Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts

Sunday, August 24, 2014

visitors


It all worked out rather well.  For sleeping arrangements Dad took the bed in the tent, Peter joined me in Percy.  I continued with my meals as planned to compliments from all sides, I quite surprised myself with how tasty and interesting some of the meals were, my exploration of sprouted seeds was in full swing and the garden had started to provide quite bountifully.  Cucumbers, courgettes, green and yellow beans, spinach, swiss chard, the occasional beetroot leaves, lettuce, nasturtium leaves and flowers, even a few tomatoes - despite the blight, all made their way to the table.  A few plums remained on one of the trees after a ferocious storm and a neighbour kindly offered me a bag of Mirabelle, a tiny plum like fruit the size of a cherry, sweet and juicy, we ate them whole, spitting the tiny stones out wherever.  Perhaps I should have planted them, maybe next year when life is a little more organised.

I supplemented garden supplies with frequent trips to the local markets, a good opportunity to get out and about to see the surroundings and show off the area that I have decided to make my home for the forseeable future.  Both were suitable impressed even though the weather was unseasonable cold and cloudy.  The old folk of the village can’t recall a summer so cold or wet in living memory, usually by now the fields and lawns are parched and brown and the gardens watered every day.  I haven’t touched my hosepipe in over three weeks and the countryside is as lush and green as Devon or west Wales would be at this time of year.  

My guests and I experienced an impressive storm one night.  The wind howled, the rain came lashing down, the trees thrashing about and the van rocking violently for several hours.  Life in the tent was reportedly noisy to say the least with rain, twigs and leaves falling on the canvas and the wind billowing and buffeting the structure.  In the morning Dad emerged from his internal cocoon unscathed, the weather calmed and we continued none the worse.  Two neighbours appeared during the morning, concerned that we had been blown away and offering alternative accommodation should it be required.

surprise visit


I arrived at Toulouse early to do some shopping and do a bit of scavanging.  I needed pallets to sort the wood for the new build onto and to keep it dry whilst it was being built.  I was lucky and fair filled the van with nearly as many as I could, something stopped me from filling the back completely, though I was close to doing so.  I reached the airport to collect Peter in good time, the plane was slightly delayed, so I had time to park up and go inside to meet him.  He was waiting for his luggage and suggested that he catch up with me in the car park so as to minimise the time that I waited.  As he was arranging his luggage in the back of the van I prepared to head off, conscious that I was in a limited parking zone and every minute counted.  As he started to close the door, a voice asked “Room for another one?”  I swung round to see who it was, half recognising the voice, to see my Dad standing there with a big grin on his face.  Momentarily I was mortified.  How was it going to work?  Where was he going to sleep?  How was he going to cope with my minimal lifestyle?  (No electricity, no hot water, no proper toilet, no real facilities?) I was stressed enough as it was with the preparations for receiving my brother, let alone an 85 year old.  I forced the practicalities and logistics out of my mind and focussed on the fact that my father was there, completely unannounced and it was wonderful to see him.  I had planned to be a bit further on before he visited, but from that moment I had no choice, he was there and was coming with us.  I was dumbstruck as we left the airport, trying to make conversation, whilst my mind raced on what changes I would have to make and wondering how the next ten days were to pan out. My neighbours had offered a room. There was a B & B just down the road, I wondered if they had a room and how much it would cost.  What would my Dad do every day?  Would I have chance to really spend time with my brother?  Would he be comfortable? warm enough? cool enough? How would my alternative (nearing vegan) diet be appreciated? Would he manage with the terrain? Could we still manage the trips I had planned?  My mind whirred with a thousand questions whilst on the surface I tried to chat about the journey, how the flight was, and what had been going on since we had last spoken.

Peter sat in the back, almost squashed by pallets, relishing every moment.  I had surprised him several times in the past with unannounced visits and this was payback time.  There he was, in view via the rear view mirror, watching as I came to terms with this new arrangement finding it all rather amusing.  I negotiated the urban motorway system out of Toulouse without fault, my mind going nineteen to the dozen, pointing out things that might be interesting, trying to plan ahead, deciding what to do.  We journeyed back to Vieuzos stopping en route to do a bit of last minute shopping, disappointingly there was no view of the mountains, just a band of hazy cloud in the distance.  They had no idea how spectacular that view could be.  Something they would hopefully discover on a clearer day.

Sunday, November 03, 2013

memories of portugal

I couldn't capture the brilliant, star filled night skies

or the absolute silence of the valley

but these are a few of the views that I did....


sunset from the hills

a whole ear of corn sprouting after a shower of rain

container gardening with a difference

the local village to my brothers house

Me, Dad and Windy (Peter)

the river beach at Açor

reflections