Time Out

On October 29 our family marked our first full year in South America.

Then, in early December, we marked the anniversary of our team being complete in-country!

Being a celebratory kind of occasion, we decided that all 20 of us (and 4 extras, in the shape of visiting Grandparents) would do something special together: make a day-trip to Isla Gorriti (Gorriti Island), just off the coast of Punta del Este and Maldonado, in the wide Atlantic mouth of the Rio de la Plata.

We met at the pier in Punta del Este, purchased our tickets for passage on the shuttle boat, and climbed aboard. 

The boat was full with the two-member crew, a young couple out for a day trip, and our 24, with all our picnic gear of coolers, baskets, beach umbrellas, lawn chairs, and all the other paraphernalia needed for the day.

 

 

The water was calm on the way across, and the children and adults alike enjoyed taking in the beautiful morning view of the coastline which is our home, as well as looking ahead to the island where we would spend the day.

 

 

Stepping off the boat and walking onto the island felt a little bit surreal, and not just because we had to regain our land-legs. Everything about this island seemed bigger than life:

There were the over-sized palms, so large they made My Girl look like a doll.

And pile after heaping pile of mussel shells along the pathway, waiting for visitors to crush them into powder.

But maybe it was just that I was having trouble believing we were really here, where the colours were so vibrant, the sky so clear, finally having a day completely away from responsibilities and commitments. In the 13 1/2 months of living here, our family has really only had three or four days away from everything - some of those being half-days, just going to the beach, two being day-trips to see some local sights. This day away with the team was one we were going to savour from start to finish!

It didn't take long for us to walk to the other side of the island and stake our portion of the beach. It isn't quite summer yet, so the tourist season hasn't begun, and thus we had the beach practically to ourselves, with occasional couples and small groups finding their own places as the hourly shuttle boat brought them across.

Once we had our place, it was a matter of mere minutes before the shape of the day began to reveal itself: 

Some settled in to shady places, natural or man-made, where they could enjoy the view. 

 

 

Others planted themselves in full sun, ready to run, play, swim, and sweat!

Just before noon we started unpacking the picnic lunches each family had packed. Ham and cheese rolls with fresh tomatoes, fried chicken, potato salad, broccoli salad, cinnamon rolls, chocolate cake, a variety of fruits, just to name a portion of what was offered. The tables, blankets, and plates were laden with good things! 

(Not many pictures of picnic time - we were too busy enjoying the flavours and chasing away a stray dog that wanted my chicken bones!)

 

Lunch was followed by some heading off to explore, others enjoying the quiet of the beach.

Our family went exploring together with two team-mates. Right away my Dear Man decided to pour out the energy, and used the shell piles as hurdles, sprinting down the entire path. (His motto: If you're not sweating, you're not having fun.)

As we continued on our way to find the battlement ruins we'd been told about, we walked through this lovely arched pathway. I'm sure Anne Shirley would have been able to think of a most fitting name for this!

And then, exploring the stone battlement remains.

 

We had a leisurely walk back to our picnic site, gathering shells, admiring the view. Okay, maybe for some the walk wasn't as leisurely as for others. See that little speck on the sand in the distance? That's Brown-Eyed Boy, racing ahead in search of adventure.

 

The return shuttles ran every hour on the quarter hour, and by the time we were finished exploring it was 25 minutes until the second-last sailing. Some decided to catch that departure, but our family chose not to rush, and to enjoy the peace and beauty for a little bit longer. We had plenty of time to pack up, continue visiting, walk to the dock on the other side of the island, and even managed to catch a few more pictures.

The water was much rougher on the way home, making it difficult to board and causing several of us to be quite soggy by the time we tied onto the pier at Punta del Este. The sun was still doing its thing, though, it being not even 4:45pm, and we dried quickly.

On the drive from Punta del Este, which is east of Maldonado to our home which is on the far west side of Maldonado, our car started overheating. We had planned to stop at the grocery store on the way home and buy a tub of ice cream (a once-in-a-while treat here, because it's so expensive) and play a game together, but now we weren't even going to make it home. Ed noticed the overheating in time to get us pulled over, and we walked a block to a gas station, bought icecream bars (an even rarer treat!), walked another block and ate our ice cream on the beach while the car cooled down.

