how did we get here

Who introduced you to your hobbies? Are they new to you, or have you nurtured them all your life? Are there many?

I've been thinking about mine. I think there are many. Most I've had all my life. I've wanted to be writer of some sort since I was 12. I have taken many photos with a camera every month (and eventually every day)  since an even younger age. Reading? Oh yes, forever. Cooking? Skiing? Traveling? At 18 years I kicked off all three, with abandon.

Gardening came a little later. 

I watched my grandparents work the soil all my childhood years (I spent most summers in their village home in Poland). My grandpa was the flower grower. My grandma did the vegetable patch. I did ask at some young age if I could plant my own flowers and was told  -- go for it. Here's a patch of soil underneath your bedroom window. Put in seeds, watch them grow. I did put in seeds and then promptly neglected them, expecting miracles to happen without my input or attention. Of course, nothing came of it. I shrugged and never thought about planting anything again until I moved to Madison and invested in a place with a sunny balcony (1980 -- I was 27 then). I thought -- wouldn't it be nice to fill it with pots of flowers. I went overboard. And from then on, I've always gone overboard with planting flowers in whatever form or fashion, wherever I could.

It's not impossible to start in on new hobbies when you are much older. But I think it's significantly tougher to get blown away by them then. You can't help but feel your novice status. It's tough to be completely incompetent at something at age, say, 72. Whatever skills I have in growing flowers, they've come about through years of mistakes, omissions, failed experiments. You don't gain that sort of knowledge overnight or from taking a class. 

The funny thing about this passion of mine is that it could disappear overnight. I would not be able to live at the farmette and manage the land here without Ed's hlep. A couple of days ago a large portion of a willow tree fell down. Someone needs to take a chain saw to it. It's not going to be me. I can give you countless examples of things that happen here that I cannot attend to, or repair, or take care of. This place is ours. It could be just his. (He would simply let the flower fields go wild where I not here to take care of them.) It could never be just mine til I'm old and wobbly. Not without Ed here, on call to fix whatever suddenly falls apart.

Working the fields for me is an act of hope. And a belief in the beauty of the moment. It may all crumble at any time, but today I have this:

( a fragment of the long roadside bed)

The morning is lovely, if extraordinarily buggy. I convince Ed that we need to give the fields a "garlic plus" spraying tomorrow. It's impossible to snip lilies and be overrun with biting mosquitoes that no longer seem to regard Off as a deterrent. I only had 170 snipped lilies in my bucket, but I did want to finish up with the weed pulling over by the sheep shed. It was tough going!

 

 

 

 

 

(why a cat should be scared of a hen is beyond me.. ) 

 

Breakfast, on the porch.

Appointments, chores, and then back to work outside for as long as I could stand the bug slapping.

 

In the end, I also managed to see the two older kids today -- I caught up with them as they were leaving their Shakespeare group towards evening, because the parents had left something at the farmhouse last night and this was the best way of getting it to them.

 

A wave, a hug, and a smile and then I am back at the farmette, thinking that surely there are less laborious hobbies out there than digging, pulling and slapping myself in a futile effort to ward off the bugs.

And yet... I love those flowers. I know all of them. They are under my care. I'm going to make them shine!

(new this year: the climbing rose)

 

 

with love... 

 

caprice

I read that soon after we left Europe, the continent and especially France in the Loire region and in Paris, got hit by major storms. The city's metro system flooded. Trees were uprooted. Some streets had a foot of water streaming across. 

You can't count on good weather when you travel, or when you want to spend a day outside, maybe pulling weeds out of your flower beds. Storms will come without consulting you if their timing is right. Heat waves will make you sweat, downpours will soak you, winds will knock down heavy limbs in your yard. You adjust and accept your fate and thank your stars if your travel destination or your own back yard escape the caprice of turbulent weather, or as the airlines like to call it -- rough skies.

I may call this a hot and sticky day, but in fact, I don't dislike it. We have air conditioning (set at 77F/25C) and every two hours, I come in to cool off and drink a gallon of water. How really grand it is to be able to live this way -- sheltering in a cool house on hot days or in a warm house on the coldest of winter days! We are a privileged lot!

Once again, I start in on garden work early. Even before feeding the animals.

I do some random checks and adjustments on the already cleared fields, then take the big wheelbarrow over to the roadside bed and begin my cleanup work there.  Once more I am stunned how much has grown in the last two or three weeks. As one farmer said yesterday at the market -- our weeds have done really well this year! Yes they have. But the rains have given us something else as well: robust perennials and a soft soil. Removing weeds from a parched earth is terribly hard. Not so after all the rain: I get most of the roots out as well, which means I'll have less work as the summer progresses.

