We all drove to the closest Giant Sequoia Redwood grove for a picnic among those mighty trees.
Bigelow’s Sneezeweed
On the way, I showed the family the place where my favorite patch of Sneezeweed can always be found, though I’m rarely able to see them at the peak of bloom as they are right now.
In the redwood grove as well, more flowers were in bloom midsummer than in September when I often come.
Western Azalea
Most, like the wintergreen and Violet Draperia, were past their prime, but I was still excited to encounter the plants at this stage when they are saying in color, “Look here!”
Violet Draperia
If I would ever make it up in June, I might see the dogwoods when they are beginning to bloom —
Pacific Dogwood
Though most of their petals are browned and fallen, the graceful lines of trunk and limbs are as elegant as ever. The gooseberry and currant bushes are loaded but the berries are not ready to eat.
Rigo patiently counted 242 tree rings:
Back at the cabin, we like to throw seeds off the deck for the chipmunks and Golden Mantled Ground Squirrels. Then the boys spent time looking under currant bushes for the critters’ hole. Raj came across a puffball under the deck, and never having seen one before, instinctively thought it was some kind of strange ball, and kicked it.
From the deck above, I heard his surprised voice saying, “Something’s wrong… there’s a problem — Grandma, please come down here!”
When I saw what had happened I explained to him about how it works with this kind of fungus; we arranged the unripe pieces to show that it’s a Sculpted Puffball.
Rigo thought that one of his Pokémon cards had blown off the deck, so while Kate and I were hunting around for that, and I was keeping an eye open for more puffballs, suddenly a bird flew up at my feet and revealed this nest in the grass:
As I’m writing the story next morning, I went out to look down at the nest; I had pushed a couple of sticks in the ground on either side to keep us from stepping on it. It looks like the mother bird is still sitting on her clutch of pretty eggs. [Update: I think they might be the eggs of a Dark-Eyed Junco.]
Breaking news: A few hours later, a baby bird has hatched!
Kate and her family joined me at the cabin yesterday, and we’ve already packed in a lot of fun. This afternoon Kate and Tom introduced the boys, whom I nicknamed Raj and Rigo at their births, to fishing.
The boys also climbed around on the granite boulders near the shore, and after discovering tangled messes of used fishing line and candy wrappers, they began to enthusiastically hunt down every piece of trash they could find, crawling into crevices and scrambling up and down to score just one more item, to get the lake shore a tiny bit cleaner.
I identified a new buttercup I hadn’t met before, and saw again the lovely Pearly Everlasting, which in July has just opened the flowers that will continue to look nice for several more weeks.
Later after dinner, while they drank hot cocoa, I read to Raj and Rigo the story of Jack and the Fallen Giants, a recent retelling of the traditional tale by Jonathan Pageau. It has beautiful and evocative illustrations by Eloise Scherrer, and thought provoking elements such as riddles: “What has more weight, heaven or earth?”
In this telling, Jack is frequently famished and worn out, but he perseveres and climbs higher and higher every time, and receives bursts of strength that give him renewed zeal.
I think that whether they realized it or not, my grandboys could relate to Jack’s exertions because of all the tasks they’d accomplished for themselves this afternoon. In any case, in spite of a cliffhanger ending, we had a good time reading that story.
Yesterday morning Pippin went out early to explore up the hill from our house, and discovered a carob tree.
She took me back to see it, and later when everyone was up and sipping coffee on the terrace, she read to us about the uses of carob throughout history. Just the night before we had eaten spring rolls that incorporated “carob rusks” for a little crispiness in the wrap of greens and feta.
But the carob pods the tree produces have traditionally been used primarily for feeding livestock — Until the 1960’s, when some of us started using carob flour in bread and candy, and for medicinal uses. I still have carob powder in my pantry, though it’s been a while since I opened the jar. My daughters vaguely remembered the Captain Carob Bread I baked, that was featured in the Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book.
We walked to the Aliki beach for a last swim and bask in the sun. The goats that live in a dry corral came close to the fence this time and let Maggie and Pippin pet them and take their pictures.
In the afternoon we drove to Parikia to see the Byzantine church of the Panagia Ekatontapiliani, where we spent an hour in wonder and wondering over the ancient architecture and marble carvings, and the way later renovations incorporated broken slabs and pieces into their also tasteful structures.
This last day provided the most challenging parking situations for Kate. In Parikia our maps app directed us to a narrow street near the church, along which she nervously and skillfully, with the aid of several more eyes among us, snugged the car against a stone wall.
