Zurich

How tired was I? So tired that for the first time (perhaps ever!), I slept through that first jet lagged European night for a solid eight or maybe even nine hours. That's impressive (for me)! When Ed called this morning, he actually woke me. At 8 am. Oh, I needed that (both the deep sleep and the call which, for him, was made around 2 a.m. -- the man keeps unusual hours)! The bug (it's not Covid) that knocked me down back home had receded, then came back (yesterday), but that night of sleep knocked it down once again. Oh, precious rest!

It's cloudy and there's rain. Looking out my window:

I go down to breakfast. The hotel is not small, but there are few diners. It could be the hour (8:30), but more likely it's because of the slowness of travel at this time of the year. I get a beautiful table with a grand view.

With buffet breakfasts, you have to get familiar with the offerings. The first day is like an experiment: try this, that, look for Muesli of course, at the last minute add some protein. I think I covered my bases, but tomorrow, I'll scale back. Too much on that plate! 

By far the item of choice (for me) is their homemade Bircher Muesli. What's that? Well, regular old Muesli is oats and dried fruits and nuts, with added milk or yogurt just before you eat it. Bircher Muesli has you soak the oats with the grated apple and fruit juice overnight. And in the Bircher Muesli, the emphasis is more on the fruits than the oats. Here, I took both!

As usual, I read during my morning meal when soloing -- catch up on emails, on news feeds. And I allow my thoughts to float -- today, to the subject of satisfaction. There is a reason why I am nearly always so deeply satisfied with my European travel days: after spending quite a bit of time beforehand making decisions about hotels, eateries, excursions, I let all that go once I've begun the journey. Those expectations slip away and the day unfolds. When I catch myself thinking -- oh, this meal wasn't great, or this weather sucks, I try hard to erase that thought because really, I'm not in search of perfect anything. I'm in search of listening, looking, feeling open to whatever takes place around me.

It's a lesson I learned in France and it's become a goal for me, something to strive for: I had noticed over scores of meals eaten in restaurants there, that the French -- perhaps the biggest food snobs (sorry, French people!) on the planet, never complain about food they're served while eating out. I've never once heard a grumble, never seen a dish sent back. The tables are filled with happy people chomping away. Americans, by contrast, often evaluate -- you can see it in their faces, read it in their posted comments! (And yes, send back if dissatisfied.) And honestly, I do value their evaluations. I read all those negative thoughts, say on Tripadvisor or elsewhere. I rely on them! So thank you! At the same time, I know that an evening spent in a restaurant is a happy experience for those who let go of judgment and just enjoy the meal for what it is. It doesn't have to be perfect to be absolutely great. 

Just like a meal, a travel day as well doesn't have to be perfect, the weather doesn't have to be excellent, nor the food exceptional, for the day to be totally sublime. It surely will be rich in detail no matter what.

 

After breakfast, I take an umbrella (but I never use it -- the rain stops right about now) and walk over to where there is a semiweekly market from 7 -11. I happen to be here on one of those mornings, which turns out to be incredible luck.

The market is awesome!

(artichokes in all shapes and sizes and pink lettuce!)

And I've been to many markets, including our own in Madison -- considered to be one of the country's best. What the Zurich one has going for it is not quantity (of vendors), but quality (of foods and flowers) -- achieved in large part because their season is so much longer than ours!

Like in France, presentation matters, though the French are more fastidious in this regard. I'm enthralled by the veggies -- mostly Swiss, though the white asparagus is German...

But I am absolutely mesmerized, charmed, and enchanted by the spring flowers.

I cannot say enough good things about them. Such art in the bouquets! Such variety!

I can see that our own spring market is smaller in scope (though larger in size). We're nowhere near the variety that I find here. 

 

 

 

(Something to be remembered: women in Switzerland were given the right to vote in federal elections in 1971, so yes, it is a socially conservative country, though not a religious one: 35% claim to have no religion, outdistancing the next most popular group -- Catholics at 31%)

 

(Swiss cheeses...)

 

 

Afterwards, I return the unused umbrella. The rain takes a pause!
 

 

 

I head out toward the old town. It's very pretty, albeit there is some street construction (pipe replacement? new cable installation? Don't know...) that you have to navigate.

I have a goal. I'd heard there is a great collection of Impressionists at the Kunsthaus Museum. I love the Impressionists. I'm on it!

Oh my goodness. 