I'm still rather obsessive about it and once again I work too hard. I've never done such a thorough job of weeding on all the beds before. And the more compulsive I am about it, the more determined I become to get it all done in the next couple of days. (I do finish the roadside bed; all I have left are the two beds by the sheep shed.)

The gardeners among you who have watched me plunge into flower work in the past may wonder if I'm snipping spent lilies yet. As you can see from the photos, the lilies are just starting their blooming period. But today I did begin counting: I snipped 130 spent lilies. My flower fields are so big and so many in number that you can't really appreciate the blooms yet. Indeed, you might ask -- where are these lilies any way? Well, spread out! Each bed has only a couple of lilies blooming right now. But they're starting to add up!

We eat breakfast inside. Ed isn't a fan of the humidity and after working outside, I'm not objecting to a meal in a cool house.

And so the day continues, until the afternoon, when I give it up for the day, take a much needed shower and start in on Sunday dinner. For these guys:

(Sandpiper is now joining the big kids in their big chairs at the table)

And yes, we eat inside. When the temps hit 90F/32+C and the sun hits you from above, when the air is still and humid, we're better off keeping the door to the porch closed. There will be plenty of dinners outside this summer. Today is not one of them.

I wont see these kids in the next week -- they have a full agenda of summer fun. One last photo of them then...

Evening. The fireflies are tremendous this year! It's such a perfect summery day that I say to Ed -- maybe we should move to a place that lets us work outside all year long. (I'm not tempted; it's just my way of saying -- this is so very grand!) He responds as he always does -- New Zealand, gorgeous. And I say -- could you have picked a farther place? Ireland then. Though a bit dreary there in the winter. How about Vancouver? A moment of silence follows and then I laugh. We love it here. We'll never move.

with so much love... 

 

the big push

Ed tells me -- working hard is good for you, but don't overdo it. He rarely comments on my choices and so I take this as a signal that I'm pushing it today. What the heck, I don't even need the signal. I know I am working too hard. And I don't have to do this. I have days before me that I could only dream of back when I was working and parenting young ones. I have time. And I use it to work too hard. Go figure.

I start early, because the morning is pleasantly cool. We're to have a spike in temperatures. Later in the day. As Ed sleeps in, I feed the animals, survey the fields, and think about where I should focus my efforts.

 

 

 

But first, before I start in on the flower fields, I drive down to the Farmers Market. 

 

(It's the same route as to the bakery) 

 

 

I'm there before the meters click into action (so, before 8). I want to pick up a bunch of flowers for the kitchen table. That's it. We had a veggie delivery from our CSA this week and we are well supplied with peaches, so food shopping is not on my list for today. Still, a trip to the market is so much more than just food and flower purchasing. It's a chance to see what the farmers are up to. Which veggies are in abundance, which are tapering off. And, too, I stop by and visit with Dave from the Flower Factory.

Dave kept me supplied with perennials for decades. He retired from the business of selling plants form his greenhouses, but he still comes to the weekly market with a few pots of his choice. And as always, I am tempted to add a couple to my collection. Maybe I should work in a Lupine again. And an Agastache Hyssop, because humming birds love those flowers so much (in fact it's sometimes called the "hummingbird mint"). I tell Dave that at 72, I should not be expanding flower fields anymore. I can hardly keep up with what I have now. And yet, here I am, adding more. He laughs. I'm 77, he tells me. Growing these perennials keep me sane.

 Funny, I sometimes think growing so many plants at the farmette is rather insane! And yet, it's a pleasurable insanity, with high rewards.

Breakfast. I wake Ed at 9:20. I want my coffee! (With market treats and market flowers.)

And then I get to work. All day long, I stay in the flower fields. 

 

(portions of the Big Bed are starting to bloom)

 

 

Yes, weeding. But also feeding the pots, planting a new one because I have some left over annuals, mowing our driveway, and redrawing the border for the driveway bed. (Ed, can you help me move the railroad tie out a few inches... well, maybe more than a few inches?)

