Farm Vacation

A happy plane passenger

Back in March or April, we started studying the calendar for the summer.  We discussed all the upcoming wish list items and potential outings and camps and played around on the maps to figure out drive times and possible routes for summer vacation travels. After my in-laws announced that they were going to try to drive out here for Labor Day weekend, we decided that just the younger kids and I would fly back to Indiana to see my extended family instead of driving the whole family back through Oklahoma and then on to Indiana for the annual family home pilgrimage.  We shortened the trip a bit since we wouldn't be spending six days driving, but still planned to have a nice long visit. 

Then we sat back and looked forward to the trip for a couple months. It seemed a long way in the future. Until it wasn't. And then it was over. 

How quickly time flies when you are on vacation. The days seem to loom ahead long and uneventful, but then they arrive and disappear, and suddenly summer is nearly over.

The grandparents' house

The kids and I are always happy to be back in Indiana. At first we are on the lookout for things that have changed: what new buildings have been added, what trees and plants have died, what animals have come and gone.  But after all the changes are noted, it is nice to settle in and be a part of the farm routine for a few days: drink a lot of coffee on the screened in porch in the mornings, then check on the animals and feed the chickens. Next maybe hang a load of laundry on the line, take a walk or bike ride around the 8 mile block, walk through the woods and check out the fort the kids constructed out of old barn wood and sticks and branches (hoping none are poison ivy).

The new chicken house

July is hot in Indiana, but I didn't mind the feeling of walking out into a warm blanket. The air felt full of growth and fertility - maybe that's just humidity, but after living in the dry, brown environment of Southern California, the greenness of rural Indiana seemed full of life and potential: fields full of rustling corn and soybeans, trees laden with green fruit, hayfields buzzing with bees and butterflies, blackberry brambles crawling out of the woods to reach the sunshine for ripening berries. I loved being back under the wide breadth of the deep blue skies and bright sunshine warming up the scent of corn and clover. Even the brief but violent summer thunderstorm was a welcome change.

Magnolia Trace's Dark Legend, the new bull

Swallows at work

Farm friends

It took a day of restlessness for the kids to settle into the rhythm of summer on the farm and to find their way out to the creek full of minnows and crawdads. The cousins were over nearly every day and they constructed a rustic hideaway in the woods, christened Ft. Dole, because they found an old board in the barn with that name on it.

Catching minnows and crawdads

Another birthday

This visit was punctuated by trips to South Bend to pick up and take our high school daughter to camps at Notre Dame - a 3 day volleyball camp and a 5 day leadership/faith building conference. During the weekend, we made a quick trip up to Michigan to see our cousins at their lake house.  When I was growing up, our yearly vacation was a trip to Crystal Lake for a week with these cousins. We swam, read on the beach, collected shells, painted rocks, spent money in town on glass animals and books and ice cream cones.  After I got married, we went back several times, but those visits have grown farther apart since our travel time lengthened. A quick trip back this summer resurrected happy memories and cemented relationships between the next generation of cousins.

Gray day at the lake

Iconic Point Betsie Lighthouse

A new bridge built by three young Gruffs...

Rose of Sharon

Bees at work

This place will always seem like home to me, regardless of where we spend most of our days.  Even though I didn't grow up in the house where my parents now live, the smells and sights of Indiana farm country must be deeply rooted and trigger the sense of being at home that never has set in here in California. 

Gardening with chickens

The toddler's new best friend, her cousin dog. 

Ft. Dole

Swimming at the boys' camp

Mulberry eater

July gallops by

Summer, Summer, you are supposed to be a time of rest and slow, sipping days! But you are racing away, trying to steal from me those long days of pool floats and parades. Pause a moment, give us time to be bored, time to mark time with watermelon and sizzling meats and birthday cakes and ice cream. I try to catch on film what trips away all too fast, like the little children who now surprise me in grown up bodies.

A glimpse of St. John's, Newfoundland

It was a crisp and cool morning when I drove across PEI one last time. A low fog crawled across the waterways, hovering above the fields until it was burned away by the bright morning sun rising radiant in the blue sky.  My wish for more time on the island was granted - my flight was delayed almost an hour, which gave me time to read the newspaper and find out about the guy who hadn't received a phone book for two years. The airport was tiny, so I couldn't help overhearing the conversation of a couple of gents behind me.  One was flying to Halifax to buy a new truck.  The other had work in Newfoundland with the VA.  They were congenial and jovial. My opinion of the friendliness of everyone on the island was further cemented when the airline attendant called me and the two other people with connecting flights up to tell us she was going to change our seats so that we were near the front of the plane to depart quickly.  Of course, when I saw the plane, I couldn't help thinking that even the guy in the last row would be able to deplane quickly.  It was a little turquoise prop plane that flew us across the Northumberland Strait, like something from an Indiana Jones movie.

The news stand

Despite the delay, I made the connection and arrived in St. John's, Newfoundland, in time to have a cup of coffee and go with my sister-in-law to pick up my nieces and nephews from their school, which not only resembled an old British boarding school, but it also just so happened to be hosting Harry Potter Day for the third grade, so I got to watch a quidditch match.

