farmette life

Being pseudo farmers, or maybe call us farmette caretakers, or just plain two people living in the country with nine chickens and six cats is serious business. I was up before 6 in the morning and I did not sit down to breakfast until 9:30. In between there was the tidying, unpacking, clearing, watering, trashing, feeding, oh, a million things that required my care. And I'm not done yet: I just paused to finally have a good cup of coffee.

Ed did put in some effort to get this place into good working order before he left. And the mechanicals are all chugging along well. But there is still a lot to do, whether or not he is home. A shocking amount of work in fact. Even as I did wake up to a beautiful morning and that in itself is wonderful. Three years ago, when he left for a similar sailing trip, it, too was the end of October. The day after he left, we had a snowstorm. It was the year the kids trick-or-treated on icy snowy roads. At the farmette, I had a lot of shoveling to do! Moreover, I got what the doc thought was pneumonia. And we had baby kittens (Dance's kids before we neutered every single cat that showed up here) and they required training so that they would go into the sheep shed when the weather got rough. One of them chose to rest under my car, unbeknownst to me of course,  and as I backed out, he got tangled and I saw in horror a little cat fly into the air and then collapse in a dead heap of flesh behind me. That was all three years ago.

Today, the weather could not be more lovely (for the end of October). Less warm than in Paris, but beautiful nonetheless. 

And it will be thus through the first half of November. We did not turn the water off outside because there will be no frost in the immediate future! This is remarkable and a little frightening. But so so beautiful!

(sunrise...)

The chickens messed up the sunny bed I planted just before leaving (grrrr!), so I spent a bit of time covering holes. They proceeded to dig them up afresh. They teach you to be patient, that's for sure.

The cats are all mad at us for shutting them out for two days. Most of them disappeared. Even the most loyal cuddlers left the farmette to seek adventure elsewhere.  Don't tell me cats don't hold grudges! By afternoon the three wanderers came back and meowed their heads off, saying, I'm sure -- are you sorry for leaving us? Are you?? 

(We called this one "Unfriendly" a long time ago. Talk about a wrong call!)

(Dance, the queen...)

Breakfast was of course alone, but with flowers. I had ordered groceries somewhere between 4 and 5 in the morning and they were delivered promptly at 7. There was a flower sale and I thought this particular bunch with lovely roses stuck in it would remind me of the bouquet I kept in Paris, so I clicked them right into the shopping basket. Small reminders of trips recently taken are important in the transition from travel to being home.

I did also want to go out for a bag of croissants: that is an addictive breakfast and I can never have enough of it. A croissant would have been a very fitting accompaniment to my solo breakfast, possibly with book in hand (still on that policeman who himself eats croissants every morning at his favorite cafe-bar), but I held back. A twelve minute drive to the bakery is bad enough, but, too, one must remember that there are virtues to oatmeal, so I sighed deeply and transitioned to my non-croissant meal today.

After breakfast I returned to farmette business. Tulip bulbs came in my absence. Thirty of them. In they go. And afterwards, I took a walk. Nowhere remarkable, but I had been walking so much the past ten days that I want that habit to continue a while longer. Besides, this weather wont last. Seize the day!

(farmhouse, up front)

And speaking of weather, Ed called, to check in, yes that, but also to tell me that they are leaving early. Like, tonight. The sail date was set for November 1st, but there are bothersome weather systems and they want to beat trouble before it has a chance to beat them. This of course sounds terrifying to people who never head out to sea, but to Ed it is just one more thing to consider when you're preparing for an ocean run. He is by far the most experienced person on that boat but he tells me the rest are fast learners, so he feels they're ready to go. Again, I would have liked to hear that he is the least experienced person on the boat, but on the other hand, Ed is a safe sailor and so I know no one on that boat will be doing anything foolish if he can help it.

Happy and safe travels, my love!

In the afternoon I prep the house some more and I start in on dinner for the young family. Their other grandmother is visiting so we are a table of seven,  even though there is no Ed. Of course, it is wonderful to see everyone again!

(she's got him climbing trees, and that's a good thing for this very cautious little guy!)

(dinner..)

(his first macaron...)

I'm on a Paris internal clock still and so I feel dozy early, but I fight the great desire to fall asleep as soon as everyone leaves. I read, I write, I think about Ed's trip, about our insatiable desire to discover something new. Hoping for great (but safe!) adventures for all of us...

