Paris

So how is it here, in this great big beautiful city (that could not be more different than my home base at the farmette)? How was the travel? The arrival? First hours on this side of the ocean?

Well, in a sense, predictable, with a few unexpected stresses, greatly outnumbered by the joyful moments of watching Paris unfold before our eyes.

Chicago's airport, our departure point, wasn't chaotic. The young family ate a pizza supper...






... and then Snowdrop and I visited different corners of the airport, enjoying the views of the big planes (including ours).





This is why you shouldn't be apprehensive about travel (with kids or even without): the punches are never ones you would have anticipated, and you spend too much time fretting about matters that, in the end, aren't significant at all.

For example, I did not expect us to be strapped into our seats for the first two and a half hours because of strong turbulence. With kids, this is always a problem. No food, no movement, no bathrooms. And you don't know how long it will last. Five minutes? Five hours?

In the end, most of the 7.5 hour flight was very smooth, and I'm happy about that, but it surely got off to a bumpy start!













Finally, in our AirBnB apartment. On this street:






We chose it for its size and location. Period. I wanted to be within a short stroll to the Luxembourg Gardens and all those other Left Bank nooks I've grown to love.

The apartment does have a large set of rooms....






Three bedrooms for the five of us. (We would have settled for two, but three is very nice!) Sparrow gets to sleep in the bathroom. He is still noone's favorite sleeping buddy.






I don't even unpack. I go out immediately in search of lunch for us all. So many places are still closed this week for vacation, but there is a bread store/pastry shop just a couple of blocks down the road and it has everything that I'm looking for.






This girl joyously proclaims it to be the best baguette ever! I believe it. The croissants, too are delicious. Or is it that we will them to be so? Because we're so hungry and our love of these breads runs so deep?






While Sparrow takes a very very long nap, and parents doze off as well, Snowdrop and I set out to the tiny park that is just a four minute walk from here. Small but delicious. It has it all!






How this child has grown over the years! She'd rarely climbed wobbly ropes before. Now she goes in full speed and she doesn't care that there may be a bunch of older, more energetic climbers vying for the same. Sleep deprived? You wouldn't notice, looking at her.












After a while, I steer her to the  pastry section of the mega Food Halls of the Grand Epicerie.






I don't mean to offer her any macarons now, just before dinner, but the sales clerk wants to keep this little one smiling and so she gifts her one. I don't want to sound rude and say no!






We pick up some fruits and a bottle of rose for our fridge. And I am agreeable for another  small treat: on this beautiful, sunny day, you can't resist Berthillon ice cream. The French do not overload your ice cream cone (or cup).











Finally, dinner. I'd toyed with going to a "real" restaurant, but this is tricky in Paris with kids in the evenings, for any number of reasons and especially when everyone is terribly sleep deprived and potentially fragile.

In the end we go to the nearby Cafe de Flore on St Germain. And everyone is exceptionally good natured, and the food is just fine and we all leave smiling (and Sparrow tries, for the first time, sitting at the table without a high chair... he is that big!)






I'll leave you with this boy's happy grin (back home now). His verdict on Paris thus far? Well, I would say this:

to Paris

Today's a travel day. We get up to the usual morning stuff...

(garden inspection: the Big Bed)






(the young orchard and the new meadow... we have big plans for converting every last bit of lawn into meadowland...)






The "usual morning stuff" suddenly includes paying attention to the smallest kittens (see yesterday's post).

(this is the April-born Dark Blue, still a little shocked at the appearance of the younger ones...)






[To be clear, it wasn't our goal to have 11 cats of various ages in the garage. I'm not especially a cat person and once Ed's ancient domesticated cats moved on to their next lives, we assumed we were done with cats. The problem was that the one feral dame, aka Stop Sign, who came and went as she pleased, brought her two kittens here on a cold January day. One was Dance. The other, Jacket, most likely did not survive. We never worried about it. Dance stuck around, alone, even as her mother went off as usual. Then the baby boom began! In April Stop Sign came back with another litter and this time there were six babes. At that point we knew we were in trouble. And then of course Dance got pregnant with her four. So yes, we do have 11, not counting Stop Sign who really does not live here and is impossible to catch, though we keep trying! Seven are neutered. Four will be snipped as well, but we have to wait another couple of months. Do I want 11 cats here? Of course not. But it is what it is. They all get along with the cheepers: between the two species, I'd say the chickens have the upper hand. When they come running to check out the cat food, the kitties scatter. I suppose not all the cats will survive, but since they are spayed, they're not likely to roam, as they wont be looking to mate. We'll take each day as it comes. We didn't ask for this, but we wont starve the family that has somehow inserted itself into farmette life.]


