Aw, pShaw...

When did I become such a daylight person! Yes, my grandmother rose with the sun and went to bed when the first stars appeared in the sky. But she was a total introvert. She had family, and she got along with some people in the village who supplied her with dairy products and poultry, but as far as going to a social gathering? Not her. Not once in all the time that I knew her (some 40 years) did I ever hear of her expressing any need for socializing, and not once did I hear of her going out after dark. So, is it in my genes to love staying home once the fireflies come out in the summer, or the darkness takes over in those early hours of winter? Ed, of course, is a complete homebody, but it's not the night that keeps him shuttered, it's just that he always prefers the farmhouse over any other place (except maybe out in a boat in the middle of the ocean), at any time of day. So maybe that, too, rubs off on me a little?

When I was in Poland, I asked my friends in one of those "conversational questions" I like to throw out to the group, what time they go to sleep. It varied, from late to very, very late. Since I have given myself the task of finishing up an Ocean post in the evening, after supper and whatever show Ed and I pick for the night, I end up going to sleep close to 11, but were it not for the fact that we push everything into those evening hours, I swear I'd toddle up to bed at least an hour, maybe two hours earlier than that. So, I'm no party animal. More like a wet blanket after dark. And I've stopped going to concerts or evening shows. What's the point -- I'd probably doze off. 

However.

There are these grandchildren and they have performances. I've been skipping the school ones lately, because their time on stage is so short and there are plenty of people in the audience. But I do attend the plays that put both Snowdrop and now this year Sparrow, too, on the stage. They are full length productions, so it is a multi hour commitment, but really, if a grandmother wont show up for it, then what's the point of being a grandmother? 

The group they perform with is the Young Shakespeare Players and the plays are indeed mostly those written by Shakespeare, but every once in a while they put on something by Shaw. And tonight, they're putting on his Don Juan in Hell. Actually, it's the 3rd act of Shaw's "Man and Superman," and one drama critic described it thus: "(Don Juan in Hell) depicts a spirited conversation between Don Juan, the Devil, Juan’s former paramour Doña Ana, and her father the Commander, slain by Juan while defending his daughter’s honor. This chamber concert for four voices debates love, war, morality, and the eternal battle of the sexes with sublime wit and devilish charm." I would say it is rather an adult play and the Shakespeare group does invite older alumni of the program to come back and take part. But it is also open to young actors and Snowdrop plays Doña Ana, so it's not a small deal.

Unfortunately, her family is battling a bug, so neither parent can attend. This is sort of okay, because she already performed once last week, when I was in France, so they had a chance to see her then.  Sparrow insists on seeing it again and I, of course, despite my dislike of stepping out into the night, am delighted to see her play a "paramour" at age 10, so the plan is for me, along with Sparrow, to represent the family in the audience tonight. I'm drinking coffee as I write this, in the early hours of the afternoon.

 

The morning started off with rather cool temps. I'm forcing myself to pull weeds before breakfast, but I have to admit that I am now reaching the stage of gardening insouciance. I mean, it's the end of the season, control and order went out the door weeks ago! I tell myself it looks good this way -- overgrown, weary, subservient to the yellow heliopsis and eventually the purple asters. A tumble of spent summer stems and thriving early fall flowers.

(last of the August day lilies)

I feel it is too cool to eat breakfast outside on the porch. In early spring, a reading of 60f/15c would have sent me out there in a flash, but now my blood is used to a warmer air and a cool morning has me opt for the kitchen.

(false sunflower)

(real sunflower)

 

 

I had one more goal for the summer and it was to finish two photo books for the kids -- I did one before leaving for my trip and I had one left. I worked on that today. It's always such a huge project that it basically swallow the day and it did just that. By the time I was done, it was almost time to head out. 

 

*     *     * 

Okay, so how did the show go? This production, coming so close on the heels of the Midsummer Night's Dream, meant that there was a lot of work that had to be put in by Snowdrop to get herself up to speed with her lines. I needn't have been apprehensive though. She did brilliantly.

A cast of four: two young adults, two younger ones.

 

 

 

Sparrow was very proud! 

I had postponed supper until after the show. Ed and I always eat late in the summertime so it wasn't a huge deal to reheat soup after 9 pm.  

But ask me how peppy I feel right now. And how soon is my next foray into the dark world out there. (Not too soon!)

 

with so much love... 

 

market day

There isn't just one day -- Saturday -- for a farmers market in Madison. Ed and I always go to our local Thursday afternoon market, and I've taken to going to the reduced-in-size Wednesday market downtown, and there are countless others that we could easily reach on other days -- all within a short drive of the farmhouse. But of course the big one is this morning. Around the Capitol Square. 