With so much love...

returning home

It will be a record high of 76F (24.5C) in Paris today. I'm not sure but that we didn't hit an equally ridiculously warm temperature yesterday. The outside eating tables, of which there are possibly a million, will be filled. The restauranteurs and cafe waitstaff will be pleased. Between the school vacation and the fantastic weather, time outside over a meal or a drink will have exploded into what you'd typically expect in a beach town at the height of summer.

I did not go to bed until significantly past midnight. A phone chat, photos to repair, stories to write -- this stuff takes time. And I do have to leave the hotel at 9:45 this morning. By cab. Though I have resumed life in Paris to almost pre-pandemic levels and activities, I am still not comfortable getting on a packed train (or metro or bus). It's my last holdout here. And I know the train for the airport can initially be very very crowded. So, I spend the money and book a cab.

The sun will rise at 8:32 a.m. Tomorrow it will rise an hour earlier here, but today the morning is dark, which is both good and not so good for putting into place the plan I made up in those wee hours of the night: I want to get up and greet the morning sun. So, I don't have to get up that early! And then I will stop for a croissant and grande creme, somewhere on the town.

I get up, get ready, zip up the suitcase (which is now fat and too heavy to take on board, so I will send it through) and go downstairs. Outside, the last of the night light is still gripping Paris. My hotel looks like a sweet little beacon of light on the otherwise still dark street.

I give it a good long look. The warm-hearted, well tended beloved Hotel Baume. In my chosen neighborhood, where it feels more like a village than a chunk of a great big city. Yesterday, I had stopped by the little shop around the corner to see if there was any small pendant that I could love (and buy). I almost always peek  into that shop. Once I bought a pair of little Parisian espresso cups, another time a bee pin, which immediately transformed my indifferent jacket into something fitting for Paris. Madame remembers me. She is chatty and she speaks remarkably easy French. I always understand her completely. Each time she forgets that I'm American (you're German, right? shush!) and this time is no different. She tries to interest me in a little pendant with a small strawberry on it. I love it, I do, despite the fact that she then tells me it's done by an American artist whom she personally knows and who lives in upstate New York.  (I could tell you how they met but that runs beyond the scope of any reader's tolerance for my digressions.)

She is the one who first draws the analogy to a village for our set of blocks: I know everyone here and they all greet me and talk to me. We are a small village.

This morning, the store is of course closed (though with a light glowing on the baubles and trinkets in the window).

She keeps quaint hours so it's often closed, but a morning fermerature is the norm here. At 8:15, the time I am out and about today, everything is closed! This is the quietest time in Paris. And on a weekend, a French vacation weekend no less! Utter silence! Well, except for the delivery trucks. Parked by the restaurants, which will be doing a monumental business today, I guarantee it.

(the quiet along the River Seine)

I walk to the Pont des Arts. The Bridge of Arts. A pedestrian bridge over the Seine. Those of us who care about such stuff, know that this is just about the best place to catch a Parisian sunrise. 

At this time of the year, the sun comes up over the northern section of the Pont Neuf. There is a patchy cloud cover today, but still, it is a calm and beautiful moment. We, the photographers, the lovers, the artists, the handful who have come here for this, all smile at one another. 

(first burst of light)

(looking at the entire Pont Neuf)

(a minute later, another pop of sunshine from behind a low cloud cover)

(looking toward the west)

And then we all disperse.

I walk back slowly, taking in as much as I can. And in doing this, I notice things I have never seen before. Like this small statue. With a lovely name. 

(I always notice the bread... A man on an errand. Do you suppose this is just for the family breakfast?)

I pass this cafe ("La Palette") and I almost stop, because it's so pretty, but the street is too empty, too quiet. (I ate lunch here with Snowdrop once and I knocked over a glass and it shattered. I felt so badly, because I'm sure that despite my explanation -- c'etait moi,  it was me! --  I'm certain the waiter still thought that it was the child. She was only two then.)

(the weekend morning stillness...)

I walk further, toward Les Editeurs. (This photo was taken on my way out; you can tell by the predawn shadows.)

At the end of the day (or more accurately at the beginning of the day), this place is the most comfortable for me and it has the best people watching in my neighborhood. So many sidewalks, so many possibilities!

(looking out...)

I sit down, order my coffee and croissant and I give a great big sigh, the kind that would make a meditation guru proud. 

I feel like I am in a story, unfolding before me. Here with my croissant, loving it with the milky brew, catching myself in any number of the narrow mirrors they have scattered throughout the cafe-restaurant, in between the books, because of course, there are a lot of books at Les Editeurs. (All three photos taken with the help of all those mirrors.)

I can't stay too long. These kinds of morning pleasures have to be fleeting because of course there is a day before you and you must get on with it. Me, I have a taxi to catch.

