to France!

You could give many titles to this post. For example:
That was one hell of a long haul!
or: It's the small stuff that brings joy, but, too, it's the small stuff that can screw you over;
or: Hey, all's well that ends well;
or: I'm in a beautiful place eating a wonderful dinner so let's just raise a glass of vin rose to France!

It does seem like I was stuck with rather a convoluted way of getting to where I am -- the village of Giverny, due north of Paris. I remember sitting at the airport in Detroit at 8 p.m. on Thursday and thinking -- I've been up and at it since 6 a.m. and I've only gotten to Detroit, which, if accessed directly, is a mere 50 minute flight from Madison.

Still, my flights were all on time -- how good is that! Indeed, we arrived at the Paris airport today at 11a.m. -- a whole half hour ahead of schedule.

Then came the unexpected. From the airport, I still had two commuter trains to take and then a northbound train that would bring me as close as I can get to Giverny. But I had so much time! Michel, my B&B host in Giverny was to meet the 2:20 from Paris (arriving in Vernon-Giverny at 3:05). So much time!

It was too late for breakfast at the airport, but I grabbed a poached egg and mini sandwich ...






... purchased my various rail tickets and ambled over to the commuter train, wondering what I was going to do with so much time at the Gare St Lazare (train station) where I'd get on the 2:20 heading north.

I needn't have worried. The ominous message began its repetitious play and replay a few minutes after the commuter train left the airport: there has been a serious accident at one of the stations. All schedules are disrupted.

What should have been a 29 minute ride into Paris turned into a two hour crowded stop-an-go ride, with that somber voice reminding us again and again that there has been a serious accident at one of the stations. (Some tragic event befell a person, which I can only guess involved an unfortunate meeting of said person with railway tracks.)

And so I didn't have a pleasant walk through Paris. I had a standing room only long ride on a commuter train and then a run through tunnels and up stairs, suitcase in hand to my waiting train at Gare St. Lazare. I need say no more.

You know from one of the proposed post titles that I made it. (With five minutes to spare.)


The train trip north is actually quite lovely, in all seasons. The rail line hugs the Seine River and you can just imagine that these are the views that so enchanted painters of the early twentieth century.






The last time I traveled here (as always, on a day trip from the city), I met a chatty woman who explained that Giverny is grand not only for the Monet house and garden. She herself was going to the village for the hiking in the area.

So wouldn't October be perfect for both the gardens and for autumnal village walks?

The painter's gardens actually close next week for the season (to reopen at the end of March) and I expect there to be a lot of faded blooms. And far fewer visitors. It should be different and therefore interesting and beautiful.

I'm staying at Les Arceaux -- a guest house that someone on the internet described as being like a small apartment but without the kitchen.  The owners, Michel and Francine, live in a separate wing of the house. It's a beautiful little place!



downstairs




upstairs


It's late afternoon. I'm immensely tired and hungry, but I cannot resist that first village walk.






But I hold back on entering Monet's garden. That's for another day. Right now, I'm just soaking it all in.


















I eat an early dinner at the Baudy:






It's a welcoming place: it's historically important. It's modest in price. It's well regarded by tourists (and there are always plenty of them) and it's well regarded by locals (and there are plenty of them as well).






There are many, many galleries in this small village and wherever you walk, you'll come across a painter with an easel out.

But tonight, I have only enough energy to eat a hearty Normande meal: duck salad, fish, a baked apple. Tomorrow, the world. Tonight -- blissful sleep.

getting there

It's dark when I zip up my bag and go downstairs. We're leaving in twenty minutes -- I say to a very drowsy Ed. You don't have to eat with me... it's so early! But do you want anything?
Fruit... Do you suppose you could also give me a hair trim?

I can't say no to the guy -- not today, not on a departure day. We eat quickly.






I cut hair. And I tell him -- I set the first mouse trap of the season in the basement. Bingo! We have our first victim!

Yes, we're moving fast toward winter.

It's unfortunate that I have the addition of the bus ride to Chicago, but my flights were booked with Ed's miles and this connection was all that was left. (At least I get a fairly nice view of the city in a haze upon take off...)





I use the travel time to think: about my destinations. About my three girls. About my guy with the quickly trimmed hair. About my Great Writing Project, which is again picking up steam and needs my attention in the week before me. It seems I can never have weeks of nothing to do.

