A perfect day?

 Back in 2005, I was part of a group that did summer English conversational school in China.  One of the questions I used to spark discussion was:  If you had a day to do whatever you want, what would you do?  I remember one answer specifically, from a lovely little girl called Smile.  She said she would eat.

So what constitutes a perfect day.  I'm not sure about a definitive description, but I know today was close.

The weather was ideal -- mid teens and very little wind.  The ocean, however was amazingly active, not on the surface at it appeared flat with no waves, but the swells from under the surface were breaking onto the rocks and throwing spray up over the breakwalls.  My glasses had salt on them.

I was on the bike for 4.5 hours total, did only 63 km, but climbed a total of 656 m.  (What great statistics I get from the free Under Armour Map My Ride app.  Thanks Steve for putting me on to that.)  I am planning to do the Ride to Conquer Cancer (again) on the second weekend in June.  It is 100 km each day of the Saturday and the Sunday.  Simone and I will be riding Niagara to Hamilton the first day, and then back to Niagara on the second day.  My main concern is not whether my legs are up to the task, but can I sit on the bicycle seat for 5+ hours each day.  That's why the most important statistic for today was the seat time.

I arrived in Ribiera Grande in time for a fresh almond pretzel -- my pastry of choice this trip. I watched the waves on the north shore.   I picked some 'snowdrops' and some more calla lilies on the way back over the mountain.  I stopped at my favourite 'farm' store.  

We had soup and bread and cheese for supper.  I spoke with my friend in France and emailed with my granddaughter and other relatives.  We walked to the Fort as the sun was setting and the German Cruise ship was leaving.  I plan to do some stitching on my tapestry project.  

I'm not holding out for perfection (whatever that may be), I am totally enjoying a great day like this one.

Taro and Camellias

 Growing up in Southern Ontario, there is a specific group of plants which I am familiar with, both in terms of food and beauty.  One of the reasons I love to travel is to expand my experiences and yesterday, in Furnas, plants took center stage.  I have been there before and saw both the taro plants and the camellias, but each time I learn a little more.

Taro is a plant which grows in a soaked bed.  It is also called elephant ear and if any part of the plant is eaten raw, the calcium oxalate causes severe irritation in the mouth and the whole gastro-intestinal system. In Furnas, it is irrigated by creeks and appears,

 cooked properly, as a carb in the famous Furnas cozido -- a stew which is cooked in the steam vents of the geothermal area.  The 'stew' usually has 4 or 5 different meats, cabbage, carrots, yams, potatoes and taro root.  

It is not seasonal, so young and mature plants grow in plots side by side.  It is harvested by cutting off the leaves and chopping off the main root .  

I don't see this as something I will try to grow, even indoors, at home.  

However, the other plant featured yesterday is one that I will find for the new sun room.  Most of the camellias are camellia japonica and the variety of flowers is staggering.  Some could pass for roses, others for chrysanthemums or hibiscus.  The colours are generally pinks, reds and whites with forms from simple to double and everything in between.  There is a show currently in Furnas of many of the different varieties.  And, of course, the famous garden in Furnas, Terra Nostra, has not only a special camellia section, but specimens all over the garden property.  I have been to Furnas to see the camellias every February that we have visited here, and I do not tire or become blasé  about them!

Pantry

 It comes as no surprise to anyone who even knows me a little, that food is very important in my life.  I'm known in various circles as the lady who bakes.  I volunteered in a homeless kitchen for 20 years.  I have watched every episode of both the Great British and the Great Canadian baking shows. ( I have sent in auditions for 4 years, but have never been picked.)  I give Christmas cookies as gifts to friends.  I bake with my grandchildren -- even over Zoom.  I plan to renovate our next house mostly because the kitchen is not to my liking.

Food has always been a reward -- I know that is not a popular practice any more, but it certainly worked wonders for me as a kid.  Much of the work on the farm was food centered -- we raised chickens, had pigs and cows.  Mother always did a huge garden for beans and corn and squash and carrots and radishes and lettuce and beets.  There were bushels (literally) of beans to be processed and frozen for the winter.  Applesauce, peaches, pears and plums were canned.  A farm business runs on its stomach!

