Duck Hunt

As of last week, I am a hunter. Actually, I am not. I have gone duck hunting twice thus far, and have the day off today and plan on going this afternoon. Duck hunting for me involves canoeing down a lazy river while Case looks for ducks, or walking in the most pristine rivers and woods of Maine.

The first hunt was along the Royal River in North Yarmouth. Case, Folsom, and I set out in a rickety canoe that Casey found abandoned and almost drowned recovering it. We met a beaver who display his power and aggression by slapping his tail in the water and running away like a pansy. The sun set before we ever saw a duck, but we got to witness dusk on the water and a slightly scary docking in the dark.

My second hunt was on foot in Windham/Gorham area along the Presumpscot River. We passed along little paths leading to obvious summer ragers. The remains of many a bonfire and drunken summer night reminded me of the changing season. Although I was bundled and dressed for "the hunt," I could feel cold air sneaking up under my clothing and the chill on my face. Once again, we did not see a duck, and we did not shoot. My favorite spot of this hunt was an old bridge. It is the oldest bridge in Old Falmouth (which is now Windham, Gorham, and most towns in Cumberland County). The covered wooden bridge across the river has not seemed to change at all. While walking across it, I felt like I could be back in 1843.

In conclusion, I am a hunter if it means I get to explore the outdoors and see life and beauty with Casey's company. I am sure that today Casey will actually shoot a duck, and I will be slightly scarred, but for now, I am enjoying the experience.

Fall is for falling

There is nothing like a New England Fall, of this I am certain. Last year I missed the fall when I was studying abroad in Spain, and so I'm appreciating it more than ever this year. I find myself slipping out of my sleepy downtown studio early in the morning and walking. I love to bundle up in a scarf and a cute Fall coat with a warm cup of tea in hand. Actually, right now I am enjoying a pumpkin latte at my favorite coffee shop, conveniently located on my block. Before writing this, I was looking up recipes for Fall soups, apple crisps, and pumpkin pancakes. I am just a Fall junky. I love the clothing, food, the trees bursting into color, and the way the crisp air makes me feel alive. My friend Evie told me that if I talk about the trees one more time she will kill me, but I cannot stop. I love Fall. I love it.

I think growing up surrounded by apple orchards started my love for Fall. I love that the treetops touch over the road, framing my perfect little world. You can smell the apples ripening and the cider being made as you walk down my crooked, country road during apple season. Any other time of the year, my street is vacant. You may see the occasional road bike gang, but on most days, I might just be the last human on the planet. Not during apple season. Families, kids, and pets flood the orchards. There is life.

I find myself feeling that "new love" feeling as I walk through downtown Portland. I don't have the will power to abstain from speaking rapidly and incessantly about my love, so Evie, and any other person who wants to kill me for my redundancy, just remember, winter is coming and then I will be heartbroken over my lost love. Let my love spell run its course.

Lessons from the Garden

A lifetime has passed since my last blog. To summarize: my parents visited me in Spain, I traveled all over Europe, came home, went to school, came home again with mono, went back to school again, graduated college (woot woot), came home for good, planted a garden, met my 6 wonderful little chickens, and started working at a country club. Life is abundant and good. I can't remember being so joyful... ever. So that is my mini update. I think I will continue blogging. Barb's Grand Adventure in Europe has ended, but there are endless adventures yet to be had.

Lessons from the Garden

Today was my first day off in a long time. I was pumped about the great things I could do in my free day. I woke up, read some of Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, worked on a crocheted baby blanket for a friend, and then took a shower. After my shower, I was convinced that I needed to do something nice for myself. So I put on a cute outfit and got ready to go shopping, clearly forgetting anything I had read about the extremely improvised people who don't make enough money in an entire year to buy the outfit I was currently wearing. I was running out to my car to go indulge in some consumerism, when I looked down at the dry soil in my mom's garden of black-eyed susans.

I decided to water my gardens before heading out. I slipped off my my purple flats with the cute gold studs, tossed them aside, and sported my crocs, which completed the outfit quite horridly. I filled up my little metal watering can and made several trips from the kitchen in my house out to various gardens in my yard, and lastly, my vegetable garden. I am a very particular veggie-grower. I consider myself a purist: starting from seeds, refusing miracle grow and other chemicals. I believe that plants will just do their own thing if you give them a little love. And trust me.. I give my plants a lot of love. I call them my babies, talk to them, and water them constantly. I take great pride in them too, incessantly begging my family members to take a look at how much Green Pepper or Plum Tomato has grown.