My flight is to Detroit and then to Paris. I'm not actually staying in Paris, at least not at this end of the week, but this is my travel destination for now. As always, posting times will be scrambled. For now, for now, all is on schedule, all is well.

the day before

The day before taking off somewhere, anywhere, spikes the emotion meter significantly. I do not want to be far away from those whom I love. I do not!

But, without question, I get excited. The flight connections (even tomorrow's bus ride to Chicago and eight hour layover in Detroit) never seem too bad, the packing is easy, thoughts stray to being in a different place, sleeping in a room with a novel view, taking new walks along new roads. All this is beyond cool.

Even though I do not want to leave those whom I love.

It's good to have a busy and full day. I distract myself from the "leaving" part of travel and concentrate on getting things done.

Right after breakfast...






I get organized: farmhouse needs a once over, suitcase needs to be packed. My trip is short -- I'm leaving tomorrow, returning Friday next week. Still, I need to travel wisely and simply and that requires some thought.


And in the late morning, I am with Snowdrop. I find her where I left her -- under the table!






For much of the morning, we practice standing. Not by a chair or table but in the middle of a vast open space. She knows she is vulnerable...






...and she is always tempted to take the easy road and just sit down!






... but of course, when she stands tall and steady, she beams with pleasure and confidence.






And after, we spin around and jiggle and jounce, all to the music of her music class songs and she is a happy girl indeed.






In the afternoon, I take the girl out of her usual routines and cart her downtown. I have a bus ticket to pick up, a take-out dinner to buy.

Snowdrop is... puzzled: garages? Elevators? Clothing stores? (I thought I'd pop into one or two to see the state of fashion these days.)






We walk along State Street, pop into the Union, stroll out onto the dock by the lake. Bicycles, Snowdrop, they're all riding bicycles!






Yes, she gets that the world is vast and wonderful. But her real smile comes when we finally return home. This is where we process all that we experience elsewhere.






God, I'm going to miss all my variously situated young families!

And, too, the guy who'll keep the farmette running in my absence.






I really should pack.

ten years

It is delectably warm today. The unexpected break from the inevitable coming of winter. Honestly, we almost eat breakfast on the porch.

But we don't. If you look up at our beloved farmhouse, you'll nod your head and say -- yes, it very much looks like an autumnal day.






So we eat at the kitchen table and I would have liked to linger with these guys, but I have a date with Snowdrop.





So much do I hurry to be with the little girl that I forget it's Tuesday (no street parking) and get a ticket -- a reminder that slowing down has numerous benefits (one is that you pay attention to the details in life).

Snowdrop is up early and she is full of energy. After her bath, I let her run around a bit and of course she chooses to get herself under the table, between chairs, wedged between one piece and the next. Like a true con artist, she then manages to find her way out -- so far with not too many knocks on the head.






We play -- upstairs, downstairs. Musical instruments (there's a triangle she is hitting)...






... dancing, building, counting, knocking down, emptying, banging -- oh, the usual Snowdrop full-speed-ahead stuff. With moments of quiet calm thrown into the mix.






Snowdrop is a very affectionate little girl and I cannot resist a selfie of one of her famous open mouth kisses...






...yes, this girl is growing up very quickly.

We have a quiet moment, too, in Snowdrop's yard. It's so warm! The lavender her mom and I planted on the day my daughter found out she was pregnant is blooming beautifully and I swear, Snowdrop is full of admiration for the delicacy of this fragrant stalk.





An unusual October 20th!

Or is it? I happen to remember well a great many of October 20ths and sometimes they're warm and sometimes cool and I especially remember one that took place ten years ago: it was a Thursday and after I finished my lecture, I met Ed and went with him to an orchard to watch the farmers crush apples for cider.

Ed and I have been together since that day ten years ago, which is at once remarkable and very ordinary: two people, unexpectedly drawn to each other, finding that there is much to love in a morning, or a day, or a lifetime at the farmhouse.




Still blooming, in celebration of October 20, 2015


(It's also his birthday, but I hadn't known that ten years ago when we watched apples being made into juice.)

A dinner and a movie with our house guests. A wonderful evening.

farmette Monday

Yesterday, Ed and I listened to a radio talk show on University on the Air about happiness. The professor of happiness (well, probably not that, but he was a professor of something!) talked about how fleeting emotions such as sadness and happiness really are. They aren't the bread and butter of life, they're merely guideposts signaling directions we like to move toward (or away from). But you can, said the learned man, do a lot to foster a state of contentment (if not pure joy) and one way to do this is through feeling grateful for small (and I suppose large, but those are fewer in our life) miracles that we come across each day, each hour in fact.

