Relative Something

In a blink, we were in Porto. Off the farm and into the city. From one paradise to another. Thank you, Rowcliffes!! You are precious to us in so many ways. I wish I could say that the trip from Portugal to Minnesota was a blink. …It was a lot of blinks.

Friday, October 1,  continued…

Upon returning from the spring, we decide to pick up where Cyndie and Ian left off the day before with riding and exercising horses. We are interested in seeing if giving them the same routine two days in a row will produce recognizable improvements. Cyndie has brief success riding Doll without Ian leading the way, until Doll catches sight of Ian and me waiting and watching. After that, Doll won’t move, despite Cyndie’s attempts to encourage forward progress. When Ian steps up to lead the way, Doll responds. He even does some running to get her to pick up the pace. With Ian in the lead, they walk Doll out of the dressage area, up the road, past the house and into the pine trees.

Just after Cyndie finishes riding Doll, Carlos drives up to say goodbye. Cyndie fetches his mother’s plates that he had sent us home with after the dinner at his house last week. We are returning them with cookies Cyndie baked as a thank you. Ian brings out the scarf Cyndie knit for him and the book of my “Words on Images” that we gave him when we arrived, to show to Carlos. We are very happy to have the chance to give Carlos a special good-bye, and he wishes us well on our travels.

Next, Cyndie and Ian bring Frida out for a walk on the lead and report noticeable improvement in behavior from the day before. At this point, I wander off and find the sheets have dried in the sun, so I remake the bed and do some sweeping up in the writer’s cottage, while they continue working with Sebastian, and then Lucy.

With the horse activity complete, Cyndie prepares lunch from the week’s leftovers. While the meal is being prepared, Ian emerges from the house with a gift of a painting that has been hanging on his wall.  It is a ship crossing the ocean in a beautiful old wood frame that has metal corners with flowers embossed in them. He talks about how it just seemed something he wanted to give me and that it spoke to him of the things I have talked about, researching my ancestry whom had obviously crossed the sea and possibly in ships like the one depicted. He mentions that he recalled my comments in the past about not being that interested in flowers, yet now I would be taking flowers with me on the picture frame. It seems to me, a perfect gift. I am very moved by his choice. We have our last meal on the porch and enjoy a pleasant visit in the view of Mt. Graça.

With all this fun accomplished, it is time we begin the final process of cleaning the writer’s cottage, showering, and packing our bags. While we are nearing the end of these chores, there is a knock at our door and Ian appears, with Carlos again! He has returned with his niece, and this time, he is bearing send-off gifts. They present us with honey, produced in the region by his niece’s boyfriend’s family and a beautifully gift-wrapped present. Cyndie unwraps it to reveal a glass display case of Our Lady of Fatima that his sister made. These are very precious and generous gestures by this very good friend. It appears that Carlos is one for many ‘good-byes’.

While we finish packing and cleaning, Ian readies the horses, and dogs, and the house, for his absence. I put our bags and my guitar in his car, drop off the internet modem they generously shared with us, return the house key to the kitchen of the main house, and we are ready to leave the farm. Cyndie and I walk through the stables one last time and say our good-byes to the horses. In the car, Cyndie reports that she also said goodbye to the 99 camellias she re-potted.

Last full day in Portugal, Friday, October 1…

On the morning of our last day on the farm, we wake to a beautiful sight of glowing rosy-pink, peach-orange clouds above the ridge, just prior to the rising sun. The calm brilliance of the view contrasts with a pressing feeling of needing to prepare for our departure, even though we have much of the day available before setting off for Porto. I strip the bed as soon as I’m out of it and Cyndie puts in the first of several loads of laundry.

We step out into the day and Cyndie feeds the horses grain, before we head up for breakfast. Ian is on his way to clean the stables, so Cyndie joins him for that task. I grab a piece of cheese out of their refrigerator and go back to the writer’s cottage to get some of the bread that Cyndie wanted to throw away the night before. I had talked her out of it, because I liked the heavy bread with the crunchy crust. She wasn’t going to keep it because the loaves didn’t rise.

While Ian is working on horse-related chores, he mentions I should pick out a sequoia tree to plant down at the spring. Back in the corner of the shade house, where I find a tree that appeals to me, I spot the wheel barrow that has a flat tire. I decide to see if I can get the tire off, to check for the source of the problem. First, I need to check the tool room for suitable implements of destruction. Upon successful removal of the wheel, I inspect the tire for any ‘sharps’ that might be caught in the rubber. Finding none, I turn my attention to the inner tube. It still has some air in it, but not enough to satisfy me for testing. After an unsuccessful self-guided search for a pump, I interrupt Ian’s work to ask for his help. After taking his own unrewarded look in the tool room for a manual pump, Ian goes to the car to fetch the 12V compressor. I put in enough air to feel satisfied it is under sufficient pressure, then fill a tub with water for my test. I try, and try, to find any hint of air bubbling from the tube or the valve, but cannot detect any evidence of a leak. I decide to put it back together, without having found, or fixed, a cause for it to lose air.

