week ago on a Sunday evening. Monday I spent doing laundry and trying to organize all our gear, and on Tuesday we got up early and drove down to the Iowa State Fair, with a little caravan of Drapers; Glen and Vicki leading in their truck, then us, and then Dad and Lois behind. Alice had gone earlier in the morning. Mom had to stay home since her abscessed tooth swelled up to grotesque proportions and was giving her a lot of pain. We all sat around fanning ourselves and sweating among the hordes of people while the Century Farm awards were given, clapping occasionally, until finally, when it was the Draper farm in Grundy County’s turn, no one was left in the building, since ours was the last county before the lunch break. We got up on stage, shook the Ag secretary’s hand, smiled for the camera and the completely deserted rows of benches, and then with relief headed off to find some cold ice cream and an air conditioned building.
Reed’s first trip to the Iowa State Fair ought to be a memorable one, as I let him ride on the big slide by himself, showed him the life-size butter cow and the butter Harry Potter, let him meander through the cattle barn and the sheep barn, took him on Ye Olde Mill, let him get all wet in the fountain, and finished up with a ride on the Sky Glider. Someday maybe he’ll take his wife or girlfriend on Ye Olde Mill and remember his first ride with mom… or maybe not! The food was notable in that I allowed him to eat junk food basically the entire day (we didn’t have much choice, surrounded as we were by corn dogs, elephant ears, deep-fried Twinkies, and beer on a stick), starting with French fries and a cinnamon roll for a mid-morning snack, continuing with a vanilla shake for lunch from the dairy barn, and finishing up with a BLT wrap from the relatively healthy “Salad Bowl” stand. We drank so much water on this blistering day I had to replenish our empty bottles at one point at a water spigot inside the sheep barn, where the 4-H kids fill the animals’ water pails. Water is water, I figured, and I knew they wouldn’t have anything but the best for state fair livestock.
Eating on the farm in Iowa is alternately blissful and frustrating for me; one day we’ll have chicken and noodles - comfort food straight from my childhood - accompanied by sweet cherry tomatoes still warm from the sun, finishing up with chocolate zucchini cake… and then at breakfast I’m faced with storebought whole wheat bread for toasting, thin, soft, characterless, and seemingly designed for preschoolers to eat with processed American cheese, which is about the most exciting cheese I can find at Family Foods in Grundy Center. I used to work there, by the way, when Walt and I lived in Grundy 10 years ago. I worked in the deli/bakery, frying donuts at 3 in the morning, cleaning out the chicken fryer at 8 at night, washing dishes, baking cookies, cakes, and breads, pressure frying chicken, assembling potato salad and chocolate dream pie, and filling up the hot food case with barbecued ribs, rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, meatloaf, cheesy cauliflower, and green bean casserole. All the stuff we Iowans love so much. But the experience put me off grocery store deli food forever, just as baking at the Mojo in Sitka permanently quelched my appetite for muffins. Anyway, I never meant to become a bread snob, but after having fresh loaves from the co-op or Sage Bakery every day back home, I’ve reached the point of no return for bread. I have yet to discover what I’ll miss from here once I’ve gotten to France… but bread won’t be one of them.
KOA kampground, Mitchell, South Dakota
Coming home, there is a slow sensual familiarity that creeps over me, starting when we cross the Missouri and leave the arid Badlands far behind. I can identify the crops in the fields, copses of deciduous trees again soften the rolling landscape, the sky grows slightly less squintingly blue, and as I awake in the morning my hair has curled in its old way and the air has a substance, a presence on my skin, that carries the smell of earth and growing things, that I never feel in my adopted West. After a few more hours of driving we will be back at the farm.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Draper farm, Grundy County, Iowa
The air here can be eaten with a spoon, and our nighttime dreams have often been accompanied by strobe-like lightning and low peals of thunder. The ground is saturated with rain, the ditches like swamps. But still the farm works its spell on me: 12 miles from town, with nothing to see but acre after expansive acre of corn and beans and the comfortably spaced windbreaks and farmhouses, I settle into an eat-work-read-sleep routine, lightened by my mother’s willingness to wash dishes and cook and my dad’s tidiness that is as reliable and reassuring as sunrise. I am not yet required to be parent to my parents, and I am grateful to slip back into being their child.
