One spring my husband and I traveled to the Black Forest to attend a family reunion.
Two days later, after things had settled down and relatives had dispersed, my husband took me on a romantic day trip to a cluster of tiny farming villages. We visited adorable “barns” that welcomed passersby to enter and explore. Beautifully finished wooden tables and shelves contained homemade knickknacks, soap, jam, honey, cheese, milk, and eggs… Everything was “self-serve,” employing the honor system. (Even homemade ice-cream in small freezers were available; of course we had to support such a worthy effort!)
Our final destination was Rietheim (a village in Villingen-Schwenningen). We hiked past fields of grain until we reached a forest whose border was framed by a beautiful chapel named “Judas-Thaddaeus-Kapell,” or Jude Thaddeus the Apostle Chapel.
Wandering the forest’s perimeter, we visited a Celtic Burial Ground (Magdalenenberg).
We were above the surrounding hills, and the wind was becoming feisty. Eventually, we had to yell to have any chance of being heard.
Hiking back to the chapel, we stopped to recline on a giant S-shaped, wood-ribbed “sun lounger” that had been placed there for visitors to properly take in the mountains, fields, and forest by simply spinning the lounger around, lazy-Susan style.
The presence of this “Sonnenliege” seemed immensely comical in the presence of such withering cold and wind at the top of this hill. So, we naturally pretended lying on it was a wholly appropriate activity. I had just plucked a reed from the edge of a farmer’s field (a mere meter from the lounger) and held it up to better study its details.
Behind the reed, the fields of grain swayed back and forth. I took in the clumps of burgundy-tipped berries; the snaking trail we had traveled to reach this view; the sky above; the city line that served to divide heaven from the fields.
All these elements provided the perfect background for this graceful little plant.
It had been a perfect day, filled with much to appreciate and someone special who’d gifted them to me, knowing I would enjoy them all. Then I’d even been granted the perfect souvenir, delivered to our personal “throne” at the top of this windy mountain: Reed Canarygrass: hay for the cows that made the milk… that made the homemade ice-cream we’d eaten.
This beautiful view was, for me, a full circle of happiness.
One spring my husband and I traveled to the Black Forest to attend a family reunion.
Two days later, after things had settled down and relatives had dispersed, my husband took me on a romantic day trip to a cluster of tiny farming villages. We visited adorable “barns” that welcomed passersby to enter and explore. Beautifully finished wooden tables and shelves contained homemade knickknacks, soap, jam, honey, cheese, milk, and eggs… Everything was “self-serve,” employing the honor system. (Even homemade ice-cream in small freezers were available; of course we had to support such a worthy effort!)
Our final destination was Rietheim (a village in Villingen-Schwenningen). We hiked past fields of grain until we reached a forest whose border was framed by a beautiful chapel named “Judas-Thaddaeus-Kapell,” or Jude Thaddeus the Apostle Chapel.
Wandering the forest’s perimeter, we visited a Celtic Burial Ground (Magdalenenberg).
We were above the surrounding hills, and the wind was becoming feisty. Eventually, we had to yell to have any chance of being heard.
Hiking back to the chapel, we stopped to recline on a giant S-shaped, wood-ribbed “sun lounger” that had been placed there for visitors to properly take in the mountains, fields, and forest by simply spinning the lounger around, lazy-Susan style.
The presence of this “Sonnenliege” seemed immensely comical in the presence of such withering cold and wind at the top of this hill. So, we naturally pretended lying on it was a wholly appropriate activity. I had just plucked a reed from the edge of a farmer’s field (a mere meter from the lounger) and held it up to better study its details.
Behind the reed, the fields of grain swayed back and forth. I took in the clumps of burgundy-tipped berries; the snaking trail we had traveled to reach this view; the sky above; the city line that served to divide heaven from the fields.
All these elements provided the perfect background for this graceful little plant.
It had been a perfect day, filled with much to appreciate and someone special who’d gifted them to me, knowing I would enjoy them all. Then I’d even been granted the perfect souvenir, delivered to our personal “throne” at the top of this windy mountain: Reed Canarygrass: hay for the cows that made the milk… that made the homemade ice-cream we’d eaten.
This beautiful view was, for me, a full circle of happiness.