(My last photo from Paris just happens to be of baguettes. Still from Les Editeurs.)

The drive to CDG airport is unusually traffic free. I spend the ride first studying the receding city, then staring at my driver who is multitasking - steer with one hand, engage in WhatsApp conversations on his phone with the other. I tell myself that I will not tip him, but in the end I cave and hand over the extra five Euro. He got me to the airport safely. I'm not the police here.

At the airport, I have another coffee. Why? Is it because it's free? (A perk of being a frequent flyer.) No, because I want to relive that sweet combination of a morning pastry (an apple chausson this time) with a milky brew.

I purchase some Laduree macarons. 

Like croissants, you can get these anywhere in the world these days, but some are better than others and these are for sure great. Laduree was the first to hit on the artful combo of meringue and a thin dab of something to send your tastebuds soaring. Buying macarons is, to me, a sign that I am starting to think about what awaits me on my return: a family dinner, coming up. Kids at the farmhouse. An otherwise quiet farmhouse. Ed will have left for his Atlantic voyage.

I have a bit of a weird routing. First stop is Amsterdam. It was cheaper this way. At another time, I wouldn't have minded. I like listening to airport announcements in Dutch. I speak none of it and so it makes me feel like I am really traveling far. But the trip on the way to Toulouse was so full of Amsterdam airport that I take no great pleasure in being here again. Luckily, my layover is not long. 

By 3:30 p.m. I am on my (a little delayed but who cares) Delta flight to Detroit.

Another short layover, another short flight, this one to Madison. From there, I find my car and drive home.

Ed and I are certainly not tied at the hip. I travel a lot without him. (He's welcome to tag along, but he doesn't want to.) I go constantly for overnights to Chicago. Without him. A farmhouse without Nina in it is not at all strange. But a farmhouse without Ed is indeed weird simply because it is such a rare thing. I get out of the car and do a quick farmette walk through, to make sure no wild beast has shattered the calm in the coop (the cheepers had to be locked up all day because Ed left last night and I was coming in too late today to tend to the task of locking them up at dusk), and to feed the ever hungry cats.

I don't unpack fully. There's just no point in it. I'll return to all the chores, the cleanups, the plantings, the cooking tomorrow. Tonight I sink down on the couch and smile. I am home. Paris is just one more memory in the plethora of memories that I have stored, learned from, kept close to me, even after a return.

With so much love...

my Paris

People who know me and are themselves planning a trip to Paris tend to ask me -- what should I do that's a must? That's not in the guidebooks? I always tell them -- everyone discovers their own Paris. I can tell you where you'll find the award winning baguette, where you will reliably find the most wonderful lunch, which corner of the park brings tears to my eyes for its beauty, but at the end of the day, what you will love best is that you will discover your own favorite bakery, your own spot that you will remember for the rest of your life. Just keep your heart open and explore the possibilities.

Parisian moments that are forever in my mind. My first trip, when I was seven: we were traveling to New York for my father's job and here we were in Paris. My parents took me to the Invalides square and bought me a pistachio ice cream cone. And with my soon to be husband, much later: I caught a cold just before arriving here. Still, we went out to dinner at a place that looked out at Notre Dame. I doubt either of us will forget that view from that table. With my daughters, on their first trip, eating pastries from LeNotre bakery on a street bench. With Diane, overnighting in her little apartment in the Marais. With Basia, watching two women take in the Lilies at the Orangerie. With Ed, on his first trip with me, where he had sprained his ankle just before coming here, listening to the click of heels on the sidewalk outside our hotel room. Me, alone, looking for socks for my sons-in-law for a Christmas present. My mind is littered with such images. My Paris. 

This particular trip was flipped at the last minute and it morphed from being a solo, with a black eye in Albi  (in between plates of confit and cassoulet and foie gras), to being one of discovery with two friends suddenly at my side. But now I am alone again and I have only this one idea: that I contemplate life through the prism of my walks here. No socks to buy, no foods to eat anymore, no exploratory walks. No museums, no trips out of the city (though I am tempted!). Just walk, look and think.

I start the day with breakfast at my lovely little hotel. It just makes sense to do this. I can read, listen, eat. I know a place that has bigger and arguably better croissants and certainly better views, but still, the hotel makes this meal very comfortable, so that I don't want to budge (just yet). The foods I need for a good start to the day are here. I settle in and eat.

There isn't a whole lot of rhyme or reason to my Paris walks today, except that they are rather... predictable. I spend quite a while in the Luxembourg Gardens.

(the Montparnasse Tower, from where I started this Paris adventure on Tuesday...)

