riding through the Gaspesie

It's not a fast moving train. But it's fast enough. It leaves Charny (east of the Saint Lawrence) at 10 pm and it makes its way across the peninsula so that we approach the tip of Gaspe from the south, along the Chaleur Bay. Sorry, you gotta know your geography to put an image to what I just wrote. Just know that Gaspesie (the Gaspe peninsula) is the southern land mass that juts out into the enormous Gulf of the St Lawrence. We're north alright. At the 49 parallel. And east, far east, even as we're only one time zone away from home. But New Brunswick, just to the south of us, is in the Maritime zone. Odd how that works.

The seats on th train are ample, with plenty of room to recline. In the middle of the night the train splits in two, with one half (not us) going to Halifax and the rest, the smaller handful of passengers, continuing on to Gaspe.

I don't think anyone slept soundly. The kid -- there's always that kid who can't make it through the night and we have her in our midst. If you slept through that, you may have been roused by the sneezing lady or the mumbling duo. Still, there is something immensely soothing about the gentle sway of the car. If planes (and for me, cars) cause you to twitch, trains are like a massage. They take out the knots you typically travel with.

We meet a pair of train buffs from Ontario. He happens to also be a model train collector. No one collects these things anymore, He says with a sigh. Guess kids are into computers and games instead. A shame. Another train buff nods in agreement. This one's from Australia. He's ridden his share, too. Through Wisconsin once. He asks now if he would have passed Madison. No, not our town. We're not on any rail line.

We're in the observation car in the morning hours and that's just lovely! Views in all directions. Peeks at the bay, meadows with yellow and purple flows, forests, streams. An osprey nest perched on an electric pole. A mostly sunny day in the Gaspesie. As for photos? Oh, they'll be more fun to take once we leave the train. For now, I leave you with Ed, eating our deliciously fresh and honest take-out pizza at the station last night.





Oh fine. One more for the memory bank. A look inland, to the left.

Charny

I'd forgotten how hard it is to understand Quebecois French. We are on this evening somewhere in Quebec. Actually, I know where we are: Charny. We should be in Quebec City waiting for a bus to Charny, but hey, the airport transport person thought this would be better, so here we are. There is a bar by the railway station and it has WiFi and good draft beer, so who are we to complain. Across the street, people gather to eat ice cream and stare at a small fountain. The bar tender loves my iPad. Loves it! Friday evening in Charny.






This is safe adventuring. I like that. A bit of mystery but really, so little risk. I've said this before, when we are away from home, Ed turns more cautious, I gamble. Sure, Monsieur, if this is where you think we should be, let's go! But what do I know. He may have been asking something else altogether.

We're waiting to catch the train that passes through this place, on the way to the tip of the Gaspe peninsula. The light is so different here! It's a clear sky, but the color of the sky is not the same. Ed thinks I'm imagining it, but believe me, it is not the same.

A rather disjointed post, but celebratory too. Because we landed in Quebec City...





..and now we are heading north. In the new light of northeastern Canada.

oh, Cananda

I have wanted to hike up by the Atlantic coast of Canada for a long time. I don’t know why I should want to focus on that area, but my images of the communities and landscapes that form the south and northern shore of the St Lawrence, all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, are powerful. And so a while back, I suggested to Ed that we should finish the summer with a visit there. Typically he would say no to travel twice in one season, but I had three strong cards to show: 1. He had a Delta coupon worth hundreds that was about to expire 2. I reminded him that August in Wisconsin is miserable at the farm because of the mosquitoes and finally 3. I agreed to camp for a “significant” (to be determined) portion of the trip.

He sighs deeply now, or at least one third of him sighs deeply, because in a shocking development, there have been no mosquitoes this year. None. The air is free of their blood sucking presence. We do not know why. We wish we would know why. We wish whatever happened would continue to happen in the future, even as we know it will not ever be repeated – this year of no mosquitoes.

Still, there is the coupon and the camping and what the heck, we are both happily setting out today.

From one perspective, it is not a long journey. Not the flight parts anyway. We fly into Quebec City in no time at all, compared to, say, crossing the ocean. From there – it’s a challenge to get where I want to go: to the tip of the Gaspé Peninsula. We’ll be taking a fifteen hour overnight train from Quebec City to Gaspé. After that – well, there are a lot of question marks.

One thing I know for sure is that there will be at least two or three days at the beginning and who knows how often thereafter when I will be without Internet. I’m not even taking my computer – just the iPad. We have enough stuff to carry for the hike. Every pound matters.

