Relative Something

Folks, I gotta tell ya, writing about our time in Portugal, a time that was a dream to experience in the first place… writing about it is not only a dream to be able to do now that we are home, it is causing me to have dreams that are rich in detail from Portugal. Just before I awoke this morning, while dreaming that I was toiling away on some task to help Ian in Portugal, I found myself questioning how I had gotten there, since it takes a day of travel. It is great that I have overcome that problem of travel by doing so in dream, but I regret that it doesn’t result in any tangible result for the Rowcliffes.

The night before last, I found myself dreaming that I was swimming in a deep pool of water with Ian’s horse, Sebastian. It was fabulous. So was our experience in Portugal.

Speaking of dreaming, trust me when I tell you that we have checked for ticket prices to fly there again.

Saturday, September 25…

Cyndie got up and dressed while I was writing, and she headed off to get started on freezing peaches she had picked. Her projects of trying to preserve the abundance of fruit here have met varying degrees of success and she wanted to bring the tasks to an end before the weekend activities started. I finally make an appearance for breakfast around 9:00 and find Cyndie in process. She reports that Ian is mucking out the stables and Stephanie is yet to appear. I eat a quick breakfast of bread and cheese with some of Cyndie’s fresh fig jam, and then head to the stables to offer a bit of support to Ian. He says that Lucy is looking thin again and decides to give the horses deworming medicine.

Stephanie and Cyndie come to the stables to assist and between the four of us, plus some peaches as enticement, we get medicine delivered to each of the horses. Then we all take a horse and move them down to the bottom field together. Ian suggests preparing the stables now, in advance of the horses return at the end of the day, so we won’t have to do it when we are in the middle of the grapes project that is expected to take the rest of the day. While cleaning and stocking food in the stalls, we get side-tracked by the increasing presence of wasps. We spontaneously find ourselves in a search of the area, looking for nests that must be the source of all the wasps. There is no immediate solution and the day is slipping away, so we finally make a point to get started on the picking of grapes.

There is really nothing special in terms of the process. We just cut the stem of a bunch and toss them into a plastic tub. It makes a very pleasing sound when a bunch of grapes plunk into an empty tub. Very soon, we hear the arrival of the first guests who will be assisting, Ricardo and Francisca, who get right to the task at hand. They are wonderful. Ricardo speaks a fair amount of English, and although Francisca is more hesitant, she does a pretty fair job as well. For a while she and I work together, teaming a ladder, and it seemed to me that we communicate just fine. Ian and I bring the first batch of grapes up to the winery and, almost ceremoniously, he has me dump them in the squisher and push the power switch, while he takes pictures with my camera. We settle into a routine of filling bins and then I haul them up and dump them.

In the middle of the day, Victoria arrives and she and Stephanie prepare a lunch of curry chicken over rice with a salad of mostly left-over makings from our dinner at Carlos’ the night before. Francisca has contributed a desert of an apple bake that is somewhat cake-like, made with organic apples from their home. I find it to be a particularly tasty treat.

While we were eating, the sound of helicopters appeared. It continued long enough, and seemed close enough –although we couldn’t see them over the ridge– that Ian walked around to look at the fire. He was able to spot it, and was satisfied we were probably not in danger. Later, there was the sound of a siren and Ian said it was the fire truck in town, which meant there was another fire, but the helicopters were already occupied with the first one. Fires are all too common an occurrence here and Ian takes care to minimize the risks where ever possible.

to be continued…

In the afternoon on Friday, Stephanie spent some time working on a project for school –a presentation that was due on Monday, while Cyndie prepared food for the dinner at Carlos’ that evening. They decided it would be best to pre-cook most of the food in advance, and then it would only need a little heating up when we get there.

The whole idea for this dinner started when Carlos had been unable to take Cyndie up on the offer of joining us for lunch earlier in the week. He countered with an invitation to his home where she could prepare a meal in their kitchen. His wife was going to be away, helping to pick grapes for other friends, so having a ‘guest cook’, and being able to show off the magnificent view from his kitchen, were two things that would make him very happy. Dinner at Carlos’ would also provide Ian with a new experience, as he had yet to enjoy such an opportunity.

