hot humid buggy and yet...

And yet still beautiful. Still fantastically dense with flowers in the ready. Lush and wonderful. That is what the end of June looks like.

(early bloomer)

 

 

(lots of buds)

 

 (Heliopsis Prairie Sunset)

 

 

 (Big Bed)

 

Nevertheless, it's hot, humid and buggy. 

I am up early once more. It's the jet lag, but also it's being back with Ed. We often come up with interesting stories and exchanges right around 5 in the morning. He then goes back to sleep. I do not.

I wont mention how many hours I spend cleaning up the flower fields today. And no, not even half done. But I will admit to starting in on it early. I thought I'd beat the heat and humidity. And to an extent I did. But the bugs at that hour are ferocious. I was glad to stop by 8.

The bakery opens then and I need a batch of croissants and cookies. Sparrow will be at the farmhouse later on and that boy really loves croissants and cookies.

(morning trip to the bakery)

  

And as long as I am downtown, I stop by briefly to visit with my friend -- the one whose stress level is enormous right now. I take over some peaches because... this is our peach season! If early June brings us strawberries at the CSA farm, late June and July bring us peaches. Not local yet -- these are from Georgia and they are heaven on earth. And we have a lot! Perhaps I over-purchased.. You'd think that until you watched Snowdrop devour peaches. Today she ate four.  

But that happens later. First I have breakfast, with Ed, on the porch. He's barely awake, and it's really getting muggy, and yet it is so good to share this morning moment with him.

And then I go back to work outside.

 

At noon, I pick up the two older ones from their Young Shakespeare Players program. Sparrow has joined the  group as well (the age range is from 7 - 18). Both kids are in lovely moods and we reclaim our farmette routine for the afternoon. 

(the girl asks for his computer; he suggests that she reach for mine; fair point -- it's standing idle)

 

 

I've been saving the cherry tree bounty for them, but Sparrow hangs back. He's not a cherry fan and he is completely engrossed in his Lego set up. So, just Snowdrop and me, plucking the ripe, golden cherries.

Their mom stops by for a bit, she reads, we read. 

And you guessed it, after they're gone, I return to the weeding, until I feel drops on my back and then something far wetter than just a few drops. (Now where did that come from??) 

 

 Evening: I make soup, we stay up. Ed has found a several part show for us. Will I sleep through the big storms that are allegedly coming straight  at us? I doubt it.

with so much love... 

 

jungle-rama

Predictably, in my absence, a jungle emerged. My immaculately weeded flower fields had grown grasses, weeds, saplings -- everything imaginable. Yesterday evening, I couldn't help myself. I went out and pulled random fistfuls of the stuff. Just around the field edges, or when I saw something completely obliterating what was supposedly growing there, For an hour, it was just me and the mosquitoes. Because of course, these pests have arrived. It was a typical summer evening -- swatting, pulling, and cleaning up, despite my utter tiredness. Because after all, it was, by Icelandic time, way past midnight.

This morning, I surveyed the foods in the fridge. Lots of peaches. Not much else.  

I did not eat breakfast with Ed because my friend is in town and she is dealing with a lot of family tragedies and inevitable losses. So we met up for a breakfast on the Square. Very early. By 7:30 a.m. we were getting our coffees. And we talked.

 

The day is at first rainy and humid. You could say that it is terrible weather for garden clean up work, but actually I'm not complaining. Were it not for the periods of rain, I'd overdo it. Because two weeks of neglect and heavy rains, created work enough for ten gardeners.

What's blooming out there? Well, the lilies are slowly emerging. Their moment will come in a week or two. For now, they're mostly sprouting pudgy buds.

(big bed)

 

The clematis at the porch corner, on the other hand, is in full swing. Lovely in its second year!

I remove many bucketfuls of weeds. Really, a mountain load. Even so, I hardly make a dent. It's going to be a busy set of days.

 

In the evening, Ed bikes and I return to Kopke's Greenhouse. 

(along the way: some cloud!)

 

 

Their shelves are almost bare and no one is shopping there tonight. Still, there are a few baskets and pots of annuals and they're at a high discount. I need to replace plants in two tubs because Ed missed them in the watering of flowers in my absence and so they dried up. I have rarely (ever?) bought flowers this late in the season and one could argue that annuals in tubs are less important now that the perennials are approaching their high water mark. But I know what happens in the fall. Perennials are ready to snooze until next spring. The annuals, on the other hand, keep on going until the first big frost. I am investing in fall colors!

