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.

When Ian and I finally returned to the farm after our visit with Carlos, we put our energies into chores, beginning with distribution of some of the accumulated manure. When Ian cleans out the stables, he puts the manure and wet sawdust into large plastic bags and ties them closed to avoid attracting flies. When enough bags have been filled to warrant the task, we toss them into the back of his Subaru and drive to the area next in line for fertilizing. This day, it was the vines up on the tier where the greenhouse is located. These bags take some effort to hoist, yet Ian is a model of efficiency and appears to expend little effort to artfully handle the task. On the other hand, I muddle my way through to untie it, find a grip, barely lift the weight, and then struggle to pour more of the contents to where the vines need it, and less on my feet.

I am spreading manure with my friend, Ian, and I am overflowing with glee at my good fortune.

Bags emptied, Ian drove us back down to pick up the tools for cutting undergrowth. I have one day’s experience under my belt at this point and now I am ready to improve my technique. My primary objective was mulching the ferns and other volunteer growth in an area of pine trees, while Ian would cut growth nearby that gets fed to the horses. This was the second time I had ever tried to operate a gas-powered brush cutter. The first time was the day before. I was intent on improving my skills. My goal was two-fold: I wanted to knock down a large enough area to appear productive, yet also do an adequate job of mulching that which I’ve felled.

One thing that I did do better than on day-1… I remembered to use my ear covers to protect my hearing. On my first try, I was so focused on the task that I worked for about 20 minutes before I realized I had forgotten to slip the ear covers I was wearing on my head, down over my ears. I took that as a sign the little machine wasn’t all that loud.

Having no reference for measuring the level of my progress, I settled on personal satisfaction over what I accomplished in the time that Ian finished cutting and hauling a carload down to the stables. I was also able to decide when to call it quits because my machine was not idling so well and if I didn’t keep the RPMs revved enough, it would stall. Even though I was pleased with the amount of area I had mulched, I quickly saw how much more remained to cut. This was an ongoing task that Ian manages year round. I have gained a whole new respect for both man and machine for this chore.

With the cutting sufficiently accomplished for the time being, the next task was to get the horses back to their stables from down in the bottom field. Ian managed to move both Lucy and Frida, and asked me to wait about 5 minutes and then open the gate to let Doll and Sebastian head up on their own. I did my best to imagine 5 minutes, then delicately maneuvered the gate to allow them out and not get myself trampled. Away they ran as darkness of evening settled upon us.

When we arrived back at the house, we found that Cyndie had dinner waiting. In her quest to make worthy use of the multitude of ripe figs available, she worked hard this day to undertake the task of drying them, using information we researched on the internet. In addition to that, she had made fig jam which was served with our meal. It was AWESOME! A very special finish to a very full and wonderful day.

There were many magical moments during our 2-week visit to the Rowcliffe farm in Portugal, but there is something about it that really stands out for us. Over the years of reading Ian’s descriptions of life on the farm, I learned about his friend, Carlos. Ian’s descriptions of the variety of ways Carlos has generously helped out, reveal a truly good-hearted fellow. Finally, I was about to discover, first hand,  just how true this is.

When I think back on this, I am reminded that I was still a bit disoriented by the travel. I was just two days into our visit when Ian drove me into Celorico to Carlos’ service station. I must admit, I no longer recall that initial introduction. So many interactions have occurred since that moment, it has become overshadowed. What has stayed with me is the 4o-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser with a single bench seat and suddenly finding that I had agreed to climb in, sitting between Carlos and Ian, and was headed to ‘I wasn’t sure where’, and I didn’t understand a word of Portuguese. Ian told me that Carlos wanted to show me his farm.

The view down to Carlos' house

It wasn’t that I felt any doubts about my safety in this situation, but I was suddenly feeling another exponential level farther from home. Luckily, that is one of the precious good feelings of such an adventure. This was really a special thrill. Carlos was driving us through the back roads of an area where the main roads seem like they could be back roads. We were 4-wheeling into some very rural country, cutting through an area the local government was using as a dump for construction debris, to emerge at a spectacular overlook. Below us was the house Carlos had built on his grandfather’s old property, and a dramatic view of the primary landmark of the region, Mt Graça.

This was a rush of beauty and experience that really ‘wowed’ me. As I marveled over what I was seeing, the thought that Cyndie wasn’t seeing it with me had me wondering how I was going to describe what she had missed here.

Standing next to Carlos, I felt his connection to this place, and I sensed his pride in being able to share it with me. An immense feeling of privilege came over me, for the opportunity to be in that moment with these two people. Carlos indicated we would drive down to the house. The translation Ian offered indicated that Carlos would drive carefully. I wondered why he needed to say that.