It took us a while to decide what we could prepare that wouldn’t require extraordinary effort, didn’t involve ingredients that we didn’t have available, and might still offer something characteristic of us, as visitors to their region. I came up with meatloaf. It made us laugh, but it fit the criteria. Cyndie also prepared a cheesy-potato bake, some cut fruit, a lettuce salad, and ginger bread with lemon sauce. We packed it all in the back of Ian’s Forester, along with my guitar, and enjoyed a scenic drive to Carlos’ farm.

When we arrived, Carlos and his daughter, Rita (15 yrs), came out to greet us and help carry things inside. They offered a nonalcoholic grape drink that, to my palate, was less grape juice and more wine that hadn’t yet fermented. Carlos provided a brief tour, out to see his beautiful horses and walk a bit of his picture-postcard gorgeous property. He has a fantastic grove of olive trees and a significant number of grape vines. Cyndie had placed food in the oven to get it heating, and I am surprised we got away with being out of the kitchen as long as we were, without burning something. It is quite a feat that Cyndie pulls off, first preparing the food in advance in Ian’s kitchen, which is foreign to her, and then stepping into Carlos’ house for the very first time and accomplishing the meal in his kitchen!

The meal is a success. Even Rita appeared to like it. Rumor has it, she can be hard to please when it comes to food. To our surprise, Carlos’ mother prepared two desserts for us: an almond cake and kind of a rice pudding. Cyndie had already brought her peach cobbler with ice cream, so we had plenty of dessert. Even though he doesn’t drink any, Carlos had opened a bottle of wine for Cyndie to enjoy. Later he brings out a second bottle that they refer to as green wine, which is not aged for long. I believe it was one he made. Stephanie joins Cyndie in trying a taste of that. Finally, he gets up and opens a bottle of port wine and Ian agrees to have a small glass of that with the girls. Carlos is a very generous host.

Neither Carlos nor his daughter speak much english and initially, Rita hardly says anything. It is obvious the poor girl is battling a cold, and she excuses herself occasionally to blow her nose. She is truly model beautiful. At one point, she sets up her camera for auto-timer and captures a picture of us all at the table. After dinner, we sit around the table and I pull out my guitar to provide background music while we visit. Rita uses a little device to make cigarettes for Carlos. Then Rita and Carlos give Cyndie a tour of the house, which I have already seen. Cyndie’s abilities with Spanish seem to give her everything she needs to communicate. Rita becomes a bit more verbal. Meanwhile, Stephanie joins me in singing some abbreviated versions of Dylan songs, and then one by the Beatles.

When we notice feeling it is getting late to be out, especially since we have a big day of grape harvesting scheduled to start in the morning, we begin the process of preparing to go. Carlos needs to warn Cyndie twice, not to do the dishes; the second time, coming into the kitchen to cut her off from the task. She leaves some leftovers for them and we pack up the rest. He insists we take the rest of the desserts his mother prepared, still in the dishes in which they were served, telling us we can return them later. He wants to come with us to see the water fall on the other side of Mt Graça later in the week. We can return the dishes then, he offers.

The drive home in the dark is uneventful and we expend tired energy, tending to the putting away of all the leftover food we brought home, and feeding the dogs and cat. We also give the cat his medicine. We don’t get to bed until almost midnight.

Friday arrives. Cyndie got up and fed the horses, and then began working on her ongoing project of preserving both figs and peaches. After I finished doing some morning journal writing,  I went over to the main house to visit with Ian and eat my breakfast of bread, cheese, and fig jam. Cyndie was having some yogurt and peaches while she continued to work.

Ian and I began our day’s tasks with cleaning the stables.  Next, we made a run to pick up more sawdust. The route to the sawmill takes us on a beautiful drive around the valley and up beyond the ridge. Ian pulls up to a building that appears very residential, except that its cobblestone driveway extends beyond the front of the house into a lumber yard. The mill is obviously busy in production. Ian leaves the car in front of the house and we walk right through the bustle of man and machine and begin digging in a giant pile of sawdust to fill our bags. Ian digs in the pile and I tie the bags closed. Then he pulls the car up to as close as he is able and we load 10 full bags, just as it begins to drizzle a misty rain.

On the way back toward the farm, we pass by the place where his neighbor, Machado, is exercising his horse. Ian stops the car in the middle of the lane, debating the visit. He decides to back up a ways, to the front of Machado’s driveway to park, and we walk up the road to where Machado was working with his horse in his field. Machado pauses his training when he sees us and we have a very pleasant visit. He comes across as a very good-spirited man. I am, once again, relying on Ian’s gracious and patient translating. I am generally able to tell when he describes that I come from the state in the US where Bob Dylan is from.