 I realize that I have completely flipped: from writing about far away places and destinations, about a grandchild's view of the world out there, or at least my perception of her view, to one big report on the garden. Ocean has a seasonal shift: in July it is all about encouraging the flowers to do their best. My writing reflects this utter preoccupation with what's growing out there. Patience, my friends! By August I'll be traveling again. Kids will come into focus once more soon enough. But for now, my fingernails are full of dirt. And I'm pulling out weeds. All day long I'm pulling out weeds.

 

 

with love... 

 

back home

Well that was an interesting morning! Perhaps not for you, reading this and maybe not even for me in retrospect, but let me tell you, for 15 minutes I felt like the daredevil that walks, no, runs across a tightrope between two skyscrapers.

It's our travel day. I wake up at 5:25. As usual -- five minutes before my alarm is set to go off. Snowdrop sleeps, I finish packing, take my shower, double check everything. One suitcase, with clean stuff. One bag with dirty stuff. One bag tucked in with treats for the brothers. Another -- treats for the girl's friends and cousins. All carefully organized so that Snowdrop's parents don't have to do the work of figuring out what's what.

By 6:20 we are riding the elevator down to the lobby.

Good bye, Reykjavik. You've been wonderful.

And so we cab back to the airport. Past a landscape of lupines and lava rock. (The lupines were brought it to control erosion. They love the rocky ground here!) Past the waters of the North Atlantic. Past houses with colorful metal siding. Iceland is indeed beautiful.

 

 

 

The airport isn't enormous, and the lines aren't long. Except when they're very long. We slog through it all. Passing through security, my knee, as usual, sets off all alarms, so I have to have a pat down -- which takes them forever. Each airport security team has its protocols. At Reykjavik, people with metal in them (me!) have to remove their shoes before the screening and have them pass a special examination. Why? I do not know. But it messes with the bag retrieval. You are in one place, your child is in another, the shoes are in yet a third and everything happens out of sequence. Well, so it be. We claim our stuff, we walk to the gate. Which is far. We pass shops. She buys chocolate for her friends. We pass passport control. In most airports, passport control comes first, then comes security. Not here. And we pass a Sbarro's. It's 8 in the morning but the girl is hungry. Can I have a slice of pizza? Sure, why not. I take out my boarding pass, my wallet to pay for it, and then I hear the announcement -- would passenger Nina Camic please report to security?

Holy Hannah, what did I do??? 

Snowdrop is a trooper. Go, I'll wait here.  

Anyone could have told you this is not a great idea. Leave a little girl alone at a busy airport while you retrace your steps, in reverse, through passport control, back into Iceland, past dozens of shops, down escalators and long corridors? The flight takes off in about an hour and on international flight boarding starts early. I have no idea why they're paging me, but clearly I left something behind. Something easily identifiable as mine. I best head back for it.

I run. I brisk-walk. I run some more. I weave my way past lines -- excuse me, I'm being paged, I left a child behind, I'm in a hurry. People are sympathetic if extremely puzzled. The passport control agent is less sympathetic. You left a child? How old is she? Ten. Did you leave her under someone's care? Well, hopefully she is eating a pizza slice.  He shakes his head and stamps my passport yet again.

At security, I flag a guard -- I was paged. I think I left something behind. What? -- he asks. I don't know! He looks at me. It's fair to sway that I look frazzled. Maybe a laptop? - he prompts me. Yes! Maybe that! What kind? I don't know! His stare is unrelenting. I mean, it could be purple, hers, or it could be silver, mine. 

In the end it was mine. Forgotten in the jumble of mixed up items and bins and backpacks. Relieved, I retrace my steps. It's a 15 minute walk. Excuse me, can I get ahead of the line, you see, I have a young child... The passport agent -- a different one of course -- shakes his head, stamps me yet again and I run back to Sbarro's where a very anxious Snowdrop is waiting for me. At least you had your pizza -- I try to cheer her. He wouldn't give it to me! You hadn't paid for it! I glare at him even though I know it's not his fault. He shrugs. Rules are rules.

She eats her pizza on her lap in the crowded bus that takes us to the airplane.

And 6.5 hours later, we are in Minneapolis.