People who knew me when I was small tell me I was a pretty happy kid. Was I grateful for the small stuff?

Here, on Ocean, you know at least in part what I'm grateful for. Perhaps I bore you to death with it, but it's so important to me to acknowledge the symbolism of this: breakfast with Ed.






I also have repeatedly told Ed how much I love the fact that we can enter a heated house in the winter time and, too, how much I never fail to appreciate our ancient washing machine. It's so easy to clean clothing these days!

Today I thought about all this, feeling especially grateful for the people I love. A funeral took place in Poland and at least part of my heart was there, even as I continued to have a beautiful day at the farmette with Snowdrop.

I'm so grateful for the good health of my younger families.

Here is Snowdrop herself expressing  joy so easily, so totally.






She remembers, I'm sure, that her family is somewhere not too far, she is tickled that Ed always comes in and plays with her...






... and she squeals with joy when we go out to feed the cheepers.






The ritual of sitting on the grass and watching them chomp on a stale bagel is one that will have to end soon, but this day is warm enough and so we extend our play. I show her how I used to make earrings for myself out of cherries when I was just a tad older than her. No cherries here now, but plenty of crab apples to make the point.






Oh, how absolutely grand it is to be outside now! A leaf, Snowdrop... You're holding a dry leaf.






Another secret joy that the little one finds is in maneuvering herself under a table or chair. She is fearless in this. I hover.





And so the day continues...

In the late afternoon, I have the treat of a walk around the little lake with Snowdrop and her mom and then, in the evening, there is a dinner at the farmhouse with our house guests.

You don't have to work very hard at contentment when events line themselves in this fashion. I am grateful for this and I understand that this is a gift, not necessarily generously presented in life to others.

Sunday

At sunrise -- an event that comes well after seven these days -- I see that the hoarfrost has covered the fields...






I love this so much about living in the country -- you can feel the crunch of frost under your feet and as the November sun rises, you can see the fields take on that striped look of a receding layer of tiny ice particles.






We eat a late breakfast and that's good, because I have yard work to attend to and no desire to be outside until the sun has warmed a few spaces for me.






I clip raspberries and, too, prune the flower fields somewhat, so that there'll be winter texture in the yard. And of course, I take out the now spent nasturtium, picking out only a few remaining blooms for the kitchen table.






In the afternoon, Ed and I do what we so love doing -- we drive out deeper into the country and pick a set of trails for a brilliant forest hike. A few photos for you from the School Forest trails...
















And in the evening, the young family is here for dinner and yes, I'll throw down some photos from this as well. We all want our share of Snowdrop of course...
















...and she is in a spectacular mood, possibly because, in addition to the hovering grandma and grandpa Ed,  her mommy came back from a several day business trip and her daddy is right there (let's give credit to the guy who let's us all hog her now)...






Too, she gets to eat with the grownups.






I'll end with that pic. You need nothing more after seeing that biscuit encrusted face..

Saturday

We had our frost.

When I let the cheepers out, I watched them puff out their feathers and I felt a tad sad for them: they will not feel that warmth of a heated space until next spring. I know, I know -- I'm projecting our frail human sensibilities onto down-covered birds, but surely they prefer a more moderate range of temperatures than what we're about to have.






Ed and I had carried the preferred pots of annuals to the sun room. It's not a brilliant solution -- there isn't enough sun in the room to really allow for a continued robust bloom, but there's enough light to give us a little color in the winter months. (Obviously the plants are at their best right now.)

And so breakfast is in the sun room, surrounded by the pots brimming with dainty flowers.







(... and with garden flowers in the vase as well.)






And then I am with Snowdrop.






Remember, fewer words this week. Just a few of my images of the little girl. I'm sure you could make up the captions -- and you wouldn't be far off. Except for the last one of her. Let me scroll right to it.






















This is it -- a photo from our walk. (With hood today!) Every day, we pass a house with a white picket fence. On top of the fence, the owners have put up a simple pinwheel. Snowdrop and I study it always, delighting in its spinning motions, loving the sparkle, the spontaneous movement.






It's just one high point of our walk.

(Today, you could say that the autumnal colors were also a high point, but Snowdrop seems less inclined to appreciate autumnal colors just yet.)






That's it for today!