By the end of the day, all the important fields are cleaned up. Indeed, things are looking so good right now, that I almost feel like I've prepped the farmette for a big celebration. And maybe I have. A celebration of summer. Of the growing season. Of life.

with love... 

the futility of asking "why"

I have stopped trying to understand much of what is around me. Maybe a search for answers is a young person's pursuit -- that inquisitiveness that leads to discovery and invention. For me, at my age, it seems intractable and pointless. Most explanations are not fully accurate. They change over time. And many behaviors, impulses, beliefs are simply baffling, leading me to think "I'll never understand why..." And if that's true, then why bother struggling with finding answers.

I don't really know why I work so hard in my flower fields. Their season of beauty is short. No one sees them. The amount of work involved is monstrously huge. For example, today I toiled for six hours on weeding the beds. I still have the roadside bed, most of the Big Bed and the sheep shed beds to clean up, though I do think the lion's share of the work is "done." For now. I put quotes on done because it's never really done. If I stand anywhere at all, near any bed, I can guarantee that there will be at least a half dozen weeds within an arm's length that I will have missed. 

I could be reading. Learning a new language. Volunteering somewhere. Writing! And yet, I hum a stupid song in my head, bend down and pull out one weed or grass clump after the next, all day long. Sometimes I think I'm batty. Other times I don't think anything at all. Is it an obsession? Or, do I work so hard because I can, because the work is there, because I like flowers, because it's good to be outside? Who knows.

 

Jet lag is receding. I went to sleep at a regular hour, I got up close to my usual. Ed is out until at least 9. As is Dance.

 

 

 

Me, I feed the animals then get to work on the flowers at 7.

I do pause for breakfast. I would say weather wise, this day is golden. 

 

 

 

A little buggy, but when it's time to return to work, Ed sprays my shirt with Off, and the breeze picks up, and it's entirely manageable out there. 

The day would end on this -- weeding, or me writing about weeding, except that I do pause by late afternoon. My younger girl is in town with her husband, and my older girl and I go over to the east side bar that got all the good press last month (it's called Public Parking) to meet up for a drink. 

My girls... 

 

 

Don't you ever ask them why, If they told you you would cry, So just look at them and sigh, And know they love you... (CS&N)

My girls are the big storytellers when we get together and kids are not a distraction. Listening to them, I have this strong surge of gratitude, of indescribable love. My good friend lost his daughter to cancer last night. One of those imponderables.  How could this happen to a her, to him? (And sadly, he is not the first friend of mine to lose a child in this way.) 

I am the lucky one tonight. Here I am, laughing with these two as they poke fun at my weather obsession (what? you haven't noticed??), at our various eating preferences, at the absurdities of their days. The thrill of being with them is so deep! It is one beautiful break from work in the garden!  

At home now with Ed, with our show watching, our supper, our squares of chocolate. Again, with love and gratitude. 

 

hot humid buggy and yet...

And yet still beautiful. Still fantastically dense with flowers in the ready. Lush and wonderful. That is what the end of June looks like.

(early bloomer)

 

 

(lots of buds)

 

 (Heliopsis Prairie Sunset)

 

 

 (Big Bed)

 

Nevertheless, it's hot, humid and buggy. 

I am up early once more. It's the jet lag, but also it's being back with Ed. We often come up with interesting stories and exchanges right around 5 in the morning. He then goes back to sleep. I do not.

I wont mention how many hours I spend cleaning up the flower fields today. And no, not even half done. But I will admit to starting in on it early. I thought I'd beat the heat and humidity. And to an extent I did. But the bugs at that hour are ferocious. I was glad to stop by 8.

The bakery opens then and I need a batch of croissants and cookies. Sparrow will be at the farmhouse later on and that boy really loves croissants and cookies.

(morning trip to the bakery)

  

And as long as I am downtown, I stop by briefly to visit with my friend -- the one whose stress level is enormous right now. I take over some peaches because... this is our peach season! If early June brings us strawberries at the CSA farm, late June and July bring us peaches. Not local yet -- these are from Georgia and they are heaven on earth. And we have a lot! Perhaps I over-purchased.. You'd think that until you watched Snowdrop devour peaches. Today she ate four.  

But that happens later. First I have breakfast, with Ed, on the porch. He's barely awake, and it's really getting muggy, and yet it is so good to share this morning moment with him.

And then I go back to work outside.

 

At noon, I pick up the two older ones from their Young Shakespeare Players program. Sparrow has joined the  group as well (the age range is from 7 - 18). Both kids are in lovely moods and we reclaim our farmette routine for the afternoon. 