It's a pretty short layover. The girl would love a plate of french fries -- it's been a long time since that pizza slice -- but my need for a coffee is even greater. And after that, we do a speed walk to the other side of this convoluted airport and immediately board our flight to Madison. And 32 minutes later we are at the airport. The girl has taken on the job of retrieving our bags.

Minutes later she hops in her dad's car and is off to her Shakespeare Players group where friends await her, followed by a Girl Scout meeting where other friends await her. After two weeks with her grandmother, Snowdrop is especially in need of time with friends. Even though she is on a Europe clock, she is raring to go. I smile at her level of energy. I can't say I am able to match it, and yet we were nearly always in sync in our travels together.

Ed is waiting for me. Usually, there's no report of any happenings. The guy leads a quiet life! But, the weather has thrown a real punch in the last 24 hours: in one day we had had four inches of rain. The downpour was so strong that the roof of a supermarket collapsed, causing a Niagra Falls-like flood in the aisles. (No one was hurt, which in itself was amazing.)

I no longer can talk about a drought here, or any kind of dry spell. We will continue to have rain this week. You have to wonder which is better -- too little rain or too much? I will report on that tomorrow, when I survey the damage, if such there be.

In the meantime, I am home. With Ed. So very very happy that the trip went well, especially for Snowdrop. We had no disconcerting snafus (well, she'd claim the room changes were a disconcerting snafu). We heard at the Reykjavik airport that yesterday's flight to Minneapolis had been cancelled due to plane troubles. Rebooking all those passengers, given the totally full flights from Iceland must have been a nightmare. But none of this affected us. The weather was fabulous throughout, within its own regional vicissitudes. Importantly, neither of us got really sick. A sniffle here, an upset tummy there, an sore toe or two... And now we are home, ready to face... summer!

with so much love...

 

one last day

Yes, it's our last full day in Iceland. In Europe really. Early tomorrow, we board our flight back to Minneapolis and from there, if there are no hiccups, we catch the flight to Madison. Some people really pack in there last moments, doing all that they want to still accomplish before heading home. You know what Snowdrop and I say to each other? Let's go lazy today!

A late last breakfast at the hotel...

A chat with the waitress, who is from Barcelona. Naturally, we talk about over-tourism. She came to Iceland because she felt that her home city was being destroyed by reckless visitors. "And, too, the pay is better here! But I have to adjust my mindset to the long and short days!"

And then we have a rest in our room. I had booked a "cat walk" for the morning with some group of random people. I'm not quite sure what it is -- I've seen no cats in the city. Small wonder, it's so wet here! I do know it was to end at a cat cafe. I was sure this would be attractive to Snowdrop who loves cats above all animals, but in the end, when I asked if we should back out of that, she responded with an enthusiastic "yes!" So we stayed "home" instead and only tremendous guilt made me get up and insist that we go out for a late morning walk. Which cost me some. The girl is in love with souvenirs here and even though I throw out my share of "no's" there is always one that she gets me to agree to. 

 

 

(an Icelandic hound?)

 

 

 (the BakaBaka Bakery, where I pick up a cardamon bun for my "lunch.")

 

And the girl's lunch? Well, it has to be early, because we have an activity to go to just after the noon hour. At the same time, we had a really late breakfast. How about just some fries at "home?" At the little coffee shop in the hotel? I have to use up my vouchers here. 

And at 12:30, we take a cab (there is no other transportation option) to Ishestar stables. 

When I was in Iceland last (in 2018), I had wanted to try riding one of the Icelandic horses. Do you know their history? They were brought here by the Vikings in the 9th/10th centuries. The finest horses from Scandinavia. The very last one came in the year 982. After that, a law was passed forbidding the import of any horses from the continent. As a result, the Icelandic horse has uniquely avoided globalization! In fact, if you brought in a horse now, the Icelandic ones would quickly pick up diseases that are completely unknown to them. They have lived here in isolation for more than a thousand years. (Though it is possible to purchase and take an Icelandic horse to your country of choice. If you do that, he or she will never be allowed back on Icelandic soil.)

I asked Snowdrop if she wanted to try riding an Icelandic horse. She has no horseback riding experience and it isn't exactly a sport I would like to see any of my grandkids take up (too dangerous, too expensive), nevertheless, trying something new is part of our travel mantra and she is eager to give this sport a go. 