One last very beautiful breakfast with Ed...






... and I am off to meet up with the young Madison family for our next travel adventure.

There's little "adventuring" at this early stage of our trip. The young family lingers at their house with last minute instructions for house and pet sitters and then drives speedily to catch up with me, as I leisurely meander over on the bus. I'll be posting this before I reach Chicago's airport, but I assume we'll face the normal chaos there. Here's hoping the flight will be on time, relatively smooth and that the kids will sleep. I know, that's a lot to wish for!

Where are we going? Our first stop will be Paris.

Paris. Allow me a wordy meander here, because for me, Paris is like a diary of my life. Inserting itself in the thick of my frantic travels between Europe and America, it encapsulates all those moments that mark the passage of time for anyone.

I see that in the fifteen or so years of blogging, I have touched on Paris on 182 days. That's more than Warsaw. More than any other travel destination in my life (though Chicago, on account of Primrose, is catching up!). By now, Paris is not a city for me to explore. It's a city where I live as I would live anywhere else, going about my business, but in a culture that is not my own.

This quintessentially French city has been with me for such a long time! I saw it on my first trip to America, at age seven. Since then, I have seen it under all circumstances. I traveled through it returning six years later to Poland. I traveled through it with my sister and her then husband, because they bought this car there, and it needed a driver, and neither of them could drive it back to Poland. Later, I traveled through it eagerly with my own young family. And it was where we returned constantly at the peak of my obsession with good food -- in the years when I moonlighted in Madison's l'Etoile restaurant. We were in Paris, eating our way through countless good meals at the turn of the century. And I returned alone to it with my younger daughter, one terribly stormy winter week, when the airport shut down and we were forced to stay extra days.

I was in Paris one week after the attacks on September 11. I was there a couple of weeks after the Paris attacks in November of 2015. I traveled through it in giddy moments -- it was my first stop with Ed on our very first foreign trip together in 2005. And I traveled there in sick times, where phone consults with my doc were numerous and where I ignored their urgings for me to seek medical care. I didn't, but perhaps I should have, because being sick and alone and far from home is draining. Paris has known me to be lonely, to be mad -- like the time I had lost my wallet on the plane coming in and had no money, no credit card, nothing with me. Well, I had Ed!

But really, in all those years, as in life, there has been so much joy! Lovers' travels, daughters, sister, friends. Even paying companions! Twice, I offered to take random Americans on trips to France for a fee. We always ended in Paris.

And of course -- now the young families: with husbands of daughters, and thus far only Snowdrop, but before another 365 days pass, I hope to add to the list both Sparrow and Primrose. I feel I'm passing on my Paris to them. This is where grandma learned how to get a grip on life. How to lessen the impact of drama. How to sooth the senses and remain open to beauty even as I felt no peace, because there will always be times when peace is hard to come by.

So once again, we will be in Paris. And once again, I'll let myself step into this different culture, noting the passage of time as I look at the city now with two grandkids in tow.

Monday

Stunning blue skies, golden flowers in the fields, hungry kittens, energetic chickens. So begins my week.

Since I'm leaving tomorrow, much of this morning is spent on last minute details: cosmetics case, torn. Damn! Why didn't I notice it earlier? Amazon to the rescue. Let's throw in a few chapter books for my young traveling companion while I'm "shopping." Okay, what else? Bills to pay, flowers to water, suitcase to pack. Easy stuff. Summer travel is a piece of cake. (Inner voice warns me: don't get too cavalier, too cocky!)

Let's give the garden one last quick peek. August gold!
















And let's enjoy an extra leisurely breakfast.






And, too, a delightful afternoon with my granddaugther.

(She made a 'placemat' in school, a collage of some favorite foods, flowers, and a picture of a girl, likely sporting her name...)






(at the farmhouse, with a story in her head...)







Toward evening, I see a bird hovering over the yard. I don't think it's a hawk, but I'm programmed to go out and check on these things. The cheepers, thinking I'm out to feed them hover at my heals. So do the kittens.

Alright, cheepers, let me feed you first...

(on the way to the barn, such pretty evening light!)






As I return to the garage to feed the kitties, I hear it -- that meow of the littlest ones. Dance's littlest ones. Only they're not up in the rafters any more.

Who knows how they got down (did Dance carry them? she's not around this evening...), but they are scared and meowing their little tails off. I can't remember when they were born. Maybe four weeks ago?

We pick them up and plunk them down on the food bowls (the older kitties are not amused; they scatter and watch from a distance)...

The wee ones are confused, scared... Picking them up seems to relax them a little...