When they use 4-wheel drive vehicles here, they really USE them. That drive down to the house was right out of the extremes they film for the commercials to sell off-road vehicles. I was on a thrill ride in a place of overwhelming beauty. Carlos went on to guide me in a tour of his magnificent house and then a walk around his farm.

I kept wondering how I could include Cyndie in seeing all this and spending this kind of time with Carlos. He came up with a solution for that when he asked Ian if we could come to his house for dinner on Friday. Over dinner, Carlos asked Ian if we were going to see other landmarks  in the area and indicated he would like to join us. Not only did Carlos join us, he drove, and guided us to a variety of locations and sights which fully submerged us in the local essence of this region of Portugal. As much as we were enjoying the experience  that Carlos was providing to us, even more, we were falling in love with Carlos, the person. It was also pretty special to witness the friendship that Ian and Carlos share.

We will never forget the places we have been, but we hold most dear, the people we met while visiting. Carlos is one gem of a person whom we feel most blessed to have come to know. His good-hearted contributions of time and energy provided us indescribable wealth of experience.

Obrigadinho, Carlos!

I have put together a collection of images that Cyndie and I took while in Portugal and uploaded them for sharing. You will recognize some of them from previous posts, and I will continue to select a few to compliment the stories about our adventure that I have yet to publish. Even though I haven’t finished writing comments for all of the images that deserve explanation, you are welcome to see the mostly chronological depiction of the variety of activities we undertook while in Portugal. Maybe it will peak your curiosity and fuel anticipation for chapters soon to be published. One thing that occurs to me, every time I look through the collection of images, is that as wonderful as it is to see it all again, the pictures don’t do justice for the beauty and depth of experience we actually enjoyed. If you think some of the images look nice, just keep in mind that it was truly much nicer than what you are thinking it must have been. Spend some time touring our slideshow at my picasaweb photo album of our Portugal adventure. I hope you enjoy it!

It was now Monday and Ian’s wife and daughters had stretched out their weekend as long as possible, staying the extra night, even though they all needed to get back to Porto. It created a special atmosphere to have them prolong their stay for our benefit. Our morning activities hovered a bit as they prepared to leave us for the week. I brought my guitar with me to the main house and played on the porch swing as Cyndie was making a peach crumble in the kitchen.

When an opportunity presented itself, Cyndie and I asked Stephanie if she thought her mother would mind if we washed the windshield of her car for her before they left. We had noticed how the film that builds up on the inside over time was obscuring the view when the car was facing into the sun. I was a little concerned that the gesture, or our intent, could be misinterpreted, but Victoria only objected briefly when she saw us expanding the task and moving to the side windows, as well.  I tried to disrupt her thinking by using a little humor. I informed her that our cleaning her windshield was in no way intended to enable her to drive faster.

We said our good-byes and sent them on their way. It would be our last opportunity to be with Patricia on this trip, as she was planning to leave for India the following weekend.

After they were gone, there was a brief pause where we caught our breath and considered our next agenda. There would be a different rhythm to things for a few days now, as it would be just the three of us: Ian, Cyndie and me. Cyndie volunteered to make meals. Ian told her that he could never ask her to do that, and we understood completely. It is a contribution that she does well, and seemed like a pretty good way to go, but I’m a very biased judge. Ian and I benefited greatly from her generous willingness to claim that task. We decided to go grocery shopping and to fill LP gas tanks. On the way to the supermarket, we stopped off at a garden in town to see some beautiful plants, and trees, and an overall great public space. Ian drove to Mondim to offer us what he thought was a better supermarket. Cyndie shopped from her list and bought mainly vegetables, some things to bake bread, some pasta, rice, and then meat to make a pot roast. As she was going through the process of paying, the credit card machine went blank after she entered her PIN and it took a bit of time for the clerk and others to fix things. The clerk was very concerned to not charge us twice. She was very, very nice about it, and Cyndie wanted to have Ian translate our sincere thanks. The clerk was working equally to thank us for being patient. A wonderful exchange of pleasantness.

While swapping LP gas tanks, Ian considered checking in with Carlos, but decided to come back later when Cyndie hesitated over the idea. Back at the farm, Cyndie heated up left-overs for our lunch, and after eating, we walked the horses down to the lower field by the river. Seeing so many ripe figs on the tree behind the shade house, we got the idea to pick them for drying in the sun. Cyndie took up that project while Ian drove me to meet Carlos. That part of my day is a story for another time…

Over the last few days, I have been looking at a lot of pictures from our time on Ian’s farm. I was moved by the number of times I found Tiddles, the cat, making an appearance in the images. More often than not, he was entirely unnoticed at the time the picture was taken. I only knew him during the last week he was with us in the world, but in that time, he made a huge impression on me. He was a significant presence on the farm, daily increasing his reach, sometimes in undesirable ways. He was just beginning to discover there might be delectable morsels available up on the kitchen table. Mostly, he was perfecting his stalking skills, targeting flies while training for bigger prey, the mice it was hoped he would dispatch from the premises. All the while, he was battling a respiratory illness that seemed to alternate between better and worse, from day to day. We were serving him doses of medicine intended to treat the problem, but with absolutely no warning, and to everyone’s utter surprise, he laid down and stopped breathing on a beautiful Sunday morning. His passing brought on much sadness, but his magical spirit will be preserved in the many fond memories held by those of us who were blessed to have received some of his special attention.