There is a misty drizzle now but unsurprisingly, they are prepared for this: we are given oversized rain pants and rain jackets (in addition to the standard helmet). If they stopped rides due to rain, they'd never get a day's worth of business here!

 

 

The Ishestar tables have really beautiful animals. The Icelandic horse is compact and strong, but it is in fact shorter than the standard horse you'd find elsewhere: 13-14 hands (as opposed to 15-17 hands for your average horse). But don't call it a pony! It is anything but that.

 

 

Snowdrop asks for a calm horse. She gets gentle Fidla. 

I get the older but definitely more spunky Svigna. 

 

 

 

Still, I promise to stay with her walk and only occasionally do I hold back and catch up with a trot. (I don't think our guide appreciated these pauses so I kept them to a minimum. Svigna, of course, caught on to my strategy and allowed herself a munch on the delicious roadside grasses with each pause. We were a good team!)

As for Snowdrop -- she is a cautious girl, but once she gets the hang of an activity, she really gets into it. She loved her ride, loved her horse, loved the gentle sway in the saddle.

It was a wonderful ending to our Nordic adventures.

On the cab ride back, we once again found ourselves in a political discussion with the driver. This has happened a lot in Iceland. I do believe that they are much more angry here at America's leadership than elsewhere and a little more puzzled about the support our government still receives among voters. They really press me on that. These are hard discussions to have and honestly, I wont miss them when we return home. There's only so much that I can say to provide reassurance about the future of my country which carries such an outsized influence on the fate of other nations.

Toward evening, I pack up our suitcases. This should be easy: I've been careful not to purchase any large items. We dont need to segregate out warm clothes or light ones. And yet... 

It takes a while.

For our last dinner, we do not try anything new. I tell her we can go back to any of the four places where we've had dinners. She chooses the Seafood Grill -- from the first night of our return. I have to agree with her -- it was my overall favorite as well. True, she preferred the catch of the day from before (wolf fish), but the fries were awesome as always and my salmon, which I shared, pleased her no end.

(timed release) 

(walk "home:" let's just call this an "art installation!")

 

 

(we developed a very comfortable walking habit: her arm looped through mine)

 

One last night with light streaming in through our window all night long. One last Icelandic exhale. Tomorrow, we should be back home.

with so much love... 

south along the coast

Plans for our stay in Iceland took so many forms and permutations that my head spins at the recollection. Snowdrop had read a book about Iceland and she told me early on that she wanted to see this country. Especially the puffins and the black beaches! Those were her wishes. 

You don't actually have to leave Reykjavik to see puffins. Between mid-May and mid-August, there are plenty of boat tours a day, right from the city dock. The catch here is the mode of transportation: by boat. Did I ever tell you how much I hate boats in choppy waters? I had actually taken a boat trip off the coast of northern England to see puffins a few years back. I felt sick most of the way there and back. In Reykjavik, the companies use RIBs (rigid-hulled inflatable boats) that seat about a dozen passengers. The tour companies supply you with life jackets and binoculars. They keep their distance for reasons of safety but also so as not to disturb the colonies. You can't have dozens of people traipsing around or even getting close to the island puffin homes. 

I looked for a better way to do this.

I read that some of the largest colonies of puffins (and mind you, Iceland as a whole has the greatest concentration of puffins, hence all those puffin souvenirs around town) were to the south of the city. As were the black beaches. I thought of renting a car. I booked a car. Then I changed my mind. I'm not shy about driving in any and all countries of Europe, but I don't like doing it with Snowdrop. It's hard to pay attention to her and to my surroundings. Too, I wasn't quite sure where to look. The literature kept pushing boat trips. Can't I stay off of unpredictable sea waters??

In the end, I booked a guide. A person with a car, so I wouldn't have to drive. A person who knew about puffins and, too, how to avoid crowds which surely must be there on the Icelandic roads. I booked a day with Pall.

Pall helps out at Arctic Exposure -- a small company that provides tours with a helpful emphasis on photography. It is not cheap to have him take us south for the day, but then nothing in this country is cheap and I am saving by not renting a car (saving, too, my sanity by not trying to do this by myself). 

We start the day... wait, was there an end to yesterday? I was up at midnight and looked outside. Cloudy and wet, but still pretty light, if you ask me!