While we were talking, Machado pointed out to Ian that it was possible to see Carlos making an appearance at the farm across the way. Ian cut our visit short and hustled us back to see if we could catch Carlos before he left. Luckily, we met him on the road and stopped to talk. He had driven all the way out to report that his daughter had a sore throat and maybe we should postpone tonight’s dinner date until Monday. Ian talked him out of it and said, after double-checking with me, we weren’t worried about being exposed to the illness, and maybe we could cheer Rita up. Ian told me that postponement could still run into a different conflict on Monday and then the odds of it happening begin to decline. Carlos was very agreeable to that. As fast as the plan was off, it was back on again.

Back at the stable, we are again cleaning up manure as we distribute the bags of fresh sawdust. We then take a look at the equipment that Luis and his father had dropped off and contemplate how we will use it all. There are plumbing issues and electric power requirements that will need addressing. With questions remaining, we decide to pause for lunch and think about it. I try looking on the internet for information about the process of pressing and de-stemming grapes. While we are still at the table, just about to serve coffee after the meal, Luis and his father show up again, to prepare the equipment. Problem solved! They say they will come back to tend to the processing of red grapes in the evening, yet they will have to do so without us, as we are to go to Carlos’ for dinner.

While we had been looking at the wine making equipment, Cyndie and Stephanie had taken the horses down to the bottom field. Ian decides we are free to take Cassius for a little walk and do some reconnaissance on the property. It doesn’t take long at all to discover our next project. The camellias need water! We collect the hose and begin a long process of watering from tier to tier. It is a special experience which brings you closer to each plant, and it gives me a better sense of each zone, and an awareness of just how much planting he has done here over the years. It is truly amazing.

By the time we finish the watering, it is necessary to get the horses back to their stables and then to clean up ourselves for our visit to Carlos’s for dinner.

Continuing with Thursday, September 23…

As I stepped out the door of the cottage for the first time in the morning, I found an unfamiliar car on the patio. Unaware of who was visiting, I decided to walk the other direction around the cottage, where I met Ian turning the corner and the car just backing out. Luis and his father had come to deliver the grape squishing device that will be used during the grape harvest on Saturday.

Ian talked through the wide number of chore options, while I assisted his effort to clean out the fresh manure from the stalls, and Cyndie cleaned the area around the stables. This is when Cyndie learned the phrase from Ian, “ship-shape and Bristol fashion.” Ian and I then hauled the bags of manure to the car and made a trip to spread it along one of the areas of vines. After that, we went down to finish the task we started the day before, cutting the bramble around the spring. It was a great reward to discover that, overnight, more water had appeared in the pool of the spring. Looking back on finishing the task of clearing the years of growth in that area, I marvel over what a monumental accomplishment it was, yet it was hardly a hint of what that garden was to become in the days and weeks that followed. I am humbled at the honor of being given the opportunity to be a participant in rearranging this space and creating, with stones and plantings, a new garden that will exist far beyond the limited time of our visit.

On our way back from the spring, Ian drove a route I had not yet seen, and when he spotted the biggest and oldest cork tree on the property, he became inspired to stop and cut around it. He described, and then showed me, how the trees form a sort of cathedral up to a spot of large moss-covered stone. The thought occurred to him that the arrangement of trees may have been inspired by cathedrals, or quite possibly, it was the other way around.

We came up for lunch and paused, to plot our next plan of attack. We had talked about running the errand of picking up sawdust for the stables, but that would wait and we decided, instead, to make a run to the supermarket for ingredients to make Friday’s dinner at Carlos’. Added to our day’s plan was the task of picking up Stephanie in town at 8 p.m., as she would be coming in on the bus. The bus makes a 55 minute drive into a 3-hour affair, but she would suffer it to join us a day early.

At the supermarket, we were able to see where Ian usually goes for his lunch and meet the nice waitress he has come to know, Christina. He reported that she had been in New York at the time of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center towers. She appeared to be a very good-spirited person. While in town, we stopped at Carlos’ petrol station to fill the car, but Cyndie wasn’t feeling up to a visit. On the way home, Ian drove to the other side of the immediate valley to provide a view back at the farm from another perspective. It was a wonderful treat, except Cyndie wasn’t fond of the vertical view down the side at the very edge of the road. She was growing much more inclined to seek a nap, so we returned to the farm for her to do just that.