Before we went to sleep on that first night in Portugal, I tried to write just enough in my journal to capture details of the previous day’s travel. I feared that if I didn’t, memory of it would be lost to subsequent events. It wasn’t easy. I opened my eyes a few times to find my finger still resting on a key and one letter scrolled across the screen. Ultimately, I captured what I was after and we laid down to sleep around 10:00 p.m., local time. I was savoring the last thing Ian had said, that there was nothing planned immediately in the morning and we could sleep as long as we wished.

I remember waking once in the night, and finding complete darkness of an unfamiliar space. I successfully navigated to the bathroom by way of my finger-tips. It took a little while to fall back to sleep, but when I did, it was like getting a second night’s sleep, right in a row. With shutters closed over the windows of the Writer’s Cottage, there was little-to-no light in the room when I finally awoke. I sensed it was late, and opened the shutter to find the sun high. It was about 10:30 on Sunday morning. A good night’s sleep, indeed. The Writer’s Cottage is a very comfortable place to sleep.

This day was the actual day of our 29th wedding anniversary. The trip, itself, was our gift to each other. This day was also our son’s 22nd birthday. I hoped he was getting the greeting I posted in advance to him, here in this blog. We were sure getting what we wanted.

Fresh Figs!

I roused Cyndie with some of that daylight and in short order we were wandering over to the main house. We found Patricia and Stephanie there, and they set out a little breakfast of bread, cheese and fresh figs for us. Figs appeared to be abundant. It was a special treat for me. I had never even seen fresh figs before, and now I could pluck them from the tree to eat. We had arrived at an ideal time for the fruit, and the productivity of their particular tree ultimately proved to be the very depiction of the adjective, “fruitful.” But that was not the only ripe fruit available. For me, the highlight on the table at that moment was the fresh-squeezed peach juice. I am not historically a big fan of peaches. I now know for sure that I am a BIG fan of fresh peach juice! It tasted divine.

All of our senses were being tantalized with the distinct impression that we had arrived in a paradise. I particularly enjoyed discovering my intuition about the compatibility of our two families had been accurate. I sensed we would be a good fit, but it was already feeling dramatically more extraordinary than just a good fit. Both Cyndie and I shared the sensation of feeling as if we had already known Patricia and Stephanie for a long time. Their pure and precious energy drew us in and their maturity and depth of self awareness give them a radiant beauty that is a wonderful reflection of them, as well as of their parents.

Any blessings the Rowcliffe’s expressed feeling for having us as guests were being equally felt by us for being allowed to be their guests. This mutual appreciation served as the foundation for all that we were yet to experience of the place, the animals, and the friends we would come to meet. We were truly feeling this adventure was off to a superbly good start.

When Ian and Victoria returned from a trip to the supermarket, we settled in for a special lunch of curry chicken over rice with a lettuce and tomato salad and fresh bread. That was finished off with a special dessert of cake that Stephanie made in honor of our anniversary. We were not allowed to lift a finger toward helping clean up after the meal.

Patricia took this shot of Stephanie, Victoria, & Cyndie in Amarante

Victoria was hoping to provide a visit to the town of Amarante. We were able to assure her that it would be completely appropriate and desirable for us to do different things that day. So, the girls went to town and I helped Ian cut underbrush. I did my first mulching of ferns and undergrowth beneath the pine trees, and he cut growth that feeds the horses. Afterward, he and I walked up to the peak of the property for my highlight of the afternoon’s activity. It provided a beautiful view and wonderful breeze. The weather thus far had been entirely pleasant, with a hot sun, but comfortable temperatures, and a refreshing breeze. There had been some clouds in the sky, but it was mostly sunny. We drove back down the hill with fresh-cut underbrush and fed it to the horses.

After the girls returned, Patricia accepted Cyndie’s invitation for a massage. As dinner was being prepared, the whole Rowcliffe family generously pitched in to solve the technicalities of allowing me to make use of one of their internet connections. We enjoyed a meal of soup for a late dinner, and for dessert we had special treats they had bought in Amarante. Even though it was cooling significantly since the sun went down, Cyndie carried through with another massage session, this time for Stephanie, under the light of the moon (and some extra blankets).

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.