I go back and forth on whether I love it or am mildly frustrated by it. Yes, I'm a fan when I go with family and we basically treat it as an outing for the kids, for all of us. Yes, I'm a fan when I go there early, say on Rosie the moped, then walk to my favorite stands, coming at them from the back to avoid the crowds. But for serious grocery shopping it can get overwhelming. It's a one-way movement of many people, most of them there for small add-ons rather than your basic food resupplying. And here's the other thing: there is a strict rule that all products must be harvested or made in our county, by the vendor, so that for example even the cheese maker Farmer John could not sell his cheeses there because he uses milk from farmers in and around the county.

Yes, okay, it's good to support local foods grown and produced by local farmers. But it makes for a very limited product base. Meaning, there is a lot of repetition out on the stands. When bok choy, or asparagus, or spinach, or apples are in season, there are very many stands selling them. You can spend a long time going around the Square looking for the very best bok choy or asparagus or spinach or apples, but then you have to go around the whole square again to get to the one you liked best. Is that really a good use of your time? 

 

 

 

And the limitation to our county means that products from elsewhere are not available, so you do have to shop for produce at the grocery store after all. In all the markets I visit across the ocean, there is a mix of local and not local. The vendors must put up signs if the products are from another country and you see a lot of "Spain" in the cooler months, but from the point of view of the shopper, it sure makes it easier to supply yourself with all your fruits and veggies all at the same time, from one market.

Still, when my daughter asked if we could meet up at the market today, I jumped. Because with her, and her kids -- the market is awesome. And what a beautiful day for it! Partly cloudy and mild -- which, by the way, appears to be the forecast for the next ten days. Stunning weather! It makes up for the sticky hot days of July. Now if only the bugs would retire for the season...

(around this time of the year, it's all about the phloxes, monardas, black eyed susans, and false sunflower; in other words, purple and gold)

 

 

(the green froggies find other flowers now that the day lilies are mostly gone)

 

 

(the roadside garden benefits now from the strawberries and cream hydrangeas)

 

 

(feeding the cats: three in the sheep shed, and as of recently -- all these guys, Friendly, Dance, and Pancake -- in the farmhouse kitchen)

 

 

Breakfast with a sleepy and not hungry Ed, on the porch. 

 

 

 

I think afterwards he went back to bed. Me, I drive down to the market.

Even before meeting up with the three kids and mom, I find such a stunning bouquet of flowers that I put my money down on them right away. It's not that it is the only nice bouquet -- this is the absolutely best week for dahlias! -- but I fall in love and there you have it.

And now for the best part of the market outing -- I get to see the kids again. Somehow they missed me (and I missed them) more than usual, so the reunion is joyous and long lasting. 

We do the whole market and it takes over an hour. My daughter has a veggie shopping list...

 

 

 

Me, I'm there to revel in the whole adventure of being there with them. And I have to admit it -- this big market is the absolute best for summer flower buying. The selection is huge and with flowers, that's important. 

(Sandpiper with my flowers)

 

 

(...then with her flowers)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, they all came over to the farmhouse. The younger set plays with their favorites, the older set sits out on the porch. It is the perfect weather for it and of course, there is much to catch up on.

 

 

 

I'm over my post travel wobblyness (is that a word?) and I'm marching through the "just returned from vacation" to do list with great speed and resolution. And I make time for an outing. With Ed. A bike ride and a hike. 

Back at the farmhouse, we speculate how best to address the mosquito problem at the farmette. During our walk in the local park, we came across no mosquitoes or other annoying bugs. That's because the wind had picked up and these pests dont do well in windy conditions. But such winds rarely blow through our farmette land. The trees are tall and dense. A breeze here and there -- sure, we get that, but the big movement of air mostly passes over us. Moreover, the mosquitoes have plenty of spaces to hide, in the thicket of trees, shrubs and flowers.  Ed suggests we put up a network of fans blowing air onto the flower fields when I'm working  in them. But the aesthetics of that! -- I protest. You mean you'd find that to be ugly? Well, ugly is a strong word, but maybe "unattractive?" 

We eat dinner late. I don't know why. Reheated soup and a salad and corn. In the summertime -- and it is still summertime -- it's often like that. Supper with dusk. The mourning doves outside settle down, the chickens are put away for the night. We eat. With utter contentment...

And love. 