I did not expect this: it will go down in my memory as the most emotional museum experience of my life, for reasons I could not possibly have expected. At the end of it, I had to talk to someone, review this, summarize it in my head in some fashion. I call Bee in Poland (she is an art enthusiast!) and we talk.

Let me see if I can explain it here without losing the thread and spirit of Ocean. (As you know, I tend to summarize and focus on a theme briefly, then move on.) What they have done on the second floor of the Kunsthaus (that's where most, but not all, of the museum's Impressionists are) in the last two years is extraordinary, in part because the history of that collection is extraordinary. Or perhaps not so extraordinary, when you think about it. It's just that we don't think about it. 

(In one room, you read how the public reacts to the idea that we should actively discover the provenance of art displayed at a museum, specifically this museum) 

When you go to a museum, you dont give much thought to where the art is from, who acquired it and with what means. At the Kunsthaus, they've done just that, in part because they had to. Their huge, sumptuous collection (only at the Orsay have I seen more Impressionism in one place) was established at the hands of Emil Georg Bührle. I'd never heard of him, but I bet every Swiss person knows the name. Bührle was a German born Swiss industrialist who became the richest man in Switzerland (!) back in the day. He bought a machining tool company and converted it to the manufacture and sale of weapons and ammunition. He sold to everyone. Wherever it brought in more money. And when the war started, he sold big time to Nazi Germany. To Mussolini. And the thing is, he did this with "neutral" Swiss blessing. But also without it -- after the war, he sold illegally to Pakistan. And his production methods? Horrible victimization of poor women, children. And after his death,  in the 1960s,  his son was found to illegally export arms to South Africa. It was that kind of a family.

 

(The collection, which spans many many rooms, is arranged chronologically -- by date of acquisition. But at the very beginning of the exhibition we have this: a very famous Renoir; next to it is a full story of who was painted, for what reason, whom it was passed on to over the generations, and in the end which owner was killed by Nazis, who had it after that, and how Bührle acquired it. A story of one sorrow and tragedy after another. )

 

 

His was (is?) also a family that bought art. Bührle used art as a way to solidify his stature among the rich and famous of Zurich. He bought or acquired mainly Impressionist canvases throughout his life. It's important to know how he bought and acquired it: some was art that had been looted by Germans. Some was purchased under-price from Jews seeking funds to flee Germany. Bührle went on art buying sprees in Nazi occupied France. The guy was ruthless!

 

(Bührle himself donated three large canvases to the museum. This is one of them)

 

Bührle contribute a lot of money to the building of the Kunsthaus. Blood money. 

(so much to read here! I dont expect you to delve into the details, but while there, I read every word, fascinated. Horrified.)

 

 

After his death, his family arranged for even more canvases to be displayed at the museum. Some 200, on a complicated loan arrangement that I do not fully understand. But it's just a fraction of their haul. They also kept a lot of the art for themselves. 

Initially, the "donated" art was not displayed. But in 2012, after long negotiations, the Zurich City Parliament and a vote by the public (53% voted yes, but only 35% voted...) approved the showing of these masterpieces in a new extension of the museum. It opened in 2021. And right away, protest erupted.

What the museum has done is this: it is tracing the history of all of it -- Emil Georg Bührle, his wealth, his art fancy and presenting it in written format on the walls of the museum, along with the canvases -- some of them with blue tablets signifying that the provenance of the art is still under review. Some canvases have been traced as stolen from Jews. These have been removed and returned to original owners. Blank spaces with just cards remain.

 

 

 

(blue cards: under investigation)

 

All of it is there for you to read and take in. And each Wednesday -- the museum entrance fee is waved and there is an open discussion as to what should happen next. 

What absolutely blew me away was the open, honest way the museum is looking back on its history of complicity and the country's complicity, and on the moral underpinnings of art acquisition. I'm living in a year where back home, we are trying to shut down any discussion of historic failures -- ones that don't fit into a comfortable understanding of our own splendid position in this universe. To see how an uncomfortable discussion might proceed was so moving for me!

(not only Impressionists: Bührle expanded his repertoire toward the end of his life)

 

 

I accosted one of the museum staff (did you know that the Swiss are reserved and do not generally look for conversations with strangers?) and I talked about all this with her. (And of course, American politics came into full focus, though this sweet person did not try to shift the narrative to the faults of other leaderships, she fully embraced the idea that all governments are suspect and do things that are corrupt, it's just that currently -- but not exclusively! --  America ranks high on this dimension.) She spoke of how important it is to speak up and question the status quo (and yes, she did ask why we are not protesting openly in America right now). 