The quidditch pitch

The cousins were happy to share the local cuisine with me: Poutine, which is French Fries covered in gravy and cheese curds. I rarely eat these three food items separately, but together, prepared according to Ziggy's secret recipe and accompanied with a ravenous hunger, I gobbled up a large portion. 

My sister-in-law had planned a number of activities for each day of my visit, and she conveniently planned a hike for the afternoon we had poutine for lunch.

With my niece who shares my name. Cool and foggy in late June.

A strange bombed out concrete structure on the hike

If Prince Edward Island is a fresh-faced farmgirl, Newfoundland is a rugged, scruffy lumberjack. Or maybe a crusty sailor. It must have been an ideal hide away for Vikings and pirates. Craggy cliffs hide secret coves from intruders, and fog makes the coast even more impenetrable.

A brief history of Newfoundland (pronounced to rhyme with understand): Originally settled by Vikings, later colonized by French, British, Portuguese, and Spain. Britain and France argued about it for years before it became an independent dominion, only joining Canada in the 20th century. The economy was driven by fishing mainly, but oil is now a primary export. Tensions between Catholics and Protestants apparently contributed to the settlement of different regions, but secularization has eased those old grudges. All official communications are in French and English, but Newfoundlanders speak English peppered with a number of expressions unique to the island.

A spruce forest

Following our hike and visiting with the cousins, we had dinner at a small local restaurant, Mallard Cottage, in the quaint little village of Quidi Vidi, pronounced "Kiddie viddie." At first I thought it was a Native American name, or First Nation, as Canada calls its indigenous people, but it has this funny Latin derivative of a name meaning something like "What do I see?" Whoever bestowed this name on this little fishing town must have been overwhelmed by loveliness of it.

I was equally impressed by our delicious dinner, which included scallops sauteed with spruce tips to begin. I had a stinging nettle pasta with fireweed, roasted tomatoes and lobster, my sister-in-law had halibut, and we shared a dessert board that had tiny bites of different delectables: a buttercream ice, a lemon madeleine with local honey, and tiny brownies with partridge berries.  Even the wine, a pinot grigio from Ontario, was really, really good.  It's the kind of meal that would turn you into a foodie. Newfoundlanders also brew good coffee and good beer, although I had more of the first. Important for keeping warm and combatting jet lag!

Heading out an a whale watching tour the next day.

My three days in Newfoundland were fairly mild, but cool, and the skies were clear. We had an ideal day for whale watching, even though it was early in the migration season. Most of the whales are still in the warmer waters near California, but we caught sight of a couple minky whales and glimpsed a brief view of a humpback.  I was more impressed by the island of puffins and thousands of other sea birds. They flew in swarms above our heads. It is easy to see why the puffin is a beloved icon of Newfoundland. They are cute little sausages that fly fast and furiously across rough seas.

Hello, minky whale

From a distance this looks like an average island.

But up close, you can see it is inhabited by thousands of shore bird: murrs, puffins, gannet, terns, and other feathered friends

Puffins in flight. Hundreds of thousands live in this area on uninhabited islands

A humpback gave us a wave

Up close to an iceberg. We were given a little piece of iceberg to eat, and later we had iceberg beer brewed in Quidi Vidi.

This lady got treated to screech, the locals' favorite rum. My sister-in-law said this is a treat that whale watchers can pay extra for. 

The little fishing village of Petty Harbor where we had lunch - fried cod tongue, moose poutine, friend cod sticks, and moose and barley soup. 

Late June is tulip time.

Waiting for the crab boats.

The little aquarium's touch tanks. 

Next stop: The light house at the end of the continent. The eastern most point of North America

Signal flags in the keeper's office

From the keeper's window

Horse Cove, where we had a dinner picnic.

At the "beach" for our cookout. No sandy beaches here

We attended Sunday Mass at the Basilica of St. John the Baptist, with its altar of the Dead Christ, a masterpiece in marble by Irish sculptor John Hogan.

On to Signal Hill, aka Cabot Tower, where a canyon used to be fired to mark noon and six, and where Gugliemo Marconi first transmitted a transatlantic radio signal - only a couple of generations before satellites enabled all kinds of communications. 

The pink flower is fire weed.

More coastal cliffs

and hidden coves

I imagine fiddleheads are another menu option at Mallard Cottage.

We sampled some fresh spruce tips - lemony, but bitter without butter.

Can you see the mother eagle and her little eaglets two? Feeding time.

Practicing for a performance - young mounties?

The lovely Veiled Virgin, who attracts visitors to a convent of Presentation sisters. A spry 100 year old nun gave us a tour and a blessing after we admired the lovely bust and other statuary. The other art in the room appeared amateurish compared to this beautiful piece. 

One last view of St. John's. As you can see the city is centered on the coast and very much feels like a seaport community, but a working one, not a vacation destination like our coastal town. 

It is fascinating to imagine what type of people were the original settlers of a place like Newfoundland.  These settlers must have had guts and perseverance to carve a home here and stay despite the rugged terrain and chilly climate. Perhaps the friendliness of the people is related to the community that forms to confront adversity and to create feelings of warmth to withstand long and cold winters.  Travel is a good reminder that the world is full of many places to call home and many friendly communities of good people. And it is always good to visit with family, to see the nieces and nephews in their natural environment, and to share their admiration for their adopted home. They return to Texas soon, another place where friendly descendants of tough pioneers live.