My mother had neither the inclination nor the means to have lots of purchased food on hand without it having a specific, immediate purpose.  When I was introduced to my first mother-in-law, that changed.  Having grown up in the Depression, she now had all kinds of food stocked away in closets in the basement.  It became a joke that she had cans down there older than her kids.  I saw it as evidence of wealth.  Imagine, having everything that you could possibly need at home.  That way, you could be spontaneous in what you prepared.  What a luxury!  At first, the kitchen cupboards were the home to extra packages of pasta and cans of vegetables.  In the Millgrove house, the huge fruit cellar became home not only to the growing wine collection, but also the provisions standing ready to be used when called upon.  I employed a strict 'first in, first out' rotation of stock -- didn't want to end up like my mother-in-law.  If the last of something was brought up from the basement, it immediately went on the shopping list.  The aim was to never run out.

The Gatewood house has an extremely small galley kitchen, so the storehouse of jars and cans and bags of flour were again kept in the basement.  I don't mind that I am up and down the stairs and behind the workshop, several times a day.  My pantry is my treasure trove.

On a recent trip to Norway, I was staying with Richard and family in an apartment in a ski town.  Imagine my delight when the grocery store was 90 steps away from the front door of the apartment!  And here, I measured it this evening, the Sol Mar grocery store is 119 steps from our third floor apartment.  What a perfect location -- I refer to it as my private pantry and sometimes head down in my slippers.

( If you consider the walkway as center, our apartment is 3 windows to the left on the third floor and the Sol Mar is 3 doors to the right on the ground floor)

Our new house in Chippawa is just across the street from the  local Foodland grocery store.  I have yet to count the steps from door to door, but it already feels like my personal pantry!

Tradition

 I posted this picture this morning, before I enjoyed my malasada at Sol Mar.

I talked about how this Lenten pastry is quite similar to the Fastnacht kuechlen that my Mother would make on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.  It is a deep fried yeast dough with sugar on the outside.  Mother always used cinnamon sugar, but I guess that is a matter of preference.  Both were delicious!

It brings me to the whole idea of tradition.  There is a famous (at least in our family) line in the movie Ever After where "Cinderella" insists on waving goodbye to her Dad as he rides down the lane from their home.  "It's tradition!"

Below me on the street, the horns are blaring, signaling the arrival of the trucks for the water battle.  The best word to describe this event is insanity.  The trucks have been loading up plastic bags full of water for 2 days (I saw some being done in Lagoa yesterday) and today they drive along one stretch of the waterfront road and mayhem ensues.  Trucks battle each other, guys on trucks throw into the crowd, people of all ages on the ground throw bags at each other.  Sometimes one group runs out of bags and another group will donate bags in order for the battle to continue.  

It went on for about an hour.  Yes, I went down and got wet too.  If you throw, you are fair game as a target, but there is a lot of collateral damage if you are just standing in the target zone.  It is crazy, good clean fun -- except for the drifts of plastic bags that now cover the road.  But don't worry, the cleaning crew will be out soon, bolstered by the participants who also help with the clean up.  By the morning, the fences will be down, the drains will be open again and life will go on as normal.  

I guess it was the last hurrah before the solemn season of Lent which is observed on this island with pilgrimages.  

I include a link to an album of all the pictures and videos I took this afternoon.  You should watch in order to get the full effect.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/5gJBGuT7qnHTxmNbA

The Mardis Gras tradition is very common in Christian or formerly Christian societies.  Last Friday there was the children's parade and on Saturday there were masked balls all over the island.  Ian can attest to the revelry going on all night.  (I slept through it all.)

So, enjoy your semla bun (Sweden) or pancakes (Canada) or Fastnacht kuechlen (Germany) or malasadas (here), but remember it is the tradition that links you to the past and will bind your future.