And so ended my museum visit. The levity that I had so stamped onto this trip was momentarily dispelled and my heart pounded with the pain of those years of fascism in Europe. 

One last moment: I was going down to the exit, passing through a more conventional floor of museum pieces, also famous, also beautiful...

... and I came across another installation, this one by Refik Anaddl (called "Glacier Dreams"). Think: AI. Think: The biggest challenge of our time -- preserving our endangered environment. Then step inside and experience this (it's moving and dripping and melting...):

 

 

Time to leave. 

(3 generations, making their way up to the exhibition...)

(walk back, through the "old town")

 

 

(view toward my side of the river; the pink building is my hotel)

 

 

I pause for a while at the hotel, talk to my friend who for once shares the clock with me, and as the afternoon very quickly moves from one hour to the next, I decide to do one more outing -- nearby, to a church of all things (the Fraumunster), and then to Cafe Sprüngli.  Let me explain both:

The church is one of few in this world that has stained glass windows by Chagall. I want to see them. The weather had turned again and it's raining when I step outside, but the church is close by and they have plenty of umbrellas here. (And plenty of rain!)

(five panels, not really possible to photograph in one shot...)

From there, I go to Sprüngli. 

Maybe you've heard of it? Sprüngli is 190 years old. First established (by David Sprüngli) as a "confection" shop, it was an important keg in the machinery that propelled Switzerland to "best chocolate in the world" fame.  Many generations of Sprüngli men (!) have owned and operated it (though the Sprüngli empire was initially split between two Sprüngli sons: one brother went on to establish the industrial production Lindt-Sprüngli company, while the other stayed with the Sprüngli candy shop (eventually also cafe and restaurant) in Zurich (and beyond).

Good chocolate is very in right now. Some of the best marketed chocolate is in fact so good that I dont even especially like it. Way too intense. But Sprüngli is of a different tradition -- it's fine chocolate, but it's also enjoyable. People of my generation stay loyal to it even as the babes of the world flock there as well.

I have especially fine memories of Sprüngli, because I came here with my two girls on their very first trip to Europe. We didn't exactly visit Zurich, but we flew to it because in those days (one girl was 8, the other 5) Swiss Air offered the best overseas flight fares. And in our several hour layover in Zurich (we were on our way to Madrid, where my now ex had a conference), I decided we could zip over by train to the city center to explore a bit of it and to eat Swiss chocolates. I took them all to Sprungli. Neither girl remembers that visit, but I do! Their first European meal!

Today, I stared at chocolates, fighting with myself about taking any home. (It's not as if we lack chocolate in the US.) I'll let you know who won once I get back and start making family dinners and brunches again!

Then I went over to their cafe. As luck would have it, one of the limited tables opened up. 

(what luck: a mirror by my seat!)

 

 

I literally asked the server which pastry she regarded as most Sprüngli appropriate. She pointed me to this one.

Sprüngli is heavily into the production of macarons these days. Of course, it was delicious.

It's hard to take back food memories. Photos and words commemorate experiences, sights and sounds. But the whole act of eating, drinking -- that's another dimension of experience. For instance, my hotel room has a coffee/tea machine. (I dont know many European hotels that do not have it, as the British will not travel unless you give them a pot for boiling water in their room.) They've selected tea bags for my sampling pleasure and one of them called Brener Rosen (a combo of fruits and plants) is just heaven. Especially as I sip it, sitting by the window, looking out on the view of the river. At least with tea, I can bring some home (or order online!). But so many eating memories go by the wayside. And perhaps that's as it should be. Perhaps your memories should be of a whole, rather than its minuscule parts.

 

Speaking of food, in the evening I go to Neue Taverne. That is one strange choice considering where I am (Zurich Switzerland!). It was a last minute selection. I was supposed to meet up with my American friends who are spending their year in southern Germany, but they got sick and I'm a barely recovered sickie, so we cancelled the meetup and I scrambled to find a suitable venue for just myself. (Eater is a good guide for this place, but, too, so is Michelin.) Neue stood out at first because it had only two $ in the Michelin listing (as opposed to their usual three or four!). And it also had a rosette. And it's two minutes away. And it's totally vegetarian. Considering all the meat eating done in this country, I thought this to be a real plus -- I'll fill up on veggies before being tempted by meats once again.