(the girl asks for his computer; he suggests that she reach for mine; fair point -- it's standing idle)

 

 

I've been saving the cherry tree bounty for them, but Sparrow hangs back. He's not a cherry fan and he is completely engrossed in his Lego set up. So, just Snowdrop and me, plucking the ripe, golden cherries.

Their mom stops by for a bit, she reads, we read. 

And you guessed it, after they're gone, I return to the weeding, until I feel drops on my back and then something far wetter than just a few drops. (Now where did that come from??) 

 

 Evening: I make soup, we stay up. Ed has found a several part show for us. Will I sleep through the big storms that are allegedly coming straight  at us? I doubt it.

with so much love... 

 

jungle-rama

Predictably, in my absence, a jungle emerged. My immaculately weeded flower fields had grown grasses, weeds, saplings -- everything imaginable. Yesterday evening, I couldn't help myself. I went out and pulled random fistfuls of the stuff. Just around the field edges, or when I saw something completely obliterating what was supposedly growing there, For an hour, it was just me and the mosquitoes. Because of course, these pests have arrived. It was a typical summer evening -- swatting, pulling, and cleaning up, despite my utter tiredness. Because after all, it was, by Icelandic time, way past midnight.

This morning, I surveyed the foods in the fridge. Lots of peaches. Not much else.  

I did not eat breakfast with Ed because my friend is in town and she is dealing with a lot of family tragedies and inevitable losses. So we met up for a breakfast on the Square. Very early. By 7:30 a.m. we were getting our coffees. And we talked.

 

The day is at first rainy and humid. You could say that it is terrible weather for garden clean up work, but actually I'm not complaining. Were it not for the periods of rain, I'd overdo it. Because two weeks of neglect and heavy rains, created work enough for ten gardeners.

What's blooming out there? Well, the lilies are slowly emerging. Their moment will come in a week or two. For now, they're mostly sprouting pudgy buds.

(big bed)

 

The clematis at the porch corner, on the other hand, is in full swing. Lovely in its second year!

I remove many bucketfuls of weeds. Really, a mountain load. Even so, I hardly make a dent. It's going to be a busy set of days.

 

In the evening, Ed bikes and I return to Kopke's Greenhouse. 

(along the way: some cloud!)

 

 

Their shelves are almost bare and no one is shopping there tonight. Still, there are a few baskets and pots of annuals and they're at a high discount. I need to replace plants in two tubs because Ed missed them in the watering of flowers in my absence and so they dried up. I have rarely (ever?) bought flowers this late in the season and one could argue that annuals in tubs are less important now that the perennials are approaching their high water mark. But I know what happens in the fall. Perennials are ready to snooze until next spring. The annuals, on the other hand, keep on going until the first big frost. I am investing in fall colors!

 I realize that I have completely flipped: from writing about far away places and destinations, about a grandchild's view of the world out there, or at least my perception of her view, to one big report on the garden. Ocean has a seasonal shift: in July it is all about encouraging the flowers to do their best. My writing reflects this utter preoccupation with what's growing out there. Patience, my friends! By August I'll be traveling again. Kids will come into focus once more soon enough. But for now, my fingernails are full of dirt. And I'm pulling out weeds. All day long I'm pulling out weeds.

 

 

with love... 

 

back home

Well that was an interesting morning! Perhaps not for you, reading this and maybe not even for me in retrospect, but let me tell you, for 15 minutes I felt like the daredevil that walks, no, runs across a tightrope between two skyscrapers.

It's our travel day. I wake up at 5:25. As usual -- five minutes before my alarm is set to go off. Snowdrop sleeps, I finish packing, take my shower, double check everything. One suitcase, with clean stuff. One bag with dirty stuff. One bag tucked in with treats for the brothers. Another -- treats for the girl's friends and cousins. All carefully organized so that Snowdrop's parents don't have to do the work of figuring out what's what.

By 6:20 we are riding the elevator down to the lobby.

Good bye, Reykjavik. You've been wonderful.

And so we cab back to the airport. Past a landscape of lupines and lava rock. (The lupines were brought it to control erosion. They love the rocky ground here!) Past the waters of the North Atlantic. Past houses with colorful metal siding. Iceland is indeed beautiful.