 

la rentrée

As I leave France and re-enter my daily life at the farmette, I have the idea that I am going to bring something fresh to the year ahead. Why travel far and wide if you dont come home determined to preserve something from your trip -- an idea, a new habit maybe, an acceleration in your language studies. Maybe all the above. But when I get off the plane in Madison, especially one that gets in as late as mine did, when I see all that needs to be done at home, and especially outside in the gardens, where rain once again has tripled the weed population and quadrupled the mosquitoes out there, when in my dazed stupor I finally have my fill (for now) of being next to Ed and go up to bed (at around1a.m.) and wake up by the once again rebelling circadian clock at 5 a.m., I am so dragged down that it's all I can do to work for a while outside, do a few laundry loads, bake some granola and then plump down on the couch, ignoring that earlier call to seize the moment and surge forth in some gallant attempt to retain the spirit of travel at home. I feel right now that I've retained nothing at all except a fuzzy head and a limp body that does not want to bike to Stoneman's for corn, or even bike to the mailbox, if truth be told.

Every year, a long flight leaves me more depleted the next day. I read a friend's post how after a long cruise, she developed something called mal de debarquement syndrome (a sickness and dizziness after disembarking from a long time on a boat). It. rang true to me. When I get off a plane, after even an 8 hour flight, I swear that the airport is moving underneath my feet. I imagine if I was in flight for longer I'd totally wack myself off balance even more! (Though I do practice balancing with eyes closed every time there is a wait of a few minutes, like for instance when there's a wait for luggage to be unloaded. People may stare as I sway and eventually topple to both feet, but I can't tell -- my eyes are, after all, closed! I'm getting very good at standing on one foot in this way for at least a minute, even while supporting a heavy backpack!)

Because being tired is not a state I'm used to, I always then test for Covid and almost always (like this morning) it's just a wasted test. It's not Covid. It's being 72 and having had a very full day yesterday.

But, after doing some minor weed pulling and cleaning up the two lily plants that are still flowering, albeit at reduced levels... 

... and of course, after walking over to the barn to feed those American-French Bresse girls,

 

 

 

 

 

 

... I do put out a fresh tablecloth and scrounge up some bits and pieces of a breakfast (a must do for today: replenish supplies in the fridge!) and Ed comes down, and we have a wonderful handful of minutes once again enjoying the peace that comes with being on the porch on a beautiful day in late August.

(large jar of honey from Bee made it across the ocean!)

By the afternoon, I feel enough refreshed to go run errands. Get gas, drop off something at UPS, then Fed Ex (there to drop off a broken suitcase!),  and yes, go to Stoneman's for corn for tonight's soup, though not by bike. 

(Rosie the goat is back helping sell corn...)

 

 

And each time I pass a flower field, I pause and pull some weeds.

Amazing how quickly chores and routines can suck us in, so that a seemingly open ended day suddenly hasn't very many spaces left to give up. But then, I have always liked keeping busy. Today, tired but happily, I kept very very busy.

With so much love... 

after Champagne

The train arrives five minutes ahead of schedule on purpose, I think. Many get on at the Champagne-Ardenne station since it's the TGV (rapid train) that services both Epernay and Reims and the first stop will be CDG -- the Paris airport. Two hours away by car, 30 minutes by this bullet of a train. (I watched one speed by: incredible what you can engineer with the will to do it!)

Seats are reserved, so there is no angst, no pushing or elbowing your way on. Promptly at 11:29, we leave Champagne.

I'm taking off in such fine weather! A perfect blend of sunshine and clouds, with a cool breeze. I look outside and smile. It's just such a pretty sight: the forest to the right, the ubiquitous white vans that in France bring workers and equipment to the vineyards. And well they might! This year, the harvest of champagne grapes officially starts today. Earlier than usual. It'll be finished in the first week of September. I almost wish I had come later to witness it. I attended one such harvest in Languedoc and it was such thrill to see the effort and enthusiasm that go into harvesting this most precious crop. 

This year the yield is supposed to be good. The grapes ripened quickly (it being the second warmest year of the century here), with a "historically rapid increase in alcohol content," according to the co-president of the Comité Champagne. Everything is in a "good balance" and they expect it to be a very good vintage. Not that they are without worry. US tariffs are a threat: we buy 10% of all champagne produced here. Too, there is a heated discussion about working conditions for the seasonal workers (all 120 000 of them) that come here for the harvest. And finally, I'm not the only one who has mostly cut out alcohol. Sales of champagne dropped in 2024, though they appear to have stabilized. Still, it's a tricky business. I once spoke to a wine producer before all these new sources of worry, and he told me that twice a year he considers suicide. It's that stressful for him. (It's weird that I have such a strong interest in champagne, even as I don't really drink it, before -- because of the expense, and now -- because of my new restraint.)