By the time I am finished with that project, Ian has the car loaded with the sequoia, a watering can, the enxada (hoe/shovel), and a bag of manure. The three of us climb in the car and he drives us down to the new spring. We debate the location for a little while and then settle on the highest spot, just underneath the stump of a long-gone oak tree. Ian reminds me to take pictures throughout the process and when it comes time to set the tree in the hole, he suggests Cyndie take a picture of us. She has a better idea. I set up the camera to use the auto-timer and all three of us pose in the act of planting.

We linger for some time at the spring and Cyndie waters all the new trees we have planted in the past week. I add some water to the old olive tree. Before we leave, I dig out more of the muck that has settled in the pool of the spring and get my gloves absolutely soaked. There are some significant root structures below the surface of the shallow pool, so Ian gets a cutting tool for me to prune them out of the way. When I step back to look, I see that he has hung the watering can on a branch of the willow tree to have it available for future visits to the spring.

This spring garden space will definitely be one of the highlights of our stay.

I can say, emphatically, from the fresh perspective of a month and a half later, “It certainly is!”

My chronicle of our trip to Portugal is close to finished, as I have now written about each and every day, up to the very last. I almost don’t want to reach the end. I will prolong the story today by sharing a couple more images that didn’t get included in the slide show. These were taken on that last Friday we were on the farm…

A view into the shade house filled with a multitude of growing things

Looking down toward the spring garden from above

Thursday, September 30, continued…

Ian checks in to say he is going to run an errand to see Alfredo. He needs a new blade for the cutter, a new blade for the chainsaw, and wants to have the cutter looked at once more. I take a little walk of my own and explore the property for a few vantage points that are different from the ones to which I’ve become familiar. I find Cyndie coming down the path from up above. We head to the kitchen where I have breakfast while she starts baking bread. I download the pictures she took on her walk this morning, then get my guitar and sit on the porch swing to pluck away. Ian returns, and since I am enjoying my leisure, he offers to get more sawdust for the stables by himself. He arrives from that task to find us in the stables where Cyndie is cleaning and giving the horses attention. I help haul the bags of new sawdust and then we all participate in cleaning up. When that chore is done, Cyndie returns to the kitchen to prepare lunch and Ian and I go up to the greenhouse to bring out a wheelbarrow of camellias that need to be replanted. While in the greenhouse, we end up cutting fresh grass that has naturally flourished in the environment, even though uninvited. The horses will be happy to have it.

Cyndie serves us a lunch of beef stroganoff over wide noodles. Afterward, she wants to see if she can ride Doll. Ian assists her and they end up spending most of the afternoon with each of the 4 horses, one at a time, exercising them and training them with a saddle. I do some more grass cutting in the greenhouse and then put a timid effort into weeding a small portion of the cabbage patch. As the sun is getting low, Ian and I set off to cut some undergrowth for the horses. The area we settle on is mixed with ferns and a plant with sharp thorns that the horses won’t eat, so it is a challenge for me to collect just the desirable cuttings. When the car is full, we take a little walk down to the spring to check on our plantings. Everything looks to be holding up well. I discover that Cyndie had arranged some rocks and a hunk of wood around the base of the fig tree we planted in her honor. It’s fun to find evidence of her having visited during one of her walkabouts.

When we return to the main house, we find Cyndie has already washed all the dishes and the kitchen floor, in addition to having finished transplanting the last batch of camellias we brought out, which by our calculation makes it about 99 plants she achieved in the last two days. Also, the floor of the stable area looks as clean as it can possibly be. Her accomplishments are a wonder to behold.

We all participate in the final clean out of the day for each stable and get the horses fed for the night as darkness settles upon us. Then Cyndie showers and heads to prepare dinner while I shower and follow. It is our last dinner on the farm and we reminisce a bit with Ian about our arrival and some of the events that have followed. Cyndie suggests the occasion deserves a toast with the port wine that Carlos gave us the night we had dinner at his house. She also presents to Ian, the gift of the scarf she has been knitting for him during our visit.

It is the end of our last night at Ian and Victoria’s forest garden estate.

