Everyone has them -- places where we'd spent so much time, so long ago. Places that were once so familiar because rarely a day passed when we wouldn't poke in or at least pass by. Places that somehow got off our radar screen because life took us elsewhere.
Minneapolis is full of these old haunts for many of those close to me. They grew up there, or they raised a family there, or they moved there for a while. And because it was their turf, I'd drive up, or take the bus up, or fly up to visit. My Minneapolis has always been someone else's Minneapolis. I was the interloper following at the heels of those who knew it at some deeper level. I never paid much attention to the city itself because I was always more focused on someone whom I wanted to see badly enough that I would make that trip.
And once again, today I fly up to the Twin Cities. My friend Diane doesn't live there anymore, but she is up for a few days' visit and it is, therefore, a perfect opportunity to see her. In her old haunts.
But first, a morning at the farmette. I'd say it was full of search and discovery. Why search? Because I could not find two of the Bresse hens. I searched everywhere. Two were, as always, poking around just outside the barn. Two were missing.
I woke Ed. Two got snatched!
Two? No, they're around.
I looked everywhere. They are quite visible and they have never strayed more than a dozen feet from the barn.
They're around.
We've lost two in one morning to predators before.
True. But they're around.
More searching. And of course, he was right. They'd wandered off toward the writer's shed. Carefree and seemingly happy.
When I say "full of discovery," I am of course thinking of the hens (I surely discovered that their range has grown!), but I also mean new blooms. At the end of June each day begins to bring new day lilies into the picture. Today I discovered these lovely faces:
(At the same time that some of the old irises are still at it. Such deep colors we have right now!)
Breakfast is on the porch and I am so grateful that we do not have to spend it talking about "who could have snatched the chickens" and "how do we keep the rest safe in the face of a stalking predator." Instead, we talk about how beautiful our little corner of the planet is right now. Despite everything.
I weed a little. And I think about the article in today's paper that described how some women have channeled their anger into "rage gardening" this week, pulling up weeds in a fury as they felt their lives to have been upended. I appreciate the sentiment, but I think rage gardening isn't really about the furious pulling at weeds. I've come across the term in these Covid years and I feel it's more appropriate to describe rage gardening as a way to diffuse your inner turmoil and anxiety. By gardening you take yourself out of the immediate reality and put yourself in a very basic composition of soil, plants, maybe water. At least this is the way I experience it. Your fury eases and eventually, if you weed long enough -- dissipates.
And in the afternoon I hop on a flight for the one hour trip to Minneapolis. Were there a speed train, I'd take that but we are not a nation of speed trains.
Diane meets me at the airport and we set out to her favorite little Airbnb. And yes, I can see why it is a favorite! Rented out by a Danish woman, it has that feel of someone's very deliberate, yet very restrained style. (Having a son architect do the design helps...) And the little garden! Beautiful!
Diane and I mostly need to catch up.
I haven't seen her in person since before Covid. It seems remarkable that we are still in the thick of Covid issues, even though she and I have both managed to escape infection thus far. But we do venture out some, including to dinner at Sooki and Mimi -- a fantastic place named after two grandmothers!
We don't pick it for the name, however. It's all about the food here: a mix of influences: Latin, Asian -- you'll find both in the dishes. (My main: maitake mushroom tacos)
The eatery refers to itself as a neighborhood joint and I suppose it is that. Like Chicago, Minneapolis has these very local places that may well become a haunt for you if you live there, bringing in a next generation of regulars. Plus Diane and me, eating at this new place, but in blocks so familiar to her.
The evening flies by so quickly! We'll have a few more hours tomorrow, before I catch my late afternoon flight back to Madison -- where there are not two but four Bresse hens, five old cheepers, many cats and a not too young Ed looking after them all.
Good night, from way up there in Minnesota, where, too, you will find fireflies dancing at dusk and if you look hard enough, maybe a swallow or two.