As I watch the clearing in the skies, I have a bit of wistfulness. But only a small bit. I've had fabulous weather (at least by my count) on this trip. Luck followed me everywhere, as never before. Well, as rarely before. Besides, if my train leaves today at 11:29, then my cab to the station can leave the hotel at 10:55, which means I have the chunk of the morning to myself still. The question is, how to best suck out every last advantage of being here. Should I take a walk? To the forest again? To the village? Or should I go to the Spa and steam myself silly, with a hot sauna and cold shower to follow suit?

It's not even close: I choose the walk. After breakfast of course. Ah, my last breakfast in France. Make it good! 

 

I look around me. French on one side, quiet and undecipherable voices to the front, and English to the other side. What interests me is the quiet and undecipherable couple. I cannot tell if they are French, though I doubt it. She looks so pensive! What is going through her head? She appears dressed not for a hike, but for an important day... doing what?

Of course, I cannot tell. 

 

It's 9:15 when I set out for my walk. I'm packed, ready to check out, so I need not rush back. At least an hour of walking. I'm thinking I should alternate: if yesterday I went to the right (the forest), then today I should go to the left (the village). With many stops along the way!

It's downhill, no matter where you go. I take a good look around me. On the hotel's property, there are bee hives...

 

 

... and meadows instead of lawns.

 

And apple trees and a vegetable garden, with herbs used in cocktails on the roof. They're trying!

But all eyes are on the vineyards. On the noble grape that'll fizz for you and make you dance. Or something.

 

The vineyard never leaves your field of vision. Or my field of vision. There's something so alluring -- the rows, the symmetry, the fastidiousness with which the vines are clipped, attached, cared for.

 

But of course, life goes on and it's not all about champagne. I noticed at breakfast that there's a very good apple juice produced locally. Maybe from this variety?

 

I reach the heart of the village. I couldn't tell what these guys were discussing. People always stop in mid sentence when I approach and make a point of telling me good morning, always with a "madame." Bonjour, madame. It feels special. Young or old, you command respect.

 

I come across this sign. Well now, while my face was being bombarded with red light, there was a market in the hamlet. Had I known...

Here's one of those white vans: the team is clipping the growth between rows. I guess this clipper just gave out.

Most every village has a monument to honor those who died in French wars of the 20th century.  Names of local residents who lost their lives on the battlefield are carved out for all to see, to read, to wonder how young they were, what was lost and what was gained.

No bakery in the village? No problem! There is a vending box with visible fresh baguettes.  (Ledistrib.fr to the rescue.)

I tend to focus on the small stuff. How about some general street scenes:

 

 

 

 

 

I look at my watch. Time to head back. 

Back at the hotel, I canvass the room, making sure that my forgetfulness wasn't at play this morning. And I glance out at the balcony. I like these comfortable private sitting spaces, but it strikes me that I have never actually sat down and relaxed in any them. Really, ever, in any hotel that offers such a balcony or terrace. Well now, time to change that! I have ten minutes. Let me sit and enjoy the view one last time, through the balcony glass.

 

 

 

In leaving my RC hotel, I think about how much effort they put into giving the absolutely best service imaginable. I'm here for two nights and everyone knows my name. Bonjour Madame Camic, at every turn. Watching others request this, ask for that, I could see that nothing was too much trouble for the staff. I don't travel with this in mind of course. And I don't need so many people jumping at my every whim. (For one thing, I seem not to have whims.) All my life I've gotten a lot of satisfaction in doing things for myself by myself. Until very recently, I'd deliberately avoid doing the easier thing. No taxis for me! I have many memories of dragging a suitcase from a bus stop to a hotel. But if you do things yourself -- scrub rust off the toilet bowl, remove cobwebs and dust balls from the walls, dig out endless weeds three seasons out of the year, scrape chicken poop off your own shoes, plan, fix and clean up after meals for yourself and others, well, for that one day of the year, it really is sublime to know that you need do nothing. You understand that this isn't healthy, year round, that it is a weird entitlement, and, yes Ed, you're right, in the long run it's both boring and extraordinarily wasteful. But rare is the person who can pass up a day of having to do nothing, because you know someone is there to do it for you. So yes, I loved being here. Someday I will come back, in the off-off-off season, when once again a rate will spring up that I can face without fainting. For one day, before I return to all the often physically challenging work that waits for me back home.

My flight is a late afternoon one. That's fine for this trip, since it gave me that extra walk in Champagne, but it does mean that I get in awfully late. Champagne to Paris to Minneapolis to Madison and Ed. Waiting for me. It is so good to be back!

with so much love...