(Oh, what pressure this grandmother must feel when she offers to take her grandchild out for a walk! Will I look good? Is my face at its best? Poor woman...)

Mornings in the park are special: empty chairs, a slower pace, quiet. By afternoon, the space around the pond will be packed. Both times are fun to see -- the quiet and the friendly chaos.

Moving away from the pond, to the distant corners of the park.

Alright, I'm out now. There is a children's clothing store near the south west corner of the park, so I look in. I would never do this with friends. I spend too much time on considering what, if anything I should buy. Waste of everyone's time. Though not my own. I like thinking things through in this way.

(I didn't buy this shirt or sweater for any number of reasons. But I like the way they look together!) 

The store, in addition to being close to the park, is also close to a bunch of schools. I have always described the kids that I see here as as high school kids, but today I asked the sales clerk -- how come I'm seeing so many pupils out on the street here? I thought schools were closed for two weeks. They are closed, she tells me. These are college kids. The universities aren't closed. Ohhhhhh! No wonder they look so confident and, well, so intentional! 

(Solo walks always lead me to notice mirrors in shop windows!)

At lunchtime (speaking of intentional!), I find myself at the entrance to Cafe Varenne. My beloved Cafe Varenne! With the perfect waiters and the excellent home cooked foods, and the fantastic old Parisian vibe, with modern twists in both what is served and who is there to eat it.

As always, even though it looks crazy crowded, somehow a waiter finds me a spot and it is perfect.  Front row seat to watching waiters expertly stride by with loaded trays.

(home made Gravlax on lentils, with a salad)

(creme brûlée, in honor of Ed's great desire to produce a similar dessert for us on our anniversary... the thought was definitely there!)

And then I sip a noisette coffee and I walk the long blocks home.

Dinner? At La Maison du Jardin. A 9-min walk from my hotel in a very pleasant direction. Funny I should say that, because on this trip alone, I passed La Maison maybe a dozen times and I never noticed it. And indeed, for tonight, I was all set to try Flocon -- a place that has many many fans among those who study the food scene in Paris. But, Flocon is a 20 minute walk. Each way. I'm embarrassed to say that in the end, I wiggled out of my reservation there and looked around for something closer.  Hence  La Maison du Jardin.

First the upshot: was it good and would I go back. And the answer is yes to both, but with a strong caveat: I would eat there if I wanted to eat well, and spend reasonably, and not walk far. I feel about it like I feel about so many places in the city and indeed, about so many places I travel to: yes, loved it, but next time, all things being equal, I'd like to try something new. 

Is it me??

Let's deconstruct the evening, because it had some real highlights: The curried shrimp in an avocado sauce were lovely. Spices done just right.

For a second course, I had what up to now, few restaurants here have offered -- a lamb pastille on a bed of eggplant. A speciality of Morocco and Algeria, it's s well cooked lamb meat wrapped in a filo-like pastry. It's so good to see these influences on the kitchens here! This one was expertly prepared, though my recollection of spices used for this in Morocco is that I could lose myself in their headiness. I did not lose myself in the spices here, though again, the dish was really well executed.

The problem came with the dessert. I was aiming for light. Of the choices, Ile Flottante was the obvious candidate. And the island part of this "egg whites are floating on creme Anglaise" was large, and after five bites (which put me not even one third of the way through it) I had had my fill. I ate it all, but it was, in fact, a struggle.

Why eat it all, you ask? Well, here comes another interesting part of the evening: I was seated next to an American couple from Austin Texas. She spoke French very well, but she didn't use it in the restaurant and so I got curious.  Though not enough to interrupt in their intimate conversation.

I sat there reading my book about the south of France policeman, who was just discovering another body under a pile of logs, while his sweetie boarded the train to Paris to investigate the shenanigans taking place between some Ukrainian dudes and Russians.  And then the woman spoke to me (in the most polite and unobtrusive way possible), asking me about the pastille dish, possibly because her husband is a restaurant owner in Texas and so they tend to have a higher than usual interest in food prep.

From that point on we talked. And they were lovely. And I am always so amazed how many lovely people cross your path when you travel. You notice them so much more when you are alone. Like with photography, you dont do as much of reaching out when you are concentrating on others at your side: partners, grandkids, friends. When alone, you take note.

So why am I only moderate on the restaurant? The food was great, I met some lovely people... What is wrong with me??

Well, it was the atmosphere. This restaurant had white tablecloths and had a serious, quiet atmosphere to it that I think was daunting. Eventually, as it filled, you would notice it less, but still, you would not ever in a million years want to bring a child there who was not well trained in using a lowest possible decibel of a restaurant voice. 