So please be patient. As always, I will try to connect as much as I can. But life sometimes pushes you into places where you don’t have all that you need to keep you happy. You have to make do.

So, Isis has a cat sitter, our packs are loaded, all ‘to do’ things are checked off the lists. We’re off. Wish us luck as we navigate the cool, maybe damp, maybe buggy (or foggy or all of the above) forests and hills and costal shores of eastern Canada.

A bientot.

porch charm

We all have days loaded with 'to dos.' This was ours. Ed had a list, I had a list. Both were terrifically long.

Rosie springs into action. I’ll help! Need a filter for your camera lens? Let’s go! And she takes me right to the store on Capitol Square and parks her sweet little butt right in front of the door of where I want to be. This is how things look from Rosie’s saddle:





Meanwhile, Ed’s revving up to tackle his list. Wait, not just yet. First, he needs to figure out what those coupons from Copps are all about. Monopoly! If you fill in one square, you get stuff! Grocery stuff! Here he is, plugging coupons onto the Copps “monopoly board” as if he hadn’t a single other thing to do on this day.

You think you’re going to make a killing that way?

No, I’m just killing time.

Do you have time?

I’m idling here waiting for you.

Okay, he’s right, I am rushing this way and that, and boiling potatoes and cleaning the farmhouse and boiling sour cherries – the list continues. Sorry, Ed, for running four minutes behind schedule.

We dash for coffee, and dash to the Fitchburg Farmers Market... (Just six ears of corn, that’s all we need...)





...and dash home again, because we have company for dinner. Not a big deal meal, it has to be simple, but simple in August at the farmhouse is fun and rich in foods from the fields around us. To the shrimp, add potatoes, and our own garden tomatoes, and basil. Then there’s the local corn for the grill. And chicken brats with sauerkraut, or, if you prefer – with a meaty heirloom tomatoes from the yard.

Our guests are perfect porch guests – two generations: her kid, my kid, then there’s Ed...





For dessert – macerated peaches over homemade sour cherry ice cream.





Three times as many cherries as yogurt/milk. I cannot tell you how cool it is to decide your own proportions!


So the light fades and the leftover ice cream is melting, but who cares, it’s all good, all wonderful, because kids, adult kids, summer food, traveling companions, they really make you feel like you’ve got nothing in the world to fret about. It's my belief that the porch brings out those kinds of feelings.

rosie and me

It takes time to purchase things. I’d forgotten. There’s the search, the inspection, the decision. Then, the acquisition, both for real and on paper. And after, the formalities. Registration, pay here, pay there, for this, for that. Insure, read the regs – state, then city then campus. Finally. She’s mine. Little red Vino. Call her Rosie, Making her way home among the cornfields.





And in the evening, I hopped on her saddle and scooted downtown. True, the wind blew at me ferociously and I worried about the battery holding its charge, but once downtown, I remembered how luxurious it is not to worry about parking. Mopeds are a privileged lot! Kick her up anywhere on the sidewalk, lock her and away you go. In my case for a burger with daughter at Graze.






In the moon beamed evening, we walked to watch the boats out on Lake Monona.





The ride home was ... vibrant. The air cooled down a bit and I had valleys of warm air followed by peaks of cold, as if no one yet wanted to claim ownership of this beautiful weather.

And so it continued. My first day zipping around on Rosie.

restoration and transportation

Don’t think for a minute that the great farmhouse transformation has neared completion. There are small details inside, yes, tiny details – shelves in closets, that kind of thing.

But there are still two huge, draining projects ahead of us and we were out early this morning beginning to undertake the first – the reconstruction of the front stairs. We don’t use the front door at all – it’s shut tight. But it’s there – one could say it’s a good escape, should you need to escape. Though if you stepped out anytime before this morning, you’d have stepped out onto rotting boards and no steps. Here: it looked like this:





And if you drive by the house, you can’t help but think – that is one sad farmhouse, just look at the front steps.





With the help of crowbars and mostly Ed’s enormously strong arms, we tore apart and removed the boards, planks and posts. There. The removal is done.





Now what?

Well, we’re entering the contemplation and design stage. Ed is a designer and it takes him a while to mull, search, imagine, price and finally begin. It goes like this: he’ll ask what I have in mind and I’ll say – whatever is the easiest. He’ll shake his head, as if to say – I can’t believe you have no further suggestions. I’ll venture forth with a hint of this or that, he’ll listen, grow silent and turn his attention to something else, like cutting branches or weeding tomatoes until the impulse to design strikes again.