Today I noticed some of my plants were not making much progress in the growing department. As I was watering my I grew angry with my plants. I was livid that the only lettuce that is thriving is the spicy mix and how I don't want a spicy and bitter salad. I said out loud, "Romaine Lettuce, you are so small and stupid, you too Baby Spinach, and Cucumber, you disgust me. Day after day, I water you, I weed you, it has been sunny, the soil is rich. You have EVERYTHING you could possibly want, yet you refuse to thrive! JUST GROW!"

After my verbally abusive conversation with my plants had ended, I thought for a moment, "Is this how God feels about me?" Last week I attended a planning meeting for my bible study where people said they just weren't growing, myself included. I started to imagine what God would say to me. How He would tell me that I am selfish and not growing, yet He had given me my family, my friends, fellowship, Monday Night, Friday Night, church, books, health, food, clothing, provisions, excellent books written by knowledgeable people, and more importantly: His Word, His Son, His Holy Spirit, and a world full of wonder and amazement. I have been tending my garden for the past 7 weeks, but God has been providing opportunities for me to grow for the past 22 years and planning out my life since forever. I am thankful that He is infinitely patient with me, that He prompts me to grow daily, and that He refuses to leave me as I am.

Madrid and Segovia!

Arrive in Madrid via train, feeling good. Life is good. I go to the McDonald's across from the station, where I would meet up with Maria, a girl I had met the week before and planned on staying with in Madrid.  So I waited.  And waited, and paced.. and was glared at by the workers there because I had not bought anything.  Three hours later, I decided to call her.. it was 9pm and I was feeling.. well, like I was homeless in Madrid in the winter (it is cold in Madrid, there was ice on the streets and they actually just had a blizzard today).  Marie picks up and apologizes, but tells me that she is in Paris.  Umm.. WHAT.  

So the hostel hunt begins.  I find one located in the center of town for just 16 euros (24 dollars), so I take it.  I go to the my room, a colorful room filled with 5 beds.  I am the only person in this room, which I thought was nice.  So I start relaxing and getting ready for bed.  Unfortunately, the hostel does not provide blankets.  So I sleep in all of the clothing that I packed, which consisted of: a long sleeve shirt, a t-shirt, a sweat shirt, a pair of spandex pants, and a pair of jeans.  I wore on scarf around my neck, and tried to use the other as a blanket.  MADRID IS COLD.  The drafty old hostel didn't help.  I quickly realized that the double french doors leading to the balcony was not romantic, but rather my nemesis.  I literally could feel the wind pushing cold air through the thin glass doors and into the room.  Oh well.  The next day I mentioned this to the owner and he said that "one person's worth of heat" was in that room.. and if there were 5 people in there, he could afford to heat it.  Great.

Madrid was wonderful!  The Palacio Real, the Cathedral, the monasteries, parks, plazas, EVERYTHING was just amazing.  I walked and walked and walked.  I got to see all of the buildings and monuments and actually understand what it was all about because of the classes I have taken!  I saw Carlos III on his horse with a plaque that said 

"The Reformist" and I was like.. yep.. he was one of the great Spanish reformists of the 18th century in Spain.. him and the rest of his Bourbon family, they did good things for Spain!  

<-Cathedral in Madrid

My favorite stop in Madrid was el Museo de Prado.  This is a HUGE museum that housed over 70 rooms with artwork.  I weaved in and out from room to room trying to see everything.  At some point, I realized that I would never see all that I wanted to see or do all that I wanted to do.  I started to cry! In the middle of the Prado, I just started crying!  A man asked me what was wrong and I responded "Hay tantas cosas para ver aquí, y no solamente aquí, pero en todo del mundo, y nunca podería ver toda" (there are so many things to see here, and not only here, but in all of the world and I never could be able to see it all).  He laughed, then smiled and told me that's life, but we do what we can.  I appreciated his kindness during my absolutely absurd state!  This was the greatest art museum I have been to in my life!  It was just phenomenal!  I got to see rooms full of Goya, after learning about him in class and his ridiculous desire to conquer Portugal and divid it among England, France, and Goya.  His work was very dark and disturbing.  While going through the Prado, it occurred to me that the art world is lacking a complete portrayal of a woman.  I saw painting after painting of agreeable, well-behaved women without even the slightest hint of a wild, adventurous side.

Hostel disaster number two: jerk from the day before tells me they don't have a bed to spare... but waits until 8pm to tell me this.  Thus begins hostel hunt number two.  I found an agreeable hostel.  I stayed in a room with 13 other people, all paired up in bunk beds.  My bunk bed buddy was Austria man in his 30s who snored heavily all night.  Hostel number two provided blankets, but it was 19 euros instead of 16.  No computers to use though.  That is alright with me!  Stay there and leave early the next day for Segovia.