 

 

 

Okay, morning breakfast. I tell Snowdrop to eat a lot because I'm not sure how lunch fits into the deal.

At 9, Pall is at the door of the hotel waiting for us. (He would have picked us up earlier, but I balked at that!)

How to describe our trip south with Pall... Perfect? Perfectly exciting? Evocative and with diverse weather? Delivering exactly what I hoped for?

The excursion gave us Iceland. Pall, who is a professional photographer, someone who has spent his life between Reykjavik and a southern town, drove us to places where we could experience the country as he has experienced it. And he did so without unnecessary chatter -- of the type a tour guide normally hits you with. It was an incredible day!

Snowdrop, too, was happy as a puffin!  

To get to the cliffs where puffins hang out, you need to go south for about two and a half hours. But there are good stops on the way. The first one, at Urridafoss Falls is just lovely! Snowdrop is bouncy and exuberant. 

(fishing)

(there has to be one of us!)

 

Another pause -- just to photograph these falls from afar. Because they are pretty from this roadside space. (We will get closer to them on the way back.)

We stop then for a snack at a gas station/store. For candy, really. Snowdrop loves that! And we pass a glacier -- coming straight at us! Only in Iceland are these slow moving ice packs almost ho hum. The country has about 270 named glaciers.

And now we get to the cliffs where puffins hang out from late spring through mid August. (After nesting here, they move up north again, staying on the waters of the North Atlantic for the winter months.) This is when the weather really deteriorates. A mist spreads a layer of moisture, eventually changing to light but persistent rain. And the winds! We've come from toasty Reykjavik (temp about 55f/13c) to blustery air and a drop to maybe 5c/40f. There aren't many people up here and I have to think the weather has something to do with it. Though, too, this isn't a place for tour buses. We are at the top of the cliff -- Dyrholaey. And below us? The black beaches of Iceland. This is shattered volcanic rock and Iceland is full of it. Indeed, Pall tells us the whole island is made of basalt rock.

We were to walk on those beaches, but the weather is just too ferocious this afternoon. More importantly though, we are here for some puffin spotting.

Adorable and full of personality!

How can such small guys have so much to offer?!

We are wet. We are cold. And yet... there are the puffins.

 

This bird surely is a national treasure.

(in the rain: cliffs full of puffins)

 

 

We are really wet. Time for a hot lunch. Pall of course knows where to find that. Not a small matter -- this part of Iceland is sparsely populated. Farms, a couple of small hotels. I see nothing else. 

 

 

 

We stop at a place full of wet diners. Snowdrop of course eats her fish and chips. Our friend goes with the burger. Me, I'm tempted by something called marriage cake. Apparently it's a combo of rhubarb and oats. Delicious! 

 

We head back now. And as soon as we leave the southern coast, the weather improves. Significantly! Pall suggests a pause by the Falls we saw from the road -- the Skogafoss.

The girl can still surprise me: I do believe this is her favorite moment from the day. Yes, there are the falls, very nice, lovely in fact. But what she really wanted was to leave her mark: to build a rock promontory, running into the river. A viewing platform of sorts. She set to it, picking heavy rocks to carry into the rushing stream.

(I watch a brave soul get closer to the tumbling waters; I'm glad Snowdrop isn't quite that adventurous.)

 

The girl may have gone on like this for a long time. Maybe until she crossed the river, but I said perhaps this much was enough. Okay! At least it's longer than any of the others here! 

And we have one more stop -- a popular one, with good reason! These are the Seljalandsfoss -- falls that are both tall and uniquely formed so that you can actually go behind them, if you're willing to climb along slippery rocks and then walk through the tail end of cascading water!

We are both drenched!

The adventures end here. We're back in Reykjavik in the evening and we say goodbye to Pall. Honestly, it would not have been possible to do this without him -- the perfect guide, with a perfect eye for the beauty of this country.  

In the evening, Snowdrop and I eat at the Fish Company, yet another seafood place! This one is perhaps the closest we'll come to fine dining on this trip, without totally destroying my budget, though it also has the promise of simple fish and chips for Snowdrop, which takes away the fear of excessive and esoteric sauces poured over her beloved seafood. Me, I go for the Atlantic char. Like a salmon only gentler!

 We have one more day in Reykjavik before us and yes, we do have an activity planned for it! We'll see how that goes. Adventures can be... adventuresome!

with so much love...