You cannot rush a creative temperament.



In other news, against all good advice of a few Ocean commenters, I put down hard cash on a used moped. A tad battered, but as Ed says – hey, the body’s plastic, it can’t rust.

To George H: I know taking the darn thing on a county road feels unsafe and awful. Too big to squeeze onto the shoulder, too small to make an impression on a monster truck breathing down your spine. And that’s assuming monster truck even notices you down there scootin’ along. But my commute is actually quite easy. I have a few empty stretches of road and then I am in the city. I would take a baby in a stroller on those country roads, they are that empty.

To Saul: No motorcycle. It’s all about the cost of parking. The moped, with its 'park wherever permission' is a bit of a godsend. In two semesters, it’ll pay for itself.

So I have myself a moped. Does that make me a Biker Girl? And if so, do I need he attire? You know, for protection. Like, I’m told I should never venture out without leather gloves, a jacket, goggles. Ed, who rides a motorcycle in shorts and a t-shirt ignores all clothing covers (except for the helmet). The motorbike is transportation for him, not a hobby.

You do not need a leather jacket, he’ll say. Do you use a leather jacket every time you take out your bicycle?

But there are safety considerations! Mopeds are fast.

Not that fast.
Fine. I don’t need biker clothes. I'll resurrect my ex's ancient scuffed and torn leather jacket. He left it behind.

A moped. I’m set for going to work now. The semester can begin. Well, soon. Give me a few more days.

things are not as they seem, continued

The law

Ed and I stop at Engelhart's. He has a battery to pick up for his thirty-plus year Honda motorcycle (a 200, for those who care).
You want to get out and look around?

No, I’m recovering.

Sure?

Yes.

He’s inside, I glance at the parking lot. Oh my, that is one hell of a cute moped out there!





I get out to look. Man oh man, I can see myself scooting on this to work. Face it, it’ll be a rare day that I bike to campus and back on my bicycle. One hour each way is a real disincentive on super busy work days.

I go inside and say to Ed – I should consider a moped.
A moped? We can find you an old one on the Internet.

I like the red one outside. Nice and shiny and new. It would save me in parking. In two years, it would be practically paid off. (I do not really want to plunk down two thousand plus on a moped, but it's good to dream every now and then.)

We go look at the scooter. Ed returns inside to talk to the sellers. In a minute he's back.
I want you to hear what these guys are saying about riding that thing. Inside now. Go ahead, tell her.

Well, it’s a 30 mph bike. And sure, there’s this ancient law that says you cannot take it out on any street with a speed limit over 25 mph. But it’s like “you can’t take a donkey to the voting booth when the sun is out and it's a Tuesday” – a weird law that makes no sense anymore and so everyone ignores it. Cops do not ticket mopeds, so long as they’re not on highways.

But I need it to go out on County MM. That’s a 50 mph in certain places. So forget it. There is no way to get to the farmhouse except to go on a higher speed road.

But really, because we have so many students – in Waunakee, Fitchburg, cops do not ticket mopeds around here.

Thanks, but I can't buy something that is going to cause me to violate the law on a daily basis.

You don’t want a new moped anyway. (This from Ed who is, of course, correct.)


The visit

The reason I had said earlier “I’m recovering” is because I had just spent several hours in the hospital (granted, so did Ed) for reasons of mix-ups, miscommunications and inexplicable inconsistencies. The upshot is that a fantastic doctor took hold of years of scattered work and put it all together but, to be thorough, told me I needed more biopsies. And so from what I thought would be a routine office visit, I went straight into surgery. This time the results were quick and conclusive (for now). I'm good.

In medical jigsaw puzzles, things are not always what they seem. Some pieces may be pushed under the carpet until someone, down the road (my brilliant physician today) uncovers them and wonders why they’re there to begin with.

My "take away" (to use my students' phrase du jour) from this day: know your moped laws and don't look for easy answers. In the alternative, coast and see what happens. No, maybe not that. Let’s go back to the first and tweak it a bit: understand the law and, as best as you can, find all pieces of the puzzle that is you.


Tonight’s the night to chill and open up the carton of rosé I brought back from the Dordogne. I'm hell of a lucky person.