(the size of the littlest of the lot, as compared to, say, Ed's shoe...)






Within a few minutes, they begin to eat. (One needs a little coaxing...)






And then they follow us around. Because without Dance, they latch on to the food source: us.

It is an interesting evening!

Ed, do we really have 11 cats living in the garage?
It seems that way.

All from the same family! One looks like the next, with a mix of the other.

You have to admire the stamina of these littlest ones. Their mom was way too young to be a mom, especially to a litter of four. Then came her capture. The surgery. The release, followed by her illness. She became so bony that I swear, I could wrap my fingers around her sunken stomach. And through it all, she kept them fed, up there in the rafters.

So, we have four more cats to take to the vet in a few months. Perhaps it'll be easier. At least they are learning not to be skittish.

Ed, are you going to manage all this while I'm gone? (I'm leaving tomorrow.)
Yes, gorgeous.

Sunday

The storms begin at 6 in the morning.

Ed, I can't go out to feed the kitties.
Why not?
Listen to it! Another clap of thunder.
Then don't go.
You think it's safe, don't you?
Of course I think it's safe.
Oh fine, I'll go.

The kittens get none of my friendly voice and sweet rubs on the cheek (well, only Dark Pink and Dance let me do that). I am in and out in a flash.

By late morning, all the nastiness has moved to the east. I snip some spent buds, Ed rototills the pathways.


(garden views)











Breakfast: quiet, lovely.





Afterwards, Ed does a quick inspect of my car.
Nina, do you ever check your oil?
Well, I mean to do it...
It's below even the "minimum" line! How did you get it to run down that much?
Um, well, ah, so.... maybe we should bike to pick up corn!

 (Did you know that our corn farmers also raise and sell Scottish Highland beef? Here, look this sweet cow in the eye and apologize for your love of hamburgers!)






The afternoon is full of chores and errands, including picking up three quarts of oil for my car. Three quarts! I vow to do better going forward.

(Along the road to Walmart)






And in the evening, the young family is once again here for dinner.

(Talking to her sister...)











(An evening romp, as she and Ed go out to feed the animals...)






Late, when all the dishes have been cleared and cleaned and darkness has fully set in, Ed and I bring out the popcorn and turn on a movie. As I get up to fetch a cool drink, I see it again: the frog visitor. He came in from the porch a couple of days ago and we naively thought we could catch him and let him out. He was quicker than either of us.

Tonight, we're more careful. Ed comes in from the porch, I'm ready to throw a bowl over him in the kitchen.





And still he gets away! But he leads us to the secret little hole in the corner of the porch used by him and possibly the occasional mouse that looks for shelter in our basement.


So, maybe frogs rather than crickets  after all?

Saturday

It's summer, it's fall, it's really summer, it feels like maybe summer is nearing an end.

Ed and I both love seasonal change. True, the most anticipated and exhilarating changeover is the one that signals the coming of spring. But, it's also a time of frustration: spring never comes soon enough! You have plans, you have expectations and you find yourself waiting.

The change from summer to fall is more gentle. It's like taking your great aunt out for a walk, rather than playing tag with a ten year old. The rush is over. We take each day as they come, reveling in the feeling of lingering warmth, even as the idea of a crisper day doesn't seem bad at all.

[For some, the change to winter is the worst: these are the people who flee south. We're not among them. In the winter, the house is warm and there's always the hope for a beautiful snow cover.]

I'm still snipping lilies, but only in a couple of places are there any noticeable quantities of spent flowers. Like from these very tall girls: still going strong -- 40+ every day.







Most of the others are now singles or at best doubles and struggling to make their presence known in the thickness of phloxes, heliopsis, rudbeckias, and monardas.











A game for you: find the day lily in this picture!






We do some weeding -- Ed along the path, me by the sheep shed, but it's a halfhearted effort on my part. So there are weeds. I'll deal with them next spring.

For me, this is the last unstructured day for a long long while. The young family is returning from a few days away by the big lake and we all now have just a short time to get ourselves ready for some more travel. But today, I'm still moving slowly, letting the hours unfold without once having to look at a clock. Having breakfast at noon seems just fine! Or is it even later? I note the passage of time only by the movement of the sun from one end of the porch to the other.






Sometime late in the day, we bike over to the Disc Golf course once more and put in our 9 "holes" of disc throwing. Ed's improving so much that he wants to keep playing. Me, I like the barefoot walk across the course and the meager tosses of a disc that never seems to want to go far enough. No camera this time, but I do say hello for you to the cranes and pigs! And the three deer that crossed our path on the ride.

