Relative Something

We now find ourselves at the entrance to the farm. What a monumental moment this is for me. Victoria pulls the car ahead through the gate, and Patricia closes it behind us. As we move along the driveway, the car, fully weighted down with 4 people and all our luggage, is scraping against the hump between the two tire tracks of the driveway. It is almost the middle of the day when we arrive and the sun is high. It is a pleasantly warm day with a few light clouds floating in the beautifully blue sky. As the car pulls up, the dogs start barking, and then Ian appears from around a corner. His other daughter, Stephanie, steps out of the house. I notice that I am hearing Ian’s voice for the very first time. In the moment, I try to process what it is to experience it all, but it’s almost too much. Finally being here and meeting him and Stephanie, and seeing the whole family together in this paradise, now engaged in the flurry of typical activities of arrival –amped up with the occasion of having foreign guests– is almost too much for me to compute. The excitement and emotion, plus the fatigue of the day’s travel, leave me functioning on  a sort of auto-pilot.

After Ian has given us a brief introduction to the ‘writer’s cottage,’ where we will be staying, the first order of business is a meal. Cyndie and I choose this moment to distribute some gifts we brought for them, and hustle to find and remove things from our packed bags. Lunch is served on the open front porch of their house. Stephanie has prepared lasagna and salad and some hearty fresh-baked bread. All the gifts we brought to share were well received. We gave Ian a book of my pictures and ‘Words on Images’ creations that he really appreciated. Any apprehension we held in our minds about how this trip and our visit might play out have already melted away. It feels more comfortable being with this family than we dreamed it could.

Then we jump right into the chore of harvesting some grapes. The red grapes are less plentiful on the farm and so this is sort of a test run for the bigger project to follow in a week. Afterward, Patricia processes some of what we just picked for fresh-off-the-vine grape-juice. That is a particularly luscious treat for me. We eat figs right off the tree, and discover the bounty of other fruit growing on the property… pear, kiwi, and quince. After a snack of the grape-juice and figs, we head down to the winery to squish the grapes we just picked. We find Luis, the young man whom Ian has enlisted to help with chores on the property, already busy tramping away in the tub of grapes. Ian suggests I play guitar while the others try out the technique of stomping. I experience one of the many sensations of certainly not being in my old environment and routine any more. I AM IN PORTUGAL! We certainly are.

After that task, we all walk down to the river and some of us take a little dip in the water. Cyndie and I are barely getting a sense of the expanse of this property. The water feels incredibly refreshing and serves as a way to wash off not only from working with the grapes, but also the hours of sitting on planes. Finally, we walk horses and get them some exercise. We finish the evening with one last meal: a traditional soup of shredded cabbage in a potato broth with chorizo sausage, and grilled cheese sandwiches. As you might imagine, by this time, we are pretty tired and excuse ourselves right after eating. It is about 9:30p.m. local time, Saturday night, so this feels like the end of one day where we got up in the morning to fly and then ended the day on the farm, however, we started flying on Friday… It’s been two days. I’m ready to sleep.