I love love loved Segovia!  It was the essence of a picturesque ancient European city!  It's windy cobblestone roads, old city walls, gothic cathedral and roman palace all with a backdrop of beautiful snow covered mountains stole my heart.  It seriously was the most romantic little place I have ever been.  I went to the Cathedral where Isabella was given the crown of Castile, the Palace where Ferdinand and Isabel first met, I saw the bedroom where she slept.  It was like all of the history that I have learned for the past four months was real.  It had been an story Professor Clermont told, until I went and SAW it! 

<-Aqueducts of Segovia

Hostel disaster number 3: no bathroom access. 

A walk to the train turned out to be quite the adventure too.  I had out my little Spain travel guide with a little map.  An arrow pointed down a main street and off the map saying "to AVE Station".  The AVE station is where the fast trains go from.. meaning I could use my Eurail pass and save a couple of euros.  So I headed out with my pack.  And walked. And walked.  And it was beautiful: there were rolling fields and pastures, little ancient rock structures scattered about, and snow covered mountains.  An hour passed, no train station in sight and the snowy mountains were much closer.  I asked someone and he said "at the second traffic circle, take a left".  I got to the second traffic circle, and the left was a dirt road into a field.  So I asked someone else, who told me "at the second traffic circle, take a left".  I got to the second traffic circle, but a left just didn't seem right, so I continued on.  I found a gas station and asked in there, they said two more intersections and then take a  left.  At this point I was I knew on thing for sure: at some point, there would be a traffic circle and the station would be on the left.  A red car passing honked at me and I waved and smiled.  I really was in a good mood regardless of the whole situation (it must have been the fresh mountain air).  The red car was headed in the opposite direction as me.. towards a traffic circle.  And then I heard the honk again, he had turned around!  Okay, I know this is dangerous.. but I had been hiking for three hours with no train in sight!  He asked where I was going and I said the AVE station and he said it was close.  He said he has seen people all his life try to walk to the AVE station from Segovia and that I had made it farther than anyone he had ever seen.  So he drove me about half a mile down the road, took a LEFT at the traffic circle, and wished me well on my travels. Success!  Caught the last train out of Segovia to Madrid, took a local train to the Atocha station in Madrid, caught my  train back to Barcelona and arrived home for dinner!

Tea for Brides to Be

So I periodically get this email from Messiah.. announcing that I am invited to a Tea for Brides  to Be... well actually not me, but people just like me who just happen to be in love... and someone happens to love them back... and happened to buy them a ring, which is now worn proudly around their finger.  Congrats brides to be!!  I hope you really enjoy the tea and the chit chat with the nurse about the wedding night.

Every time that I receive this email, I want to just show up, ringless, a little greasy and in sweatpants.  I wonder what would happen.  I think it would be funny, but I am pretty sure I would offend a ton of people, so I never have.  Well my RSVP this time would be: "Really sorry I won't make it, I'll be in Spain.. maybe next time".  If there is another one in the Spring, I might not be able to resist.. I might just attend.  If I do, I will let you all know how it goes and any good tid bits that I have learned.

One of the many joys of attending a Christian college: the raise to the wedding chapel.

Take Me As I Am

Earlier in the semester, Caitlin and I stopped in a really neat CD store on a little alley headed towards our University.  We occasionally would stop there and pick out a CD, or ask them what was CD was playing, because they always had great taste in music.  Once we stumbled upon an album titled “Still Night, Still Light” by Au Revoir Simone.  I have no recollection of what about it stuck out to us, but we wrote it down one a little scrap of paper, which was inevitably lost, and then found again at some point.  This album eventually made its way onto my iTunes and has since then been rising on my “Most Played” playlist, or in particular, the song “Take Me As I Am”.  It is a short song, a simple song, just hitting 2 minutes and 23 seconds.  The message is pure, plain, and und unpolluted.  Some of the lyrics are:

“Do you know when you were already born

Do you know this is the way it would be

Do you know that when you were already born

You were already you

and I already me

So take me as I am

Take me as I am

I know,

it’s easier said than done”

I think I like it because sometimes I feel like I am just too much.  I am too wild, too spastic, too intense, or maybe too flighty.  I like to dance and look like a fool.  I like to sing along with songs and I usually laugh longer and harder than most.  Sometimes I try to train myself to be better behaved.  Or try to “do” better.  Guess what... I am done trying to do better, done trying to behave.  I was born full of life, with a spirit of adventure, a spirit of mischief (disclaimer: harmless mischief).  My grandma Hazel always used to say that I had a mischievous twinkle in my eye, even as a baby.  Well folks, that twinkle isn’t going anywhere.  It IS me!  I am a world shaker (Cool Hand Luke reference)!  I will not be tamed.