 

 

 

The airport isn't enormous, and the lines aren't long. Except when they're very long. We slog through it all. Passing through security, my knee, as usual, sets off all alarms, so I have to have a pat down -- which takes them forever. Each airport security team has its protocols. At Reykjavik, people with metal in them (me!) have to remove their shoes before the screening and have them pass a special examination. Why? I do not know. But it messes with the bag retrieval. You are in one place, your child is in another, the shoes are in yet a third and everything happens out of sequence. Well, so it be. We claim our stuff, we walk to the gate. Which is far. We pass shops. She buys chocolate for her friends. We pass passport control. In most airports, passport control comes first, then comes security. Not here. And we pass a Sbarro's. It's 8 in the morning but the girl is hungry. Can I have a slice of pizza? Sure, why not. I take out my boarding pass, my wallet to pay for it, and then I hear the announcement -- would passenger Nina Camic please report to security?

Holy Hannah, what did I do??? 

Snowdrop is a trooper. Go, I'll wait here.  

Anyone could have told you this is not a great idea. Leave a little girl alone at a busy airport while you retrace your steps, in reverse, through passport control, back into Iceland, past dozens of shops, down escalators and long corridors? The flight takes off in about an hour and on international flight boarding starts early. I have no idea why they're paging me, but clearly I left something behind. Something easily identifiable as mine. I best head back for it.

I run. I brisk-walk. I run some more. I weave my way past lines -- excuse me, I'm being paged, I left a child behind, I'm in a hurry. People are sympathetic if extremely puzzled. The passport control agent is less sympathetic. You left a child? How old is she? Ten. Did you leave her under someone's care? Well, hopefully she is eating a pizza slice.  He shakes his head and stamps my passport yet again.

At security, I flag a guard -- I was paged. I think I left something behind. What? -- he asks. I don't know! He looks at me. It's fair to sway that I look frazzled. Maybe a laptop? - he prompts me. Yes! Maybe that! What kind? I don't know! His stare is unrelenting. I mean, it could be purple, hers, or it could be silver, mine. 

In the end it was mine. Forgotten in the jumble of mixed up items and bins and backpacks. Relieved, I retrace my steps. It's a 15 minute walk. Excuse me, can I get ahead of the line, you see, I have a young child... The passport agent -- a different one of course -- shakes his head, stamps me yet again and I run back to Sbarro's where a very anxious Snowdrop is waiting for me. At least you had your pizza -- I try to cheer her. He wouldn't give it to me! You hadn't paid for it! I glare at him even though I know it's not his fault. He shrugs. Rules are rules.

She eats her pizza on her lap in the crowded bus that takes us to the airplane.

And 6.5 hours later, we are in Minneapolis.

It's a pretty short layover. The girl would love a plate of french fries -- it's been a long time since that pizza slice -- but my need for a coffee is even greater. And after that, we do a speed walk to the other side of this convoluted airport and immediately board our flight to Madison. And 32 minutes later we are at the airport. The girl has taken on the job of retrieving our bags.

Minutes later she hops in her dad's car and is off to her Shakespeare Players group where friends await her, followed by a Girl Scout meeting where other friends await her. After two weeks with her grandmother, Snowdrop is especially in need of time with friends. Even though she is on a Europe clock, she is raring to go. I smile at her level of energy. I can't say I am able to match it, and yet we were nearly always in sync in our travels together.

Ed is waiting for me. Usually, there's no report of any happenings. The guy leads a quiet life! But, the weather has thrown a real punch in the last 24 hours: in one day we had had four inches of rain. The downpour was so strong that the roof of a supermarket collapsed, causing a Niagra Falls-like flood in the aisles. (No one was hurt, which in itself was amazing.)

I no longer can talk about a drought here, or any kind of dry spell. We will continue to have rain this week. You have to wonder which is better -- too little rain or too much? I will report on that tomorrow, when I survey the damage, if such there be.

In the meantime, I am home. With Ed. So very very happy that the trip went well, especially for Snowdrop. We had no disconcerting snafus (well, she'd claim the room changes were a disconcerting snafu). We heard at the Reykjavik airport that yesterday's flight to Minneapolis had been cancelled due to plane troubles. Rebooking all those passengers, given the totally full flights from Iceland must have been a nightmare. But none of this affected us. The weather was fabulous throughout, within its own regional vicissitudes. Importantly, neither of us got really sick. A sniffle here, an upset tummy there, an sore toe or two... And now we are home, ready to face... summer!

with so much love...

 

one last day

Yes, it's our last full day in Iceland. In Europe really. Early tomorrow, we board our flight back to Minneapolis and from there, if there are no hiccups, we catch the flight to Madison. Some people really pack in there last moments, doing all that they want to still accomplish before heading home. You know what Snowdrop and I say to each other? Let's go lazy today!

A late last breakfast at the hotel...