And when we returned to Aliki for dinner, we ended up parked on the other side of the bay, and walked across the stony path, which gave us new views of the neighborhood we’ve spent so much time in this week.
It was another sweet and companionable meal together, and our last for this trip.
I’m standing at the tiny Paros airport right now, the next morning, typing on my tiny phone. My daughters dropped me off before taking the ferry to Athens; they will all return home soon, but my stay in Greece is not half done.
Our days continue with the lovely relaxed feeling that comes from being just the right temperature and humidity. It’s dry here, but not harshly so.
The sun is bright, but not too bright, and the air seems constantly re-freshed by the winds, though evidently perception is not the full reality:
Our first morning here we wondered about the red dust on the car and the stone terraces. In the town many people were washing down their outdoor spaces though it had recently rained.
“It’s raining dust from Africa,” our host told us. Soon we heard from others, “It happens every May, the red dust from Chad blowing north.” Who knew?
In the picture below, that I took when Kate was navigating the twists and turns of the narrow village streets, you can see the dust on the windshield, but it’s not red, so maybe we are at the end of the African dust season, and the air is now carrying the paler local dust.
One day we swam at the closest beach, Aliki. It wasn’t crowded at all. Some Greek boys were very boyishly playing with a ball in and out of the water and providing good entertainment, especially for Pippin who was catching Greek words and phrases in their shouts; she became much more comfortable with the language than I after our months of Duolingo lessons.
Kate and Maggie on Golden Beach
After I walked out through the waves up to my waist, it still took me a few minutes to finish what I had started months ago, when I told my daughters how much I was looking forward to swimming in the ocean.
I knew it wouldn’t be as perfect as the other times I’d been in the Aegean, on the Turkish coast so long ago, but without a doubt it would be much warmer than any of our northern California beaches whose currents flow direct from Alaska.
Once I did dive in, it didn’t seem too cold at all, and I swam as lazily as one can, for (what I perceived to be) a long time. That felt so good. I hadn’t swum in the ocean at all since Maui, thirteen years ago.
Another day we went to Golden Beach, in the evening, and I don’t think any of us swam, but three of us brought the others drinks from the bar, and we sat and told stories from the last years or from our childhoods and anytime in between.
Pippin and I walked slowly along the shore looking at the smooth and many colored stones, and chose our favorites.
I have a lot of favorites. One daughter asked if I were going to take sand for my collection at home, and I realized I had forgotten to bring along a bag or bottle for that. In my purse I found a pill pouch with a few Tylenol tablets in it, so I dumped those in another place temporarily and scooped a tablespoon or so of golden sand into the tiny bag.
When we returned that evening after a long day on the other side of the island, we realized we were fresh out of drinking water. Our hosts simply stated on the website, “The tap water is not drinkable.” I had drunk a pint of it before I heard that, and thought it tasted good, but we have been buying water in quart bottles from the grocery store across from the beach.
Pippin wanted to walk down there to buy more water, and I went with her. It’s about a ten minute walk, and was very pleasant in the fading light, with the village sounds changed from the daytime. People were walking their dogs, and it seemed to be the hour for dogs to bark.
The doves that fill the airwaves with their constant urgent cooing had not stopped, but fewer people were on the beach, and the beachside restaurant tables were quiet.
We browsed the store a bit and in addition to water bought linden tea and rice cakes flavored with oregano. I would not have bought them if I hadn’t learned this week that Maggie likes rice cakes. That makes two of us.
For today our group split up, three going to the nearby island of Antiparos and two of us staying here for a Home Day. I washed some laundry — it dries in a flash on the rack outside — and wrote a postcard; Maggie swam in the pool. I’m lying on a day bed on the terrace that overlooks an olive grove with the ocean just beyond:
The owner of the villa was here earlier skimming the pool, and when I came out he was in the middle of telling Maggie that at her age she should be going into Naoussa to enjoy the night life. She was reading a book, and he said only two in ten Greeks ever read a book. He doesn’t favor the quiet life such as Maggie and I were having this morning, and prefers to be busy with “business.”
But as he was leaving he said he regretted building several such villas as we are staying in, it is too much work keeping up with the hospitality and maintenance on all of them.
He also said he comes from Crete, but it is too big, he likes Paros much better, and it is a better life than Naxos, too. I’m thankful he built this house we are staying in, because it’s the best.
Gladsome Lights 