Relative Something

It is day 4 of our visit to Ian and Victoria’s farm in Portugal (Tuesday, September 21) and we are growing comfortable with the routine. Still, it all seems to move faster than I can absorb. I am in a mode of marveling over one aspect of this place and experience, while new revelations of place and experiences continue to appear. Activities follow, one after another, and it is easy to find myself a bit unprepared for a task. More than once I have found myself in the middle of a project when I would suddenly realize I had forgotten to tie up the laces of my boots as I had decided I should do the last time I was negotiating the steep incline or thick bramble.

However, I am feeling much satisfaction with being able to contribute labor and companionship to Ian while he tackles tasks, which seem to be perpetually available, one after another.

Today dawns with a gray sky that appears as though clouds reach to the ground, yet it is not actually wet. The overcast doesn’t last, and by mid-morning the sun breaks through it and shines the rest of the day. Cyndie has a goal to bake banana bread and is up and going early. At the house, Ian isn’t out yet, so I sit on the porch to enjoy the view and Cyndie goes around to feed the horses. That brings Ian out. After breakfast, Ian wants to get the brush cutter into town and have Alfredo look at adjusting the idle, or figure out why it doesn’t respond better. I go with him on that errand and get to see the shop. He tells me that Alfredo seems a bit intimidated by my presence and doesn’t have as much to say as he usually does. Ian uses the reference of Bob Dylan to describe the place I come from. That tends to bring nods of recognition from all who hear it.

After that, the plan is to meet Carlos in Celorico and pick up his grandfather’s grape press on loan. Carlos isn’t immediately available, so Ian gives me a little tour of the improvements the local government has made to public space along a river. We also visit the library, started privately by a man who reviews and recommends first edition books, and then donates them. (See Ian’s added information in the comments section for this post.) It is a marvel to see such a resource available here in the most impoverished region of the country.

When we find Carlos, I learn we are to drive to where the press is stored, following him in his pickup, to his grandfather’s place. We load the press in the back of the pickup, and Ian suggests I ride with Carlos on the trip to the farm. It is a treat for me and a privilege, except we don’t have a word to say to each other. I am at a loss to communicate beyond my English language. At Ian’s place, we find Cyndie exercising Sebastian in the circle and I get a chance to introduce Carlos to her. She heads off to prepare a noontime meal and offers to serve Carlos, but he is unable to accept, upholding a commitment to meet his mother for lunch. It was at this time that Carlos suggests to Ian that we come to his house on Friday, thinking Cyndie could prepare a meal there, and he would buy the ingredients. We make it a date for 7:00.