The robins are all finished raising their families, and their abandoned nests are dropping out of the trees now in the downpours. But there is a mourning dove sitting on her newly hatched babies in one of the spruces in the new windbreak; she was still there after the tremendous storm Sunday night, watchful as ever.
All is not complete rest at the moment, since Walt succumbed last night to agonizing muscle spasms in his back. He spent all day Saturday trimming the gigantic honeysuckle hedge with the chainsaw, forgot to continue his regimen of ibuprofen yesterday, then spent several hours yesterday evening scrunched up in his theater seat watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. So today he was confined to bed, a complete invalid. One day of this and I know I was not meant to be a nurse. Reed, however, might be; he ran up and down the stairs with water and food, sang songs, tried to read a Frog and Toad story for Papa, etc. We made it all the way down the stairs so Walt could take a shower this evening, and made it back up again, so I have high hopes for tomorrow.
We arrived just over a week ago on a Sunday evening. Monday I spent doing laundry and trying to organize all our gear, and on Tuesday we got up early and drove down to the Iowa State Fair, with a little caravan of Drapers; Glen and Vicki leading in their truck, then us, and then Dad and Lois behind. Alice had gone earlier in the morning. Mom had to stay home since her abscessed tooth swelled up to grotesque proportions and was giving her a lot of pain. We all sat around fanning ourselves and sweating among the hordes of people while the Century Farm awards were given, clapping occasionally, until finally, when it was the Draper farm in Grundy County’s turn, no one was left in the building, since ours was the last county before the lunch break. We got up on stage, shook the Ag secretary’s hand, smiled for the camera and the completely deserted rows of benches, and then with relief headed off to find some cold ice cream and an air conditioned building.
Reed’s first trip to the Iowa State Fair ought to be a memorable one, as I let him ride on the big slide by himself, showed him the life-size butter cow and the butter Harry Potter, let him meander through the cattle barn and the sheep barn, took him on Ye Olde Mill, let him get all wet in the fountain, and finished up with a ride on the Sky Glider. Someday maybe he’ll take his wife or girlfriend on Ye Olde Mill and remember his first ride with mom… or maybe not! The food was notable in that I allowed him to eat junk food basically the entire day (we didn’t have much choice, surrounded as we were by corn dogs, elephant ears, deep-fried Twinkies, and beer on a stick), starting with French fries and a cinnamon roll for a mid-morning snack, continuing with a vanilla shake for lunch from the dairy barn, and finishing up with a BLT wrap from the relatively healthy “Salad Bowl” stand. We drank so much water on this blistering day I had to replenish our empty bottles at one point at a water spigot inside the sheep barn, where the 4-H kids fill the animals’ water pails. Water is water, I figured, and I knew they wouldn’t have anything but the best for state fair livestock.
Eating on the farm in Iowa is alternately blissful and frustrating for me; one day we’ll have chicken and noodles - comfort food straight from my childhood - accompanied by sweet cherry tomatoes still warm from the sun, finishing up with chocolate zucchini cake… and then at breakfast I’m faced with storebought whole wheat bread for toasting, thin, soft, characterless, and seemingly designed for preschoolers to eat with processed American cheese, which is about the most exciting cheese I can find at Family Foods in Grundy Center. I used to work there, by the way, when Walt and I lived in Grundy 10 years ago. I worked in the deli/bakery, frying donuts at 3 in the morning, cleaning out the chicken fryer at 8 at night, washing dishes, baking cookies, cakes, and breads, pressure frying chicken, assembling potato salad and chocolate dream pie, and filling up the hot food case with barbecued ribs, rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, meatloaf, cheesy cauliflower, and green bean casserole. All the stuff we Iowans love so much. But the experience put me off grocery store deli food forever, just as baking at the Mojo in Sitka permanently quelched my appetite for muffins. Anyway, I never meant to become a bread snob, but after having fresh loaves from the co-op or Sage Bakery every day back home, I’ve reached the point of no return for bread. I have yet to discover what I’ll miss from here once I’ve gotten to France… but bread won’t be one of them.
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