UPDATE: You would think that a motorbike salesman would know the law on moped use. You'd think. FYI, you CAN ride a moped on a county road, or on city streets with higher speed limits. Phew! Trust professionals, only do get a second opinion.

choices

In the morning, Ed found a top one hundred American songs of the century list on the Internet. You couldn’t call it THE top 100 list, but it was a list put together with input from people contacted by associates from the recording industry.

Let’s listen to (youtubes of) the top 25.

It’s a pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning, Though I would not have guessed "Somewhere over the Rainbow" would come in as number one.

I write this because I want to remember that one of the nicest things about not working on a week-end day or, in my case, this summer, is that nothing needs to happen when I wake up in the morning. Perhaps there is a lot that should happen, and much more that I will have happen, but if you decide that before rising, you want to spend an hour listening to what some Americans think of as the best music of the century, that can be your morning. Remarkable.

Most of the rest of the waking hours were given over to writing and the weather was so perfect that I could write on the porch all day long, breaking once to eat my peach and honey yogurt ice cream...







...then again to a stroll along the road, just to take in a few deep breaths and to admire the great gardens of the farmers across the street...






...and finally, to walk with Ed across the property, including through the waist high prairie grasses. We peeked at the farmers (and their offspring) cultivating their crops just to the north of us.





...and then we chopped down some dead branches on very tall trees. Because on a farmette, work always beckons.

In the evening, my girl, Ed and I sat on the porch and watched the bats do their dance. You can do that when you don’t have three classes to teach the next day. Amazing.

two chapters

At the market, very early

I’m a hanger on to the restaurant community. I have no ties to the restaurant world anymore, not since I left the employ of L’Etoile in... was it the fall of 2004? But I have lasting good huggable people there – a chef or two, a business manager, a bar tender, a waiter. And there is the partner of another restauranteur in town and of course, always the farmers who were once known to me as restaurant suppliers and now are just in my world of fond memories. Worthy of a special pause on a Saturday morning at the market.

My camera died (why???) and so I had only my phone for picture taking, but no matter, I was less inclined to look for good photos today. I spent a good two or three hours just sitting outside Graze with a friend whom I've known for exactly thirty years, talking to combinations of the above and then a bit of time at the market, picking up everything from kale to tomatoes and oh so much more in between.

So, a photo to commemorate a wonderfully leisurely morning outside Graze...





Then, a photo of a vendor who supplied me with a bunch of green stuff today...





...and another to really put things in the right light. It’s August. Hot and red August. No, not peppers. Tomatoes.

At home, much much later

Okay Ed, I’m ready for dinner. No more writing.

In half hour maybe?

Good. I’m cooking kale.

Kale?

With onion and garlic. And eggs. Super healthy.

Kale?

You can put on any of the movies we have left. We’ll watch your choice.

(Later)

What is this movie? Show me the box! (“Eli walks alone in post-Apocalyptic America. He walks west along the Highway of Death...”) You think I want to watch this?

You said anything!

But not this! You say “make anything for dinner," but I don’t serve slaughtered bloody lamb for you!

Okay, okay, I’ll take it out. Five minutes. Just five minutes?

(Later)

This dinner is too healthy. Too much virtue. Tomorrow, I’ll make something not quite so good for us.

We put in another movie, one from my stack – "How the Garcia Girls Spent their Summer."
Man, you have some pick here. This movie is so depressing. And I don’t think there’s any plot.

Should we try another?

We could go back to Eli...
Ed dozes off for a minute. We watch a bit more.
Okay, I'm with you. Enough.

You sure?

No... Yes. I think. Yes!


What’s with us this week?

evening leisure

The trouble with borrowing twelve movies is that you get determined to watch them all. Yesterday it was about the guy liking junk food, today it’s about a guy stuck in his wife’s untimely death. We watched all of that as well. After, Ed played YouTube clips of Buddy Holly songs (one was featured at the end of the movie). It did not erase the terribly sad moments from the movie, particularly since Buddy himself died an untimely death. I begged, instead, for a viewing of yesterday’s Jon Stewart (we don’t have cable and so we watch it a day late), hoping that acerbic humor would make me laugh and laugh, but Ed was lost in his replays of Peggy Sue. Over and over, I love you, Peggy Sue.

See, this is what comes from working too hard all day – in my case on my writing. Editing really.

I do have a photo or two for you – from our bike ride for coffee. Ed is riding circles around me these days. I’m more the distracted Ferdinand, thinking about my book and, I suppose, to an extent, smelling the flowers. Though truthfully, these lovely susans don’t really have a prominent fragrance.