A chat with the waitress, who is from Barcelona. Naturally, we talk about over-tourism. She came to Iceland because she felt that her home city was being destroyed by reckless visitors. "And, too, the pay is better here! But I have to adjust my mindset to the long and short days!"

And then we have a rest in our room. I had booked a "cat walk" for the morning with some group of random people. I'm not quite sure what it is -- I've seen no cats in the city. Small wonder, it's so wet here! I do know it was to end at a cat cafe. I was sure this would be attractive to Snowdrop who loves cats above all animals, but in the end, when I asked if we should back out of that, she responded with an enthusiastic "yes!" So we stayed "home" instead and only tremendous guilt made me get up and insist that we go out for a late morning walk. Which cost me some. The girl is in love with souvenirs here and even though I throw out my share of "no's" there is always one that she gets me to agree to. 

 

 

(an Icelandic hound?)

 

 

 (the BakaBaka Bakery, where I pick up a cardamon bun for my "lunch.")

 

And the girl's lunch? Well, it has to be early, because we have an activity to go to just after the noon hour. At the same time, we had a really late breakfast. How about just some fries at "home?" At the little coffee shop in the hotel? I have to use up my vouchers here. 

And at 12:30, we take a cab (there is no other transportation option) to Ishestar stables. 

When I was in Iceland last (in 2018), I had wanted to try riding one of the Icelandic horses. Do you know their history? They were brought here by the Vikings in the 9th/10th centuries. The finest horses from Scandinavia. The very last one came in the year 982. After that, a law was passed forbidding the import of any horses from the continent. As a result, the Icelandic horse has uniquely avoided globalization! In fact, if you brought in a horse now, the Icelandic ones would quickly pick up diseases that are completely unknown to them. They have lived here in isolation for more than a thousand years. (Though it is possible to purchase and take an Icelandic horse to your country of choice. If you do that, he or she will never be allowed back on Icelandic soil.)

I asked Snowdrop if she wanted to try riding an Icelandic horse. She has no horseback riding experience and it isn't exactly a sport I would like to see any of my grandkids take up (too dangerous, too expensive), nevertheless, trying something new is part of our travel mantra and she is eager to give this sport a go. 

There is a misty drizzle now but unsurprisingly, they are prepared for this: we are given oversized rain pants and rain jackets (in addition to the standard helmet). If they stopped rides due to rain, they'd never get a day's worth of business here!

 

 

The Ishestar tables have really beautiful animals. The Icelandic horse is compact and strong, but it is in fact shorter than the standard horse you'd find elsewhere: 13-14 hands (as opposed to 15-17 hands for your average horse). But don't call it a pony! It is anything but that.

 

 

Snowdrop asks for a calm horse. She gets gentle Fidla. 

I get the older but definitely more spunky Svigna. 

 

 

 

Still, I promise to stay with her walk and only occasionally do I hold back and catch up with a trot. (I don't think our guide appreciated these pauses so I kept them to a minimum. Svigna, of course, caught on to my strategy and allowed herself a munch on the delicious roadside grasses with each pause. We were a good team!)

As for Snowdrop -- she is a cautious girl, but once she gets the hang of an activity, she really gets into it. She loved her ride, loved her horse, loved the gentle sway in the saddle.

It was a wonderful ending to our Nordic adventures.

On the cab ride back, we once again found ourselves in a political discussion with the driver. This has happened a lot in Iceland. I do believe that they are much more angry here at America's leadership than elsewhere and a little more puzzled about the support our government still receives among voters. They really press me on that. These are hard discussions to have and honestly, I wont miss them when we return home. There's only so much that I can say to provide reassurance about the future of my country which carries such an outsized influence on the fate of other nations.

Toward evening, I pack up our suitcases. This should be easy: I've been careful not to purchase any large items. We dont need to segregate out warm clothes or light ones. And yet... 

It takes a while.

For our last dinner, we do not try anything new. I tell her we can go back to any of the four places where we've had dinners. She chooses the Seafood Grill -- from the first night of our return. I have to agree with her -- it was my overall favorite as well. True, she preferred the catch of the day from before (wolf fish), but the fries were awesome as always and my salmon, which I shared, pleased her no end.

(timed release) 

(walk "home:" let's just call this an "art installation!")

 

 

(we developed a very comfortable walking habit: her arm looped through mine)

 

One last night with light streaming in through our window all night long. One last Icelandic exhale. Tomorrow, we should be back home.

with so much love...