Ian and I were left to put away groceries and then decided the get the horses down to the bottom field. That meant I would walk Frida, while he was walking Lucy, which I had yet to attempt. Ian was willing to allow me to try, after checking first to see if I was willing. My foot got stepped on lightly as she pushed off once, in an abrupt position correction, but other than that, it went as well as I could ask.  We came back up and got Doll, wondering if Cyndie would still want to exercise Sebastian. I walked around the cottage to check and found her just stepping out, ready to go, after her short nap.

With her available to tend to Sebastian, Ian and I were free to cut undergrowth for feeding the horses. It had gotten cloudy while we were at the supermarket and sprinkled a little but, but now it was edging more toward being rain, though never really enough to make anything actually wet. It wasn’t enough to interrupt our plan, but this time, Ian was the only one cutting. I raked it up and stuffed it into the back of his Forester. It is part of the amazing total utilization of that vehicle. He drives it over sharp inclines and through thick growth that scuffs at the side panels. The inside contains evidence of sawdust and straggling remains of the cut underbrush. I told him he should look into a sponsorship from Subaru. It certainly is a testament to the intentions the vehicle was designed to accomplish, and not the window dressing that so many utility vehicles become. He brushes it out, folds the seats back upright, hoses off the outside, and it looks like new, ready for an errand to town.

When we returned from collecting feed for the horses, we found Cyndie in the shade house, transplanting camellias. Everything was clean and tidy in the area around the stables. It was very impressive. At this point, it was time to fetch Stephanie, which Ian did, freeing Cyndie and me to clean ourselves up before she arrived. We had a late dinner and then visited for a bit (although Cyndie spent most of that time doing the serving and then cleaning up). It reached a point where I was yawning and feeling very tired. We said goodnight and headed down to the cottage to find it was 11 p.m.

The entire day was fully and well used, especially considering the way it started, with Cyndie’s distraction of tasks that kept her from getting her fresh-peaches breakfast. No wonder she needed that nap today.

Returning to the narrative of our Portugal Adventure, now describing our sixth day, Thursday, September 23…

In the morning, Cyndie had the intention of picking a few fresh peaches for her breakfast. On the way to the peach tree, she said hello to the horses and gave them grain. Then she headed around to the peach tree and discovered there were a great bunch of ripe peaches. She would need a bag to put them in. After a trek for the bag, she started gathering the fruit, only to find they were falling onto the rotten peaches lying in the manure fertilizing the tree, so she decided to collect some fresh ground cover to lay on top of that. Ian told her that any of the old straw accumulating around the outside of the stable area is fair game to use for that, so she began a chore of collecting it. Thus, in so doing, she ended up cleaning the entire area surrounding the stable and shade house, hauling wheelbarrows full of new ground cover. While cleaning, she came upon the fig tree that had grown into the shade house area and realized there were irresistible numbers of figs that were ripe for picking. She needed to get a ladder for that task. On the search for the ladder, she discovered the patio in front of the tool room deserved to be swept and the laundry needed to be put out. She was also looking for a pail with a handle, to use for collecting figs, but came up empty on that search. Left to using the original bag she had started with, she realized that the figs, added with the peaches, became too heavy and squished themselves when she picked up the bag, so she went for the wheelbarrow to hold all the fruit. That brought her back to the horses which alerted her, in their unique vocal way, that they were ready for their lunch. At that point she realized she had never gotten around to having her breakfast of fresh peaches. Such is the way any day can go here.

I saw quite a few empty snake skins during our visit to Ian’s farm in Portugal, but I never did see one with the snake still in it. I’m okay with that.

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There was one bit of wildlife that I was really hoping to see, but which I never found, despite Ian’s suggestion that it would be something I might find interesting: a squirrel. He described them as being big (or not. See Ian’s clarification in the comments section). Ian, left to my imagination, I picture your squirrels as… well, I can’t even describe it, because I am imagining them as dramatically different from any squirrel I have ever seen. So, in a silly way, I am enjoying that I am left to making up what the large squirrel of Portugal (that is so stealthy as to avoid detection) must really look like. The local squirrels around my home are making quite a spectacle of themselves lately, not behaving the least bit shy, while putting forth incredible effort to prepare for the coming winter.