And it is in fact a superb place. An extraordinarily talented chef heads up a team in an open kitchen and they do wonders. Too often in Michelin favored places the visuals dominate. The ingredients blend well but many are lost in the small bites and the adornments are little more than that -- adornments. Not here. Everything made sense. The taste of each dish was a magnificent match-up of flavors that only a very talented chef could think of.

I could have done the tasting menu, but I chose instead the a la carte so I could control my intake! Brioche with parmesan and truffle, eggplant with wasabi, herbs and crispy bread, and finally a desert of parsnip, dried pear, walnut and black cherry molasses. I was blown away!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 [I've become a bore with my thank yous -- they are excessive, I'm sure. I seek out people to thank in this restaurant that seems to be 100% full of Swiss people. I thank the waiters -- mine, not mine, who cares. The cooks, the chef, who catches my eye, the people at the table next to mine. I have this need to compensate for the horrible words said by our leadership about Europeans, about everything.]

 

As I walk (the two steps!) back to my hotel I think about this brief trip to Zurich in its entirety (tomorrow morning I'm leaving, so that tonight marks its end). I haven't been feeling great about city visits lately (with the exception of Paris). Too chaotic. Why then did I like my 1.5 days in Zurich so much?

A lot of it is having it fall into place so well (in my perception). My hotel room was available early, so I did not have to drag myself around town while I was dead tired yesterday. When I did go out, it felt warm and flowers were blooming. My hotel room has that large window and when I sit down to write, I'm very close to it. As if one foot in Zurich as I try to put down in words how it feels to be here. Then there is the quiet. Much of Zurich center is pedestrian. I see no cars on the opposite bank as I look out. I dont hear their roar. It's heaven! And the market this morning! The food! And of course -- the emotional walk through the rooms of the museum -- it all comes together into a memorable whole. It's been quite the wonderful visit to this city. Tomorrow, I'm off to the country.

with so much love... 

 

Zurich

First, the basics: you think of Zurich, you likely think of banks and financial institutions. And mountains, watches, and chocolates. You'd be correct on all counts. Zurich is the largest city in Switzerland (about half a million people). It's not the capital of the country (Bern is that), but it is a sort of cultural capital. It has good museums, including one dedicated to "nothing" (read about it here.) I was surprised to read that Zurich ranks high on the "happy cities" list. Switzerland is also "happy," though only in the 13th world spot. Before you poo-poo Swiss happiness, do remember that we, in the U.S., do not even make it into the top twenty. Richest country, but pretty miserable. As the elections have shown us. Maybe it's all that Muesli that gets the Swiss off to a good start each day. Zurich is synonymous with Muesli (you can actually ask for a bowl of Zurich in the morning and they'll know what you want -- oats, grated apple, nuts, seeds and milk.

Zurich is attractive. And because it is a visually interesting city, I booked a room at a hotel that capitalizes on its location by the Limmat -- a waterway that starts out at the tip of the Zurichsee. (Not a sea, people! Switzerland is land-locked! It's a lake.)

My hotel is called Storchen, which translates as "storks." The imagery for me is  delightful.

But I am ahead of myself. First, the flights -- all three on time, all without issue. I'm still in my post-illness phase where I'm pretty tired, so I actually (hold on to your horses! this is a rare one!) slept on the overseas leg. For about an hour.

(waking up to sunrise over Paris environs as we land: lovely colors, mists...)

At the Paris airport I had just enough time to bite into my first French croissant of the trip.

 

 

And then I board the very quick flight to Zurich. This Swiss city is about 400 miles from Paris so you would only fly if you're connecting from another flight. Otherwise you'd take the train -- it's only three hours from Paris center to Zurich center.  Having recently read a lengthy article about how and why the project of building a high speed rail between LA and SF ran into trouble, I'm less inclined to point fingers at political failures. We've boxed ourselves in in the U.S., so that it's unlikely that we'll be able to build tracks for these trains in my lifetime. The opportunity has long passed. I'm afraid it's one of those things like universal health care and paid family leave -- we as a nation are not united on the need for any of these and so we stumble along with half measures. And remain unhappy.