It's a very tiny place and the two women who were the servers were earnest about their job and indeed, they did their job well. But it is the severity in the atmosphere that made me think that you're not likely to see many young people there. My feeling is that that crowd prefers places where you can explode into a laughter and no one will look up at you in disbelief. It's just my sense of where France is heading in terms of its food scene, but I bet I'm right. And I'll say this: Cafe Varenne is very old fashioned in so many ways. But those waiters can crack a smile! And I do too, right back at them. At La Maison, I'm glad I brought my book to read for the first minutes, before the Texans spoke to me. Otherwise, I would have been a little mortified that I was breathing too loudly.

Still, I would go back! (Maybe.) I don't mind reading my book! Quiet is good! And the food was carefully prepared. None of this reheated in a microwave nonsense. And, importantly, within a ten minute radius of my hotel. So, it checks off a bunch of very important boxes.

And I am tired now and not fully packed and I have a flight tomorrow. Good night Paris! Good night friends everywhere.

Paris, again

Good morning!

Yawn... Wake up! This is the last day where I am seeing Paris a bit through the eyes of others. My friends are returning to Warsaw early tomorrow. What to do, what to do... I hit on a brilliant plan: provide some choices and let them pick. In this way if they feel they missed something, I wont feel it's my doing.

As I write up the possibilities in a text, I munch on my hotel breakfast once again. Going out to eat elsewhere takes time. I need to keep on schedule. I know, I know. This was to be a trip without a schedule! I am adjusting my mindset.

My friends choose option number 1: walk the Ile Saint-Louis followed by the Marais and Place des Vosges. The trick here is to walk the quieter route. To look keenly beyond the facade and to study the rhythm of each neighborhood. There will be wonderful lunch choices here as well: the best falafel, right in this neighborhood, Or in the alternative, there are several lovely cafes on secret side streets. My head spins with the possibilities!

We set off toward the river. These are my favorite postcard views of Paris. Photographed a million times, I know. You've seen it here over and over again. But each day is different. Each view is unique.

This island is the home of the Berthillion ice cream -- arguably the best in the city. We pause for some. (Praline and honey for me.)

And there are plenty of shop windows to admire. And colorful stores in which to poke around.

(trying on scarves)

And now we go off the island.

We plunge into the Marais with its quiet, narrow streets. The goal is the Place des Vosges. Normally this would be a very noble goal but the little park is all torn up for re-pavement. Just one corner is open to the public. 

That's okay. We linger for a little while, knowing darn well it's really time for lunch. The sun, initially hazy and reluctant, has by now warmed up the soul of everyone here. And stirred up our appetites.

We sit outside at the lovely Le Petit Italian (it's so close but so well hidden that it took decades of travel here for me to discover it) and it's one of those meals that could go on forever, because it feels so very perfect to be here on this bright and beautiful day.

Eventually though we force ourselves to get up and get moving again. We separate here: Piotr and Gosia become the tourists, filling their last hours with one famous Parisian site, perhaps another. Me, I just want to do what I always do in this city: walk, observe, think.

Too, I have "shopping lite" to accomplish (but then, at the end of it, why does my bag feel so heavy??) but nothing that is an imperative, nothing that sends me running. Plates, kids stuff, creams, a spoon. Big deal, right?

(At a store with creams, I check out my well matched eye: I'm wearing purple and yellow and those are exactly the colors of my eye.)

And in the evening we meet up for dinner at Georgette. Sure, I ate here just yesterday. But that tells me that the food will be good. It will be very French. We will, for sure, enjoy it. I want them to enjoy their last meal in Paris.

(My fish was great, but there isn't a doubt that it is the desserts that will stand out for us for a long time. Piotr's Ile Flottant, and our Pavlovas.)

This is the night when we also can talk about, well, the whole of our lives. I provoke it by asking where our friendship goes from here, given that I no longer come to Poland with any sort of regularity and they are not ones who take to keeping in touch through regular writing. Some people are good at it while others -- well, it's just not their focus.

There is no upshot to this kind of conversation. You don't solve anything and no plans are made about future encounters. Yet. But we float around ideas. And it takes so long to weave our future and our past together like this, that we see the restaurant is closing. We are the only ones at the outside tables. 

We walk over to Les Editeurs -- the catch-all place for me. For breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and now for late night drinks too.

It's midnight before we move on. 

Back to our hotels, back to the lives we live when we aren't traveling together. Back, but with all the ideas and richness of having gone through this time in Paris together.

With so much love...