Growing up, dirt was under my nails, on my hands and knees and usually behind my ears (for the potatoes to grow). In the summer, I woke every week day to my Grandma and Grandpa in the garden, their car in the driveway with the trunk open full of hoes and rakes for the garden, and always a couple canes poles for when we needed a break in the shade by the pond to fish. I always raced out of bed, grabbed a running breakfast and joined them for hours of learning and quality time. My grandpa carried a salt shaker in his pocket in the summer, to garnish the vegetables he picked straight from the garden to snack on. He made eating a fresh tomato look so perfect... I found it much less appetizing until only recently, now enjoying the Mediterranean as an adult with changed taste buds.
We stopped along country roads in the summer to pick blackberries, dewberries and his special hidden grove of sweet tiny plums, pears and apples, not to mention the many apples, grapes, raspberries and cherries in our own farm yard. While money was not of abundance, we were NEVER hungry, growing most of our own food or raising animals for eating. In the springtime we hunted wild mushrooms and caught fish and turtles. In the summer, we hunted squirrels and fished for hours for bluegill by day or catfish by night. Fall brought bird hunting season, with our dogs and family coming to make a day of it. In the winter, we trapped furs for extra money. We learned early in life how to provide for ourselves and live from the wonderful and fertile land surrounding us. Loving animals, baby raccoons, squirrels and all the farm animals were instilled in us from our first breathes. While we also relied on animals for food, we were taught love and respect as well. We never took more than we needed and loved and cared for each animal until it was time for them to feed us. Learning to turn emotions on and off was hard, but necessary, though we also had special pets who lived to ripe old age.
When Chris got offered the Foreign Service job now nearly 5 years ago, Ceiba was very small. Yet even then, the thought of her not enjoying the upbringing I had been afforded made me sad. I wanted our children to run barefoot in the grass, skipping over cow pies and jumping streams, swimming in muddy ponds and fishing for hours, seeing babies chicks hatch and calves be born, using a dip net better than a tennis racket and loving their childhood. I wanted to be the one to teach them those things.
So though the farm I was raised and those who raised me are gone, though we don't live in a cornfield or have a creek in our backyard, we have improvised. While in Bangladesh, though we were in a flat with not a blade of grass, we gardened on the roof and enjoyed daily trips to pick vegetables or papayas, herbs and chili peppers and cut fresh flowers. Giant flying fox bats would dip by the roof at night, dwarfing even more the tiny bats and hawks who hung out nearby. Mangos next door tempted us all summer. And trips to the villages offered the chance to see the amazing citrus, pomelos and mangoes in abundance outside of Dhaka.
Now in Malta, we have tended the tiny garden of flowers and select herbs/vegetables. The girls have a resident locust in the backyard and the front garden, who they pet every day. We love our rolly pollies and to watch the bats fly over the pool at night. We've added a tiny bowl water garden in the shady center garden, enjoying the goldfish who waddly swim around inside.
We've also had the great opportunity to visit other local farms, meeting wonderful people!
Gardening is such a large part of me, it has been my joy and the remedy to cure sorrows over and over. It brings me such satisfaction from growing life and offers me peace like few things in this world. Teaching this to the girls is priceless.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
It was no surprise that we drew attention when we moved into our sleepy little village. Obviously, small towns are (im)famous for gossip, but here I never feel we are gossiped about so much as we are just unusual. Chris jokes that I look American... my (au so naturale) blonde hair and style not becoming of the local Mediterranean so-genetically-sexy-that-you-can't-help-but-oogle-at-them. We look not Maltese. And standing at the bus stop with a pretty little Mayan Guatemalan and a perky little toddler, generally in a tutu and rain boots, is not the norm around here.
But the receiving we have gotten here makes my heart smile. We feel so at home and genuinely welcomed here. Yes, I have a habit of making small talk in an elevator, the airport, the playground, the bus stop with strangers, and here is no different. We enjoy being friendly, and the girlies are no different. They are not generally shy or be seen not heard children. We have learned to make the most of a place and make friends fast, as soon we'll be POOF again.
This morning, we met and chatted with the neighbors' contractor, who has one of his men knock on our car nearly every morning between 6AM and 8AM to move on of our car parked where a crane or a cement truck or a stone mason or someone would like to park. He went on about loving Americans and dreaming to go to America one day. After Ceiba got on the bus, Avocet and I walked some banana bread over to the crew for a morning snack. We had overmade for a funeral this week and thought they'd enjoy the bread (more than my butt needed it). Smiles all around and just happy conversation. Now the 0600 moving of our car might be a little more cheery all around.
Then no sooner did we turn to meet our water truck delivery man, when another little man neighbor starting talking flowers with me and invited us to view his garden. I LOVE TO SEE GARDENS and traditional Maltese homes. So after the water man was finished, Ceti and I teetered over to his man getaway (he actually lives with his wife a town over, but keeps this as a daily retreat as he is retired).
My mouth may have hung open as my eyes feasted on the old stone, flowers everywhere and feeling like we walked into a 1920s war movie. Time stopped here in his garden. Just a celler, the center garden and 3 little rooms existed, but they were perfect, just as I envisioned as I occasionally peeked through cracks in the doors on walks around town. Avocet dove into beds and couches, asked for the tv to come on, bounced down stairs, marveled at his pair of singing canaries and flirted with Mr. Alfred all morning. Bliss.
He insisted we take some potatoes from his farm, just down the road, inviting us to come with the girls soon to see and play. Invite me to any local home, and I am there with bells on!! He said when the peaches come in season, we'll go with the girls to pick fruit. He carried the potatoes in for us, very grandfatherly and toured our garden as well. Pumpkins muffins were forced upon him, as I'd just given our banana bread to the construction men. He...was...wonderful! So warm, like we'd known him for years. Laughing with Ceti and offering multiple times to call him "for anything you need, ta?". We talked of families and offered to please have his granddaughter come swim with the girls this summer. Hugging goodbye, and kisses blown from Ceti, we bid him thanks and a good day. These moments are the best part of living here... feeling so welcomed and seeing the beautiful Maltese as friends.
My blog is definitely becoming more of a photo journal vs actual information, but in the limited time I have, if I don't at least post pics, I won't post anything.