 

(Landing in Zurich: a very different landscape)

 

Zurich airport is close to town. I could take a train, but it really is a relatively un-pricey taxi ride (nothing is cheap here -- it's all "relative") and I have a medium suitcase that is more awkward, and I am old, so there you have it: I cab to my hotel. Well, almost to my hotel. The road chosen by the cabbie is under construction toward the end and so he shrugged and let me out a few blocks away. My new medium suitcase had her first experience with European cobble stones. 

It's early. The room is ready only because we are in the low low season. (It doesn't get any lower: many Swiss hotels close at the end of March through all of April. This alone should have prompted me to think twice about booking a stay here now. I mean, why is it that no one wants to travel to the mountains at the end of March?), but as I've said I am only a little troubled by poor weather. 

I always want to set out right away once I arrive in a new place, but today I go easy: I want to rest just a little. I imagined myself in this room, looking out at this view many times in the course of the winter and it feels good to be finally doing it.

(with a stork motif)

(looking to the right...)

(to the left...)

 

I have to be pleased with the weather: there was rain earlier, but now you can actually see an occasional blue wisp of sky. And it feels warm -- in the mid 50sF (so low teens C). Shortly after noon, I pick a walk and set out. [Picking a walk these days is so easy as compared to the "olden days." No need to visit a tourist office, no need to follow everyone's tracks. A few minutes on the internet will give you a lot of information. One site (this one) was especially helpful: six walks, many of them weaving through parks or green spaces. I pick the first one on the list -- "Zurich Lake Walk West." And I'm determined to stop at a cafe early on.]

I wrote out names of possible coffee houses, ones that had "good coffee," months ago. Honestly, on this one I would have been better off eyeballing a few along my route, preferably those attached to bakeries. But I didn't do that. European cafes can have shockingly bad coffee (I'm lookin' at you, Paris!), and while I'm not terribly fussy, still, I thought I'd get a better sense of Swiss cafe life if I picked a place with a good reputation.

So first stop? Cafe Odeon, which calls itself a "Viennese style coffee house." 

 

 

It's been around for over a hundred years and the list of famous coffee drinkers who came here is long. Einstein. Lenin. James Joyce. Mata Hari. Mussolini. All fussy people! 

But it's not a bakery. Indeed, there was only one baked item on the menu -- an apple strudel, which actually was more like an apple cake. No matter, I like apple cakes and strudels. Seems a Swiss kind of a dessert, doesn't it?

You can see the problem: sweetness overload! 

I learned something: cream is a popular ingredient here.

The walk along the lake convinced me of something I already suspected -- Zurich is in a different climate zone, one that does not overlap with what we have in south central Wisconsin.

Spring has sprung here. And how! 

When you are alone, you listen to the voices all around you and I must say, it's disconcerting to hear German, a language I do not understand.  I rarely encounter German  in my travels (and I know only about 20 words of it). My delicate avoidance of Germany had been a holdover from having spent my childhood in postwar Poland. May that be a lesson to us! You don't easily grow out of your distrust toward those who harmed you. I've surely spent time in Switzerland in the past, but by chance it would be in their French speaking Cantons. And now here I am, in the Zurich Canton -- all German, traveling soon to the Bernese Oberland -- the Canton of Bern, where they also speak German (with French as a back-up plan!).

(to the south -- the Alps)

In the evening, I booked a table at Kindli Restaurant -- I'm told it's the oldest eatery in Zurich. Now, what would you consider to be Zurich food? What do people eat here?  Well, you already know about Muesli, but what else? I think most would agree that the dish closely associated with the city is Zürcher Geschnetzelte  -- basically it's a plate of thin strips of veal in a mushroom cream sauce, with a side of Rösti potatoes. I used to cook both the veal in cream and Rösti in my former life, but these days I avoid meats and especially ones that come from a young animal that was never given a chance to grow up, and, too, I avoid recipes with creamy sauces, but I'm not a purist by any means. When in Zurich, I do want to pay attention to what people here regard as their own. Kindli serves this dish, I order it. (And as a special bonus -- I see they have white asparagus in season! It brings back memories of when I was in Germany briefly with Ed -- he had a machining friend there and we paid him a visit. In April of 2006. When we found white asparagus on a lunch menu, we could not get enough of it!)

 

 

I have to admit it -- the veal in mushroom sauce is fabulous! It may be the last veal I ever eat. The guilt is strong and I know I can't ever top this dish!

I almost said no to dessert. All the items on the menu seemed rich. But the waiter -- so professional, tolerating my German reading of my food choices -- merely said -- I 'll have them make something special for you. Light. With fruit.