The clouds rolled in, the prairie flowers swayed. It was a lovely ride, even if it had to be followed by a night of terrible movie watching and many replays of Peggy Sue.

summer talks

I work at my writing on the porch. Isis sleeps on the wrought iron table. It’s okay – it’s an outdoor table. Like a place where you would have a picnic, with raccoons and squirrels jumping on and off.

Afternoon. Ed and I bike to the Oasis for coffee and stay there until closing. Paul, the proprietor gives us a leftover loaf of bread.

We go across the street to check out more DVDs from the library. A huge new supply has just come in. We leave with about a dozen. Probably two will be good.

At the Fitchburg farmers market, I’m thinking we should pick up another loaf of bread at La Baguette. We can use it tomorrow. They’re closing for a vacation and it seems criminal not to have a final chunk of bread from them now. But we come too late – they’re out of baguettes.





How about if we get a raisin brioche? Ed asks.

Sure.

I admire the market heirloom tomatoes. They look beautiful because of their irregularities.






At home, I make frozen yogurt. Peach and honey.


 


I ask Ed – you like it?
Yes, sure.
He doesn’t mean it.

Isis comes in and jumps up on the refrigerator, then the cupboard. Get the hell down from there!
He wont hurt anything. Truly. I’ll replace whatever he damages.
The vase is from the Dordogne, the plate – from the Amalfi coast. Are you going to travel there?
You can get them at Walmart’s.
No, you cannot.





I make a chicken stew and a salad. Ed leaves the peas behind in the salad.

Since when don’t you like peas? 

I do like peas.

You didn't eat them.

I like cooked peas.






We watch a DVD: "I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With." Not a whole lot happens in it, but we can’t turn it off either. When it’s over, Ed says – what was that about?

It's subtle. Not much real adventure.  Just like my book.

Not much happens in your book?

That’s right.

That’s not good.

But that’s life.

That’s why we like to escape into something else.

Do you want to watch another movie?

Summer is such a wonderful season.

technology

Like most people, I under-use what machines I have. By far the most shameful is my thus far nonuse of the ipad. I thought it would be the perfect and not merely occasional traveling companion. But, I never learned its tricks and traits enough to take it anywhere at all.

Until today. With Ed’s help I tackled the skinny thing, determined to learn it well enough so that on our next trip (mid-August), I can use this newer, younger, and most importantly – lighter baby.

And I have to say, I feel as if I’ve leapt into a different world of tools and tricks. For instance, there is the photo stuff. An app for $1.99 gives me superhuman powers – to do magical, wonderful things and then, with a click of a button – send the whole crazy mess to flickr.

Need an illustration? Okay. Take the first (and actually the only thus far) photo snapped by the ipad. No, the machine can’t make Ed smile, so here we are, grimacing, or hiding, or some combination of the two. Click, tamper, send.





Of course, what I really want to do is to download photos from my camera and I needed a trip to the Apple store for that – to get a USB port. (The must be a reason not to have put one into the sleek body of the ipad. There must be.) It’s always a learning experience to go to the Apple store and so I don’t think of it as a wasted hour at the mall. More like a time to allow some of that incredible geek brain power to rub off a tiny bit, so that I can finally learn, for example, what happens when I push the on-off button on the iphone not once, but twice when I’m turning it on. Bet you didn’t know either!

So, I remain glued to my various machines today – a shame, considering the weather. Life is about compromises and deferred gratification. Tonight. I’ll go outdoors tonight. To listen to music and later still, to count fireflies and watch the stars come out. Yeah.

returning home

Leaving Chicago. During morning rush hour.

Does anyone ever just sit there and take in the world? Or are we all hell bent on reading the latest text, twitter or email the minute it gets posted?





We are engaged in our own bubble. I say this as I put those pods in my own ears and spend the next three hours listening to songs that have nothing to do with where I am and where I’m going.


So now I am home. Hi, Wisconsin.

In the late afternoon, I meet my good good friend (and for a fleeting second, her daughter) at a new place in town (or at least new for me). I can absorbe the joy of living in a small(er) town. The décor is homey.





They still take the time to decorate the lattes.





And the news crew is on the premises, collecting opinions as to whether we should have a study done on whether to make a one way street into a two way street.





I think about my two great friends from student law school days. We all have daughters. Who are in many ways so different. Yet, they, all four of them, have this in common – a passion for superb, fresh and honest food.

