One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato, Four . . .

Last year, Miguel (our neighbor with the sheep) asked if he could use the lower half of our field to plant some potatoes. We said, "Sure!" We don't use it, and all our neighbors give us of their bounty. It seems the very least we can do. So, in spring and summer, on separate trips (due to our ailing, aged dog who needed tending at home), we saw ruffled rows of green leaves in what formerly had been a weed patch. Other neighbors told us the woman who lived here before us grew enormous tomatoes in that field. Still, imagine our surprise when the field yielded potatoes like this!

About two weeks ago, we looked out our galeria window and saw Antonio, Maria Elena, and Miguel, all working together to harvest the potatoes.

 Antonio was using his tractor. (Neighbors help each other out here; we often see Miguel at Antonio's farm, helping to plant or harvest, depending on the season.) Miguel is on flatbed in the picture below. And the last picture shows what the eventual harvest looked like. All this from such a small field. They obviously know what they are doing. When they saw us watching, Miguel hopped down and loaded up a sack of giant potatoes for us, and we've been eating them ever since.

This coming week-end will be the grape harvest, or vendimia, for our village. The week-end varies from village to village, depending on a variety of factors. (Our English friends in Canabal have been growing grapes, and they harvested theirs a week ago.) As with the potatoes, friends and neighbors help each other out. All of them will make their own wine and store it in vats in their bodegas.

What starts out looking like this:







Ends up looking like this:

The first time Miguel brought us a two-liter coke bottle filled to the brim, we thanked him, but after he left, we wondered how to ever tell him that we don't drink Coca Cola? Then we noticed: that coke looked a little purplish. We unscrewed the cap, and, sure enough, it was a generous helping of his home-made wine. The home-made wine here is really "table wine". It's a bit on the tart side, but tasty enough, and it has a very low alchohol content, probably around 6% or 7% -- low enough that locals drink a hearty portion with their lunch or dinner or afternoon meriendas (snacks).

On another note, this trip we've been blessed with wonderful, sunny weather. On most trips in spring or fall, it rains at least once a day, all the colors glistening in the rain. But this time, we've been met with blue, cloudless skies and lush green fields and wooded hills. Although this week we've gone from this:

To this:

  Still, I find it beautiful. The mist and fog always make me turn to poetry. To me, this is Galicia at it's most beautiful.

What about you? Do you like sunshine best, or fog and mist? What weather most brings out the writer or photographer in you?

From Imagos to Vendimias and Burras

The Campaign and a cold have bumped my blogging a little on this trip. (So many entries, so little time to read them!) It’s been quite a pleasure clicking around, seeing the various takes on Rachael’s challenge. The stories and poems have been truly impressive. (I will never look at any of those challenge words the same way again!) And one good thing about a cold is that it gives you permission to loll around and read books loaned by friends. 

Meanwhile, life moves on in Galicia. Our neighbors finished their vendimia (grape harvest) Saturday. It was a two day process, as the grapes have been plentiful this year. Friends and relatives pitch in with one person's harvest, and then it's reciprocal. After Saturday's vendimia, quite a few gathered at the bench at day’s end, pleased to be done with the picking. I could understand some of what they said, but we are learning Castiliano. When our neighbors get together, they lapse into Gallego, a language similar to both Castiliano and Portuguese. I could pick up bits of vocabulary I knew: “grapes”, “yet”, “field”, “town”,  "tractor", etc. But it’s always a pleasure just to listen to the musical rise and fall of their voices, their good-hearted laughter; to watch their mobile expressions, their gesticulations. And they have a way of making you part of the gathering from time to time with a sweeping glance, an arm pat, or by throwing out a question they know you can answer.

This has been one of our warmest trips. (We come in spring and fall.) Evenings and mornings are temperate, when normally they would be quite cool during this season. Days are downright hot. We’ve had to use a floor fan for long periods. There was only one day when we had a bit of rain. And the flies and mosquitoes, alas, are plentiful. I have a fly swatter on a hook in every room, and at night we leave a small lamp on to keep the mosquitos away.

Earlier last week we went with friends to a beautiful coastal town called Baiona, a bay town on the Atlantic coast (farther south than Fisterra, where we went during our spring trip.) Baiona has an interesting “old town” with stone columns supporting walkways under 2nd stories, colorful tiled walls, a stone church full of carved saints, narrow cobbled streets at angles. Cafés overlook the sandy beach and tde wall across the road and the colorful fishing boats beyond. Several islands dot the pale blue waters. On the southern curve of the bay an old castle has been transformed into a parador with a hotel and restaurants. The main building, the part with hotel rooms, looks modern, but there is still the ancient tower and a crenelated wall surrounding gardens lush with red and orange lantana and angel trumpet bushes. It was an all day trip and we finished up with a late dinner at our friends’ house, getting home around 2:00 a.m.

Usually we rise around 6:30 or 7:00 (when it’s still dark then in these parts). But after late nights, we sleep later and are wakened by Miguel’s burra from one of his outbuildings across the lane, hee-hawing for her breakfast. When we first started coming here, Miguel kept his sheep in the building and we would wake to their pitiful bleating. This year he’s moved them to another outbuilding to make room for the donkey. She’s a beautiful creature; deep gray with a black mane, a thin black line down her spine, and a black stripe down each shoulder. And, I must say, a sweet expression on her long face.  

Meanwhile, we've been visiting friends and having friends over for Indian food, and a week and a half ago we took in the local fiesta in Toiriz:: I’ll write about that later, as well as another fiesta we are going to in Lugo this Sunday, since fiestas deserve their own posts.

I am sorry to say we haven't downloaded any pictures from this trip yet. The two pictures above are from previous trips, one of the burra, and one of an early stage of our neighbors' winemaking process a couple of years ago, after the grapes were all picked. Meanwhile, today they are all pruning the vines to get ready for next year. 

More to come, so stay tuned.  Hasta entonces, and ciao for now.