From our little perch on a bit of a boardwalk we were able to look out across at the Island where we'd spent the day.  Everything comes full circle!

(Did you notice Brown-Eyed Boy in the foreground with his ice cream sandwich?)

What a wonderful day we had, celebrating with our team, our family. Celebrating a year here, a year together, a year of beginning to belong in this new land. Thank You, Lord!

::

And the car? It went into the shop on the following Monday, and so far we still don't have it back - maybe mañana.

Square-Foot Gardening

This year we started our first foray into "Square-Foot Gardening". (I suppose that here in South America it should be called "Square-Metre Gardening", but that just doesn't roll off the tongue as well.)

Following a good friend's suggestion, I had foregone purchasing a book (gulp) about the process and had instead visited the Square Foot Gardening website, read through all the info, and made my plan. Then I had to pull out my dictionary - the Spanish-English dictionary, that is - and look up all the words I might possibly need before making the trip to the vivero. I looked up 'peat moss', 'compost', 'soil', 'vermiculite', 'moisture-retention', 'weed-barrier', and so much more, jotting the words down in the little notebook I keep in my purse for vocabulary, braced myself with a dozen or more deep breaths, and off I went.

I walked through the entire store first, hoping to just find the things I was looking for without too much difficulty. And for the most part I was successful. I found the peat moss, compost, and garden soil, but still I needed help with choosing which variety of those would be best to purchase. The woman working the counter was helpful, allowing for my halting Spanish as I tried to explain what I needed, and guided me to the right items, telling me prices, too, since many things didn't have prices on them.

I got out my pen and turned my vocabulary list into a price list so I could report back to my Dear Man before purchasing.  Costs approved, we made our purchases a couple of days later.

My bale of peat moss - turba - We almost didn't go through with the project because of the cost of this one item.

My Dear Man had already constructed the ground-level frames we were going to use, so  now the whole family was ready to set to work.

Brown-Eyed Boy helps me lay the weed-barrier.

Two planters ready for the triple-mix.

Brown-Eyed Boy and Little Man mixing up the triple mix. (We altered the proportions slightly because of the cost of the turba, but it should be okay, don't you think?)

One planter filled with triple-mix under the approving eyes of our neighbours' dogs, Linda and Pongo.

(See the lemon on the right? A bumper crop of lemons on the tree this spring, then our landlord pruned it and it'll be a while before the new fruit is ready to pick!)

The first planter was string-divided into 9 sections, each roughly (you guessed it) one square foot in area. Each of the children was given a row of three sections to plant as they chose. All three went for plantas de frutilla (strawberry), and girasol (sunflower) for two sections, and their third sections were zanahorias (carrots), marones (peppers), and lechuga (lettuce). The seeds went in a couple of days after the planter was ready.

All of us were eager to see what would come up, and how quickly. With the exception of the frutillas, all were started from seeds, and we hoped that, living here where there are no pesky squirrels, we might have some nice results with the girasoles (unlike the attempt that My Girl and I made at 'building' a sunflower house several years ago).

Sadly, however, the leaf-cutter ants quickly discovered this new food source, and completely wiped out the leaves and buds from the frutillas as well as the early sprouts of the girasol in Brown-Eyed Boy's center square.

Early sprouts

Frutilla - a great harvest crop... for the leaf-cutter ants

See how those nasty ants have completely removed the leaves from the ends of the stalks, not to mention chewing away some of the stalks themselves? Nasty ants.

We decided that we weren't going to take the ant-attack lying down and went to the store to find ant killer of any kind, as long as it was POWERFUL! The single treatment we gave did the trick, and we haven't had such an attack since.

The frutillas made a come-back, and the later girasol sprouts not only survived, but thrived, although only in two sections; My Girl's girasol square is still completely empty as a continual reminder of the sad day when the ants were discovered.

All the initial prep and planting was done September 10 and 11, with the early sprouts and ant attack occurring in early October. Since then I've also planted my own planter with peppers, carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce, and the kids have added peppers, carrots, and lettuce (I think!) to theirs, filling in open sections where plants didn't come up.

Here's the progress so far:

Two tall sunflowers - the one on the left is Little Man's, the one in the centre section is Brown-Eyed Boy's. Behind them you can see the strawberry plants filling out nicely - all three of them!

My planter

 

A couple of pale berries that will be candidates for picking very soon!