Odd, in a sweet, sweet sort of way.

8-1-11

Happy 30th birthday, little one.

A sizzling, muggy day in the city. What I can’t understand is why my daughters chose such extremes for their birth days: one picking the coldest day of the century for coming into this world, the other – an intense heat wave.

It’s a good thing that I get a kick out of extremes. [Yes, Ed, that means I am also amused by your dedication to the idea that an old ripped t-shirt constitutes suitable apparel, and I find a car – my own – with a masking tape for a fender to be kind of cool.]

The kind of day where half the city likes to head for the beach. If there is a beach. Chicago has a beach and a bus that’ll take you there. It's one crowded bus today, picking up half scantly clad young bodies at it rolls east.










My younger girl has a full work day and my older girl is spending the morning hours with her dad. This gives me a good bit of time to write and I do this in an old coffee shop and bakery with a proprietor whose name is Elzbieta. The Polish language in Chicago is still ever present.

In the early afternoon, I make my way to the south of the Loop.





Since it is my older girl's day,  I tell her she can pick and choose our afternoon and evening itinerary.

She chooses whales.





She’s an avid museum goer, especially if there’s an educational exhibit, preferably about history or about animals.

And so we cool off by studying skeletal structures and annotated photographs of whales.

It is a very refreshing way to spend a day that sizzles.

We do challenge ourselves to a hike across town and we make our way from the south of Chicago to the north, way north, past the Loop, the Golden Mile, all the way to the Rush Street area. It’s warm enough that I do not even mind a cooling moment (with a blueberry smoothie -- gotta love those blueberries!) at a mall.

I look up and see my girl coming down the escalator and I think -- life is so good when your kids are happy.





And now, onto the Purple Pig where the two of us wait for the little one to join us for delicious small nibbles accompanied by a cooling Prossecco.

Finally, a birthday hug.





Evening’s young. Time to join the rest of family and friends, up in Andersonville at the Italian favorite, Anteprima.







One more photo. It's her day and so I pepper the post with her photos. But it's my day too, and so the last is of the two of us.





After, riding the bus back to my littler one’s apartment, I listen to ipod music and I lean on the shoulder of my daughter and I think how deliciously wonderful it is to have these interesting kids, adult kids, good and kind souls who don’t mind having a mom occasionally lean on them, with white ipod wires dangling from her ears.

Sunday steps

Last night, after a family-plus-Ed evening meal at Graze (when does an occasional traveling companion and permanent landlord become “family”?) my daughters ambled toward the lake and Ed and I motorbiked to the farmhouse, As if wanting more of a summer night, Ed reached for the “best Dutch movie ever” (borrowed from the library) and slipped it just before midnight into the DVD player.

And even though it was Dutch and with subtitles and on a tiny TV, we were riveted.  And surprised at how long the movie was. By 2:30 it came to a climatic ending, but we hadn’t had enough and so we watched a good portion all over again, with a voice-over of the director’s comments.

And so it would have been wonderful to sleep in beyond the usual early farmhouse hours the next morning, except we couldn't do it – not with the sunlight pouring in through the eastern skylight. We need a shade – Ed tells me.

We motorbike over to Shopko for a pair of tension rods, past fields of market crops and meadows of prairie flowers.





There is a sale of very sad looking end-of-season plants at Shopko and we rescue them, as many as we can fit for the ride back to the farmhouse. Curtain rods, white pines, black eyed Susans, shrubs without names – some now on my lap, others snugly tucked in the crate in back of the motorbike.

And so we have a busy morning.

My daughters came for a porch brunch – oyster mushroom and corn frittata – and you could say it is a celebratory brunch, or at least a pre-celebratory brunch because tomorrow, my older girl turns thirty. We believe in dragging out  celebrations for as long as we can.










She had tossed around a number of ways to migrate jubilantly into life's fourth decade and in the end decided to go down for the big day itself to Chicago, where she has both family and friends. We eat our eggs and yesterday's ice cream too and then we all pile into the bus that takes us down to the city that is just a short three hours south of the farmette.


And so now  it is Sunday evening and we are in Chicago – an urban break for me...


 


...one that feels good, so good, eating dinner in the golden light of a perfect summer evening...


 



...a perfect city summer evening, all the more perfect because I know that in a day or so, I'll be returning to the quiet of the fields and meadows that I have surrounding me back home at the farmette.