 

 

It wasn't exactly light, of course. Bavarian cream, gelato... Still, it was, in fact, perfect.

 

The walk back to the Storchen is short. The view from my window at night -- beautiful. Now all I need is a good night's sleep!

 

 

with love....

 

first stop: Switzerland

Late in the evening, yesterday, there was a knock on the farmhouse door. What the heck? We do not get night visitors. Ever. Turns out it was a person from the new development. A huge parcel had been mistakenly delivered to her house. It's for you, she said, and it looks sort of urgent. 

Trees. Large persimmon trees, ready for planting.

Did we order persimmon trees?

I dont remember...

We go through our various emails -- yes. There it is, an exchange between Ed and the tree nursery many months ago. Apparently we'd already planted persimmon trees (we've planted so many trees! who can remember!), but none survived. These are our warrantied replacements. 

Guess what I cannot help you with? Planting trees! There's more: I can't help with the planting of tomato seeds either. Sometimes we do it in late March, sometimes in the early days of April. I'm not here on either. It's Spring break.

Spring break travel: you love it and you struggle with it: is late March really a great time for a trip to Europe? The south is warm -- ish. The entire continent can rest under a cloud of rain. For days on end. The north? Well, if you like drizzle and cold all in one. The mountains? The snow has melted, but spring hasn't fully arrived. Try again in June.

And yet, I love it for what it is: a break. From the routines of a long winter. Before your spring planting duties mount. 

In recent years, I've taken Snowdrop, the oldest of the grandkids with me on spring break trips. I planned the destinations with her in mind: where will she learn the most without it seeming like an educational plod through endless museum rooms? But this year I moved things around a bit for reasons of convenience. So spring break travel is going to be not with her but by myself.

Well, kind of by myself. A few months ago, my younger daughter asked if I'd like to meet up with her and her family in early April, in France. Well of course I would! But wait -- I'd planned this solo trip at the end of March. What to do? The obvious and the easiest and the most pleasurable solution is to combine the two, staying in Europe after my "spring break," and joining up with them for part two of the trip: en famille.

The question that remained for me was how to structure the solo part of my trip. I'd already booked a handful of days in a mountainous spot in Switzerland and I decided to stay with that idea. I'd corresponded with the owners of the small hotel I'd picked for my trip and we had a plan going. Sure, March can still be cold, but the scenery promises to be splendid and an occasional muddy walk is still going to be invigorating and lovely. Afterwards? Oh, did I waver on those days! I booked one idea. I changed my mind. A few days later I canceled and booked something else. Honestly, I spent a good deal of my free time this winter jumping around from one plan to the next. It was not an unpleasant distraction from the chaos in America right now! I'll tell you about that part of my now extended spring break later.

Okay, so Switzerland is first on my list of travel destinations. I fly into Zurich tomorrow morning.

Ha! I should have remembered by last (and only) visit to Zurich: it rained. All the time. Never saw a single mountain in this city known for its stellar mountain views. Weather forecast for the whole week I am to be in Switzerland? Calls for rain.

The thing is, I do mind, in that I would prefer sunshine. But on the other hand, rain on a trip doesn't hold me back. I still wake up each morning excited and eager to head out. But the way I head out and what I do changes. I anticipate a heck of a lot of visits to coffee shops in the week ahead. People watching over a Swiss pastry. You tell me -- does that sound even a little unpleasant? Quite the contrary.

First thing's first. One last March walk to the barn...

And one final breakfast with Ed. This part is hard. I'm at the stage in life where I do not want to be away from him for what I consider to be a long time on this trip, but we do talk daily and I know his farmette days will look not much different, whether I am there or not. 

And now it's time to catch my flight to Atlanta. From there -- to Paris, and then onto Zurich.

If all goes well, my next post will be from there.

with so much love...

the day before

Well, the day has come. There's no putting it off. No ignoring the heap of must-takes piling on the floor around an empty suitcase. Decisions must be made, the suitcase needs to be packed. With care. Tomorrow morning, I'm off on a trip. Longer than usual, passing through destinations, each requiring a completely different attitude toward dress and appearance.

I'm still not 100% energetic, but most of what ailed me has receded. I didn't take any meds in part because that which was prescribed to me doesn't exist. Yesterday's was not the most helpful visit to urgent care. But I'm glad I went. At least I know what I don't have! Right now, I'm feeling like whatever it was, it sure was a light case. What a huge relief! I came dangerously close to being sick just in time for my trip. As it is, I'm good to go. Early tomorrow. If I finish packing today.