Portugal, Thursday, September 30…

I am wondering if, after we leave here, I will remember all the sounds… like the roosters crowing from the farms across the valley… the vehicles traveling the road traversing our view of the ridge that forms much of our horizon… the constant hum of the river flowing in the bottom of the valley beneath us. There is activity all around us, yet, at the same time, we are secluded on this expanse of property that changes from one world to another as you walk just a few minutes time. Some of the houses across the valley appear to be just a stone’s throw away. There is a sort of intimacy with the surrounding settlements, yet an equal amount of autonomy from them. You can hear the voices of people talking, but cannot make out the words they are saying. You hear dogs barking most of the time, and occasionally, the sounds of saws cutting or other mechanical agricultural activity. Here, our cutting of undergrowth, or the sounds of Cassius protecting his turf, contribute equally to the soundtrack.

There are a fair number of flies to contend with, but eventually, one just gets used to them. In contrast to homes where I come from, there is no need for the level of insulation or the strict seal to keep out mosquitoes, so doors and windows can be left open with no screen and no seal beneath the door. Spiders, crickets, flies, and occasionally a little salamander type critter, come and go as they please. Luckily, so far, no snakes inside. Even though we have seen some monstrous snake skins that have been shed, we have not seen any actual snakes. I am more than satisfied with that. There is one thing I haven’t seen yet that I would very much like: a squirrel. Ian describes them as being small, almost kitten-like.

For the first time since we have been here, today feels like a cloudy day, even though there were other days when the mist came close to rain. Yet, there are also still streaks of blue sky visible, like it can’t commit to producing enough clouds to fill this sky. For as dry as it has been, there are an amazing number of green plants thriving. It is remarkable.

The smell of the pressed grapes continues to linger in the air around the winery attached to the end of the writer’s cottage. The horses are quiet now, but the clomping and stomping remind us of their presence, in addition to an occasional whinny of communication toward us or the other horses.

While I’ve been writing this morning, Cyndie has wandered off on a walk to take pictures and sketch a map of the collection of places here. There is the high vista at the top of the hill, where you can see much more of the surrounding terrain and some scars of recent fires that have burned. Down one side of the slope is a field of tall grasses that cover the hill where Ian has previously cut back the growth. Further down, an uncut area of oak trees, leading to the newly cleared spring and our recently planted garden. At the bottom, there is the field along the river with the rows of poplar trees Ian has planted, and that the horses have been pushing over. Above that, the camellia gardens and then on the next tier up, grape vines. Around to the east, along a now dry waterway from long ago, are tiers needing to be cut of years of overgrowth, and then a level with orange trees and lines of camellias along the edge. That leads up through the “park” with the double stairway and the gazebo with the stone table and chairs. Just below the patio of the winery are the highly productive grape vines and over along the level below the main entrance driveway, there are cabbages planted. Continuing east, there is a flat area that is the circle and dressage area for the horses, among more rows of grape vines.  Above the driveway, there are more tiers of vines that step up to the greenhouse, and nearby, the pool. Up from there, is a transition to the wooded hill where Ian has been cutting undergrowth for the horses, mulching the ferns beneath the pines, and cutting eucalyptus for firewood to burn in the coming winter. On this hill is the open mine shaft, one of three in the area where the search for water was unrewarded.

All of this surrounds the main house and stables, which embrace the shade house of growing plants. Beside that, at an angle, the winery and tool room, attached to the newly re-roofed, and beautifully decorated writer’s cottage.

In the amount of time it takes to write that, the sun emerges as the clouds thin to reveal a day remarkably similar to the 12 that have come before. It appears we may not be given the opportunity to experience a truly rainy day during our visit here, yet it is no less a paradise as a result.

In support of yesterday’s post of Waterfalls and Mountains, images not previously published…

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Wednesday, September 29, continued…

We meet up with Carlos in Celorico and he drives us on a tour of picturesque back-road sights leading to a nature preserve, (Parque Natural da Serra do Alvão), where we see the monumentally dramatic water fall, Fisgas de Ermelo, that appears to spring forth from the middle of a wall of granite. The sights are world-class for both their beauty and history. We pass through quaint little villages, some with houses made entirely of precisely stacked rocks, with no mortar, and covered by slate roofs. The buildings are situated right at the edge of the narrow cobblestone roads and local men and women are seen going about their tasks, appearing as though they have little use for technological trappings that have appeared in the last century. They barely offer us a glance as we roll by in Carlos’ Volvo wagon, horn beeping to warn of our approach.