And in the evening, I check off a few more items from my big to do list, and I cook up a huge pot of chili (I can never take off on a trip without wanting to cook several meals for Ed, even as he laughs at my distrust of his solo eating habits), and finally we settle in on the couch for an evening of popcorn in front of some irrelevant movie.

And there you have it -- four days of a slower pace. Now let's rejoin the rest of humanity and get ourselves pumped up for what's ahead.

Friday

How can a day run past you so quickly, that you don't even notice when evening is starting to set in?
Ed asks -- are you ready to bike over to the disc golf course?
I'm tired! But from what? Sitting at the computer for the better part of the afternoon? (To my credit, I had a lot to accomplish with the help of the Internet.)

Morning was as typical as any farmette August morning: cats, flowers, flowers, kittens.











(Cats that stick together....)






(the forgotten flowers...)


 



And breakfast of course.





Then? Groceries. Because it's Friday. And after? Well, the computer. Forever.

Come on, he coaxes. You need the exercise.
Must we bike? So many hills!
You need the exercise.

We bike.

And it is a splendid evening for it! When you're on a bicycle, you are this close to all the beauty that the planet has to offer...






We are very much in farming country. Tractors, pickup trucks. And our sandhill cranes.





This is the farmstead of the Uphoffs. They raise pigs for your Sunday breakfast plate.

Every time we pass their pig pen (and we pass it very often -- it's the road we take to Disc Golf, to cross country ski in our county park, and to Walmart, our closest general store.), I think about these fat, well fed animals. I'm not a vegetarian (though we rarely eat meat), but still, one has to look those smart animals in the eye every once in a while. And we do.






In the eye!






In the evening, I let Ed take over cat feeding. He is determined to feed all of them in the cages so that we can more easily capture Stop Sign and the littlest ones, should they ever emerge from the garage rafters.

I stir up cauliflower and corn, throw in an egg or two and slice up some heirloom tomatoes. It is a classic August dinner on a classically beautiful August night.

Thursday

Are you part of the work force? Employed outside the home? If so, don't you wish that your vacation  days were more numerous? That you could take a whole month off in the summer and still have a week off for, say, a winter escape, to say nothing of a dozen public holidays in the year and a 35 hour work week? Like those darn vacation grubbing French?

We excel at many many things on this side of the ocean, but we do not excel at being generous to working folk. Most Americans, in my view, do not have enough time off from work.

True, our country men and women do better in job satisfaction than workers in some other countries. A Gallup Poll shows that only 70% of Americans hate their work. I read that in countries of the Mediterranean Basin (esp. the Middle East and North Africa), that number soars to well over 85%. So, perhaps 30% of job-liking people here don't care about the brevity of time away from work. Still, I do think it's awesome that in some places around the globe giving lots of time away from the grind is the norm. Indeed, the law.

It does make for tricky summer travel to those vacation loving countries. Anyone who has been in Paris in August has to say to herself -- where are all the French speaking people? (Answer: by the sea, or visiting New York and northern California.) More restaurants are closed than open. The place feels somehow... quiet.

I'll be in Paris next week and in anticipation of that visit, I decided to call around and check on the annual fermetures (closings), to see what, if anything, is open. What a silly thing to do on August 15th! Those who are not away by the sea, are off for this legal holiday ("Assomption"). A double whammy! Nearly everything was closed today.



Here, at the farmette, we are moving along at our own slow pace. Yes, I'm up early to tend to the animals and flowers...

(a corner of the Big Bed)






(diagonally opposite corner of the Big Bed)






(the porch garden, aka the lily bed)






(I walked over to the young orchard; the meadow flowers planted by us this year are so pretty!)






(and finally, one of the young trees is producing!)






(a fast moving humming bird)






Ed does have some work related stuff on his plate and so breakfast is a sit down, get up, sit down, get up kind of a deal.

(waiting for him...)






And then it's my turn to knock off a few prosaic tasks. I'm a dedicated bookkeeper, counting my pennies diligently, especially before a trip, and I am a committed house tidier too. (Ed likes to do neither of those chores.) So now you know what my day was like.

Still, in the late afternoon, we take out our bikes and ride over to the local farmers market (it's just 3.5 miles each way, but hilly!). We live a stone's throw from the city, but our neighbors have been mostly corn stalks.






The ride reminded me of years past, when biking was much more part of our routines. Market, coffee shop, library -- if the weather was decent, there wasn't even a question: we'd bike over to them.

Time is more precious now and in fact, I rarely make it to the Thursday market, sending Ed alone to do the eggs-for-cheese swap. But today, we had time.






(returning home, sunflowers in my backpack; Ed's carrying corn and tomatoes in his. And cheese.)






A full day. Dappled with sunshine.