And whoever you are... yeah you, that person who doesn’t take me as I am, that person looking at me on the metro when I unrestrainedly bob my head to the music blaring in my headphones, or that boy who was just waiting for me to settle down, well you will have to wait a long time, because I am not going to change!  Deal with it!

I’m saying this only under the parameters that I am willing to take you as you are.  Who ever you are, I appreciate you.  I appreciate your spirit, which is God given and so inherently and intrinsically connected to who you are.  I appreciate your story, I want to know your story, to respect you by listening to your story.  I want to know who you are, who you truly are.  It is a shame we are both behaving and not breaking social norms, but rather riding a metro in silence.  I will  never know you, but I accept you.

**For clarity sake, I am not talking about not improving yourself, because I am always seeking to make progress and better myself through reading, education, experiences, discipline, etc., but rather referring to that which doesn’t change about us, the core of who we are, the good things that make us unique.  I don’t want to change those things about myself.

I'm in Spain.. really close to France.. the birthplace of French toast... right?

One of my FAVORITE breakfast foods is french toast.  It is super rico.  My uncle David makes the best french toast ever.  It actually is not even a contest.  It is one of my favorite foods that he makes, and he is an amazing cook, so that is saying a lot.  Breakfasts in Spain have been.. well kind of lacking to say the least.  I usually get a bland cupcake-esque "breakfast" or something of a sort.  I have missed the eggs, the pancakes, or maybe just having the choice to start my morning with the food of my choice.  ANYWAYS..

After about five days without olive oil in my little Spanish apartment (note: I am not responsible for groceries, I have paid the woman I live with for food already..) we finally got some olive oil!  For those of you who don't know, it is practically a sin to be without olive oil in Europe.  In fact, Caitlin told her host mom that I didn't have olive oil for three days and she was like "no olive oil! no eggs! poor girl!"... she just figured that olive oil, like eggs is essential and that we must not have either.  Caitlin likened my predicament to being a baker without flour.  Anyways, we got olive oil back in the house and my nerves were definitely calmed.  

Last night I arrived home late and missed dinner, but my ration of bread was sitting out becoming hard as a rock, which Fina rightly noted.  I was like "Don't worry, I'll eat it tomorrow" and she said "you will break a tooth on that bread".  I just smiled and headed into my room, knowing that Fina would be gone alllll day today and I could stay in my pjs and not make my bed until I felt like it. (Don't worry, all of these random thoughts are about to join together...)

This morning I woke at approximately 7:30, however, laid in bed until 7:55 when I heard the door close and the tinkering of the locks in the front door.  Fina has left the building (little fist pump).  I hop out of bed and into the living room without making my bed or putting slippers on (slipper are essential in Spanish homes).  I go into the kitchen and look at the bread from the night before, about a 1/4 of a baguette.  I inspect it... hitting it a couple of times against the counter and of course, it is as hard as a rock.  Ah ha!  French toast time.  Stale bread= perfect french toast.  I take out a knife and begin to saw this baguette into slices.  "Saw dust" and chips are flying all over the place.  Keep in mind, Fina does not exactly like me to cook.  In fact, she has never let me.  I think she thinks I am just incapable of everything.  I get out a pan and begin heating up some blessed olive oil, just oh so thankful for its return into the household.  I grab an egg from the refrigerator and realize we are out of milk, go figure.  Press on!  I crack an egg... beat it up really good.  Upon opening the spice cabinet I realize that this may be a little trickier without the right supplies.  I usually like to make french toast with vanilla, cinnamon (sometimes nutmeg), a little maple syrup, sugar, milk, and eggs.  Here is what I managed to find: cinnamon (unopened, but not for long), brown sugar, white sugar, and honey.  Well close enough right?  So I mix up my concoction and begin soaking the break in it.  Perfect timing, the oil is ready.  Cooked those bad boys up... sprinkled a little sugar on top for good measure and walaaaa! Wonderful breakfast and a little taste of home.  I then opened the kitchen window, turned on the cooking fan and cleaned every single utensil, pan, bowl and plate the I used.  The sweet smell of french toast still linger, but oh well!

My morning continued to be wonderful far beyond my hearty breakfast.  I stayed in my pjs and unwashed.  I brought my laptop into the living room and sat in FINA'S CHAIR (a greenish recliner that she spends all of her time in watching law and order or awful Spanish game shows in) watching first flipper and then Will and Grace in Spanish while writing my Spanish Civil War term paper.  Don't worry mom, I DID get a lot of my paper done.  I think the Spanish TV shows helped get my Spanish thoughts flowing or something.

It is only noon and my day has already shaped up to be a great success.  Oh, also, I am going to a lunch party with some people from the Barcelona International Cooking Club.  It should be delicious, however, I am concerned about the host... from his posts on couchsurfing.com he seems like he might be a little stuck up.  Veremos!