The weather for this adventure is perfectly sunny and not too hot. We enjoy cool breezes of the high country. After we play among the rocks and cliffs of the waterfall viewing area, and I balance a couple of rocks, we hop back in the car and drive to the ascent of Mt Graça, (Monte Farinha – Alto da Senhora da Graça). Carlos drives much of the time without his seat belt and lets the ding, ding, ding of the car’s alert, chime on and on. After 10 minutes or so, he might put the belt on, or he might not. He politely asks us if he can smoke, after he has opened his window. He tells us to stop him at any time for photos, and he does so on his own, several times. I hold up my camera for one shot, and he stops the car for me. He is an exceptionally kind and generous friend. He is very proud to show us around. Ian says Carlos cleaned up his car for us, and this Volvo is not the car he would normally take out, because of rough roads. At one point, he pulled off for a shortcut to see the waterfall, but then turns around when he senses the unpaved road would be unwise for a car with such little clearance.

We share wonderful banter, with Ian translating much of it, but occasionally Cyndie’s Spanish allows her to understand more than I can, and they chuckle at something Carlos has said. I am left to wonder about the subtleties my mono-lingual limitation causes me to miss. On the ascent of Mt Graça, Ian discovers that they have added guard rails, which unfortunately block some of the view during the climb. Driving away from the waterfall, we had spotted thick smoke of a forest fire, and now as we climb the mountain, there are some clouds filling the sky and the air underneath them has grown very hazy, somewhat limiting our view. The road is painted with messages to cycling heroes. The Tour of Portugal cycle race (Volta a Portugal), a professional stage race held annually in August, includes a deciding stage with a climb up this mountain. At the top, the breeze blows just a bit cooler. It takes a moment to orient ourselves, and Ian and Carlos work to find the view of Carlos’s house. Eventually, it is located, but the haze makes it just barely identifiable.

Carlos invites us into the cafe at the top to have coffee (or coca cola in my case). He tells us his sister got married at the church here on the peak. When we step in to the restaurant, there are no other customers. The little tiny cups of coffee are served in a blink and my tall glass and can of coke seem massive in comparison. Then Carlos steps out for a cigarette and visits with the man working the restaurant.

The drive down has a distinctively different feel, after the accomplishment of having been to the top. Missing, is the anticipation of waiting and wondering on the way up. The trip down also includes seeing quite a few cyclists lumbering in extreme effort against the incline. I don’t know why we didn’t pass any on the way up, but now, we see plenty on our way down.

On the return drive to Celorico, we come upon road construction of repaving which has traffic down to a single lane. We are stopped, waiting long enough for our turn to pass, that Carlos shuts off the engine. Occasionally, Carlos will make a turn off the road and Ian will say there is something Carlos wants to show us. Once, his plan is foiled by grape picking activity that is blocking the route. He turns the car around. Another time, it is to show us a beautiful little club that has skeet shooting. It offers another great vista of Mt. Graça and almost a view of Carlos’ house.

When we get back to Carlos’ petrol station in Celorico, he invites us in to see his car collection and motorcycles. Behind a locked sliding door, there is a treasure trove of old, old motorcycles: Triumph, Norton, Ariel, a mini cooper, an old Jaguar covered in dust. Amazing stuff packed in so tight it is difficult to walk around. He seems to appreciate our wonder over it all.

With little fanfare, he shrugs off our gratitude for his extreme generosity. It is something he is happy to do, and he seems to indicate that it is just normal and expected that he would do so. Ian, Cyndie and I,  head back to the farm feeling spent by the adventures. We arrive to chores of preparing the stables and bringing up the horses, and then Cyndie also wants to finish transferring the last of the camellias she had moved out of the greenhouse. Suddenly, there is an explosion of fireworks that seem incredibly close and help convince us that the singing we have been hearing must be some sort of celebration. We had passed a religious procession earlier that Carlos suggested might be a funeral. Now Ian is wondering if it might be a Saint’s day or something related. Whatever it is, it adds a sense of mystique to our already incredible day.

Ian and I stand by and assist Cyndie’s transplanting as the evening grows dark; so dark that Ian needs to turn on the back light before she gets to the last one. With that last task accomplished, we top off the day with our own little celebration of popcorn that Cyndie prepares, and a slide show of the pictures we captured during the day. The slide show finishes too soon and Cyndie asks to see pictures from the first day of our arrival, so we watch scenes we’ve seen before, but from what seems like a long time ago. When the slide show is interrupted by a phone call to Ian, from Victoria, we decide it’s a good place to break, which allows us to call it a night at a relatively decent hour.

It was a huge day in terms of being tourists, and it feels good to be back on the farm. However, we are beginning to sense that our days here are numbered.