In years past, spring break trips, always coming at the end of March, came after the first spring blooms popped open on farmette lands. Crocuses, sometimes even a daffodil or two. This year is different. The growing season got off to a later start and I was sure I'd leave without seeing a single flower here on farmette lands. 

I was wrong. This morning, on my walk to the barn, I spotted it! The first snowdrop!

Okay, so maybe you don't think this is a big deal, especially given that we saw hundreds of these same flowers over at Olbrich Gardens over a week ago, but to me it's huge. It's as if the garden is letting me know that it's there, slowly emerging, and it will be there when I next see it upon my return. 

 

 

Breakfast. I tell Ed about an article I read in the Economist about why people are leaving New Zealand (to go to Australia), and in the NYTimes about what Europeans (and Canadians and Mexicans and Panamanians and Greenlanders) are saying about American tourists these days. 

I find it interesting that many traveling Americans want to hide their identity. I get it. I've written here before -- I wasn't too happy having the conversation about being Polish when I lived here as a child, preferring to avoid the topic altogether. But this time, I think we owe it to fess up to what our country is doing to others. We've made people really scared to travel here. With good reason. One commenter (to the NYTimes article on Americans traveling to Europe) said this -- when I ask American tourists what the hell they're doing in their country, they say "I didn't vote for him." It's like in Italy with Berlusconi: everyone claimed they didn't vote for him and there he was, prime minister! And anyway, if you didn't vote for him but you oppose what he's doing to the rest of the world, to your own country, why aren't you out on the streets like we would be here, every week, every day!"

Valid questions. We should face up to them. 

After breakfast I forced myself to go upstairs to pack. I'm sure I'm not doing it right and I reconsidered some of my choices having just read another commenter (on traveling Americans) who wrote that he'd be more forgiving of Americans if they weren't so boastful about their own exceptionalism, if they'd learn a few words that weren't in their own language, if they dressed with care where appropriate, if they just stop demanding better service. I took that to heart and switched out an indifferent shirt for a nicer top. The rest goes without saying.

 

It's cooler today, but the sun is brilliant. Do you see in the breakfast photo an Ed absorbed in reading material? That's because he is on the mailing list of the Ice Age Trail publications and their most recent one describes a segment of the trail -- cutting through the Valley View Preserve -- that we haven't hiked yet. This is remarkable. It's a mere 20 minutes away and I don't know about it? I really thought we'd explored every hiking path within at least an hour of Madison. 

What's notable about this particular segment is that it is dotted with bird houses for Bluebirds. Nine were installed a year ago. And in July, 32 Eastern Bluebirds fledged from them after being cared for by their parents, achieving an 84% fledge rate in that very first year. A remarkable success story.

Ed suggested we pick up the trail today and I am indeed up for it!

It's a beautiful walk. Not too long, but lightly hilly and with good views. All against a very blue sky.

There is a prairie of course, and an oak grove, and a forest of mixed vegetation and nut trees. And the sunshine is strong and we are happy!

Of course, we note the bird houses. 

 

We'll be back to peek at them come summertime!

(There is a bench facing the hills, the sunshine. Call these minutes resting on it totally memorable!)

Feeling even more energetic after the walk, I attack the lavender once more. I dont finish clipping all the plants. There are several dozen and I run out of steam toward the end, leaving five behind. No matter -- task accomplished more or less! When you garden at my age, all by yourself, and there are so many flowers and shrubs and tubs to care for, you make do with "more or less."

Evening: a dinner of fish and cauliflower, a few hours on the couch with Ed, watching a show together. A PBS one on the Waubesa Wetlands -- those that hug the southern tip of Lake Waubesa, maybe two miles down the road from the farmhouse. I'll miss this couch moment of course. I always do. Still, I'm excited: tomorrow morning, I'm off.

with so much love...

spring break?

Well, it was inevitable that I would catch some of that bug that's been circulating. I could feel it creeping in on me last night. I fought with it, denied it, then finally gave up and admitted that I wasn't at my sharpest.

Still, I was up to feed those animals -- they dont care if you're not fully on board. They just want their food.

 

And I fixed a nice breakfast for the two of us.

And then I considered my options. Mild symptoms. Not Covid. What to do? Rest, with a check in at the clinic, because I want to travel in a couple of days and I want to shake this and also know that it isn't something that should keep me home.

Both of these -- rest and a clinic visit -- meant that I had to call off picking up the kids after school. That is a shame, because I wont be seeing them for a while now and, too, it's fun to pick them up on the very last day of school before spring break. Spirits tend to soar, everyone is tickled with what's ahead. Still, I needed that clinic visit and it is one crowded place right now. The wait is long. 

It was afternoon before I could head home for my hours of rest.

It's a shame that the day had to disappear into thin air like this. I didn't finish trimming the lavender. I did not spend time with the kids (and so we did not finish reading the book we were determined to get through before I leave), I did not pack, I did not go for a walk with Ed. 

On the upside, it was quiet and so very cozy inside and he kept saying -- it's so nice here with you, and I kept saying -- isn't this the best, and he'd answer -- oh, but you think walking in the rain in some far away place, with jet lag is so much better, and I'd retort -- it isn't better, Just different...

And then I slept, rousing myself to make chili. For tonight, and for him to have when I'm gone.

Uneventful, true, but so very lovely here at the farmhouse. And not too bad on the bug front. Vaccinated people (that's me!) have such better outcomes when they do get sick. Remarkable that so many still defy what the medical community has known for years -- science is on your side. Rumor and conspiratorial thinking are not. 

With love...

happy spring

We are not just one thing, one string of emotions, one combination of traits, one assemblage of attributes. We mix things up, change our minds, try out new ideas for size. And yet, we I have this one trait, one guiding force, one belief from which I have never wavered -- I believe in the magnificence of spring. Put it another way -- I just really love this season. Always have and I suppose always will.

Spring Equinox. The sun passes over the equator and boom! We move right into the growing season. Nature's way of telling us we have another chance at putting together a good day. A good life.

However, here, in south central Wisconsin, outside, there is snow.

The thing is, however much I love spring, it does come with its own peccadillos, mostly in the realm of weather. At least where I live and places I travel to -- weather in spring is: unpredictable, sometimes stubbornly unpleasant, often too wet, demanding a reach for winter garb once again.

Of course, plants need rain. It's just that us humans find rain to be a limitation: low lying clouds, sheets of wetness, accompanied by gusts of wind -- it's not what you want for, say, a spring vacation.

I have a trip coming up and looking at the weather forecast for the first week of my travels makes me cringe. Wet snow, changing to rain, cloudy and cold, every single day of that first week. Last night I wrote to my hotel hosts -- maybe I shouldn't stay a full week. Maybe I should head out toward better weather places. They poo-pooed my weather worries and wrote back something to the effect of "we'll help you survive!" 

But let's get back to spring. I am finally seeing buds and green tips out there. 

 

 

That is enough for me. Spring is a process. The end result is less important than the gradual awakening. There is no stopping that progression right now. We are on our way.

It's rather nippy out there and so we postpone our walk until a later hour. I concentrate on getting things in order. I'm not leaving until Sunday, but I have loads to do in the next three day. Ed would deny to high heaven that I need do anything for him at all, but still, I like to stock the pantry with his favorites, clean out spaces that I know otherwise will gather dust in my absence, clear the garden, cook some foods, and, of course, think about how the heck I can pack knowing that everything I wear that first week will get wet.

It is a busy morning.

(breakfast, with tulips that are past their prime and Ed who is not)

And still, I find time to read. What stands out? Oh so much. How about this: it used to be that when I lived in Poland, people from the west hesitated about coming for a visit. Indeed, my best friend from my American school declined an invitation to see me in Poland. Understandable, I suppose. There was an element of fear. So here I am, an American, reading about hesitancy all over again. Canadians, Europeans, Australians postponing a visit to my country, the United States, for many reasons to be sure, but in that handful is that element of fear all over again. Tourists, detained without explanation? Where am I living anyway? Back in postwar Poland?

 

I have just Snowdrop with me in the afternoon. Sparrow is still under the weather. 

I pick up a happy girl! Unusual? Not at all. Under-dressed? But of course.

(At the farmhouse, she snatches Ed's computer for a quick game while I fix food)

 

Much later in the evening, Ed and I do go out for a walk. The snow has mostly melted, the air is brisk, the light is spring-like and stunning. I didn't want to go, but as always, I am soooo glad we pushed ourselves to do it.

Happy, happy spring!

with love...