Brown-Eyed Boy has been the most diligent of all three children in terms of watering, although even his efforts have been sporadic. We don't have a watering can, so we're using one of the plastic pots with holes in the bottom that the flowers from our front garden came in, which involves making multiple trips to the tap in order to water both planters. 

We hope to see some nice growth from the new sprouts (photos to come later) in the other crops, and to be able to pull fresh carrots, lettuce, peppers and tomatoes from the garden soon.

Nature Journal Drawings of the Rufous Hornero (Red Ovenbird)

After finding the nest in our neighbourhood, we did illustrations of the Rufous Hornero using one of our favourite art tools for nature illustrations: watercolour pencil crayons. (We also use watercolour crayons, for a slightly different effect.) There are times when using watercolour paints works well, but for ease, and a bit more control, the pencil crayons are a hit with our family.

Brown-Eyed Boy's

My Girl's

Little Man's

Mine

Rufous Hornero

There have been many new things to see since our move to South America, and that's been a big part of the adventure. Practically every day we see something that lives or grows here that we haven't seen in Canada, and, bit by bit, with the aid of our guidebooks and our friends and neighbours, they're becoming familiar.

One of the first things we noticed was the Rufous Hornero, or Red Ovenbird. We spent some time in our Nature Study looking at the birds, locating their nests, and reading about them online.

We knew we had seen many nests in our neighbourhood, but once we actually set out to draw one, we realized how hard they are to find. The Ovenbirds build their nests on top of things: fenceposts, light poles, tall trees, or anything else they can find. And so we walked around the neighbourhood, looking up, carrying our notebooks and pencils. Looking, always looking.

Finally we spotted one after walking about five blocks. It was high atop a telephone pole, with the 'door' facing away from us.  Here's a glimpse of each of our perspectives on what we saw:

Brown-Eyed Boy's

My Girl's

Little Man's

Mine

The Red Ovenbird builds a very unique nest, and our neighbour, knowing how much we enjoy Nature Study, sent us this slideshow of a pair of Ovenbirds constructing a nest.  (You might need to allow a moment after the link opens to let the photos load into the slideshow. Be paitent, it won't take long!)

In order to make the slideshow small enough to share on Google Docs I had to remove a couple of the slides, but I think I chose carefully enough not to have lost the flow of the process. I don't know who put together the original slideshow, but if anyone knows, I'd be pleased to hear from you so I can credit the owner of the photos. 

Did you notice, at the end, the way the door is kind of angled into the nest? That's a protection against predators (and weather?), offering more security inside the nest. The whole 'plastering' process looks quite involved, and the nests are very tidy when complete. I'm not sure how long it takes to build a nest.

That day out we didn't actually see an ovenbird, but we've since seen many, and I'll let you see our drawings of them soon.

Longing For Home

Home. It is more than location.

I'm thinking of home these days past, wondering where it really is. 

Home is where my family is. My Dear Man, who is so dedicated to all of us. My Girl, who is now becoming a young woman with independent thoughts and maturing outlooks. Little Man, not so little, but still unaware of so much. And Brown Eyed Boy, whose charming nose crinkles make my heart glow.

Not just them, though. 

My parents, far, far away. Wherever they are is also home. In their familiar presence, with their familiar love.

My sisters, my brother. They, also, make home for me. Memories come when I'm with them more than when I'm in a specific place.

Home is where I share history with those around me. Friends. Neighbours. Brothers and sisters in Christ. Those who know me and love me anyway. Those whose presence makes me smile. Those who will embrace me when I need it, and not just when I ask for it. With those ones, too, is home.

A nomadic upbringing, never living more than five years in one location, having seven homes in four different provinces by the time I was 18. And another eight homes in the first 12 years of my marriage. Is it any wonder that 'home' isn't a place?

::

When I think of 'home', I think of this line from Steve Bell's song "Home" on his "Simple Songs" album.

"Home is anywhere He leads me."

 It's true. Anywhere with Jesus is home for me. And if I'm where He is leading me, there's no better place to be. 

::

You can listen to a short sample of that song. Click the link, scroll down, and click the play arrow beside "Home".

My Best Isn't What I Want It To Be

Every time one of my children has a birthday, I imagine the birthday cake I'm going to make, and it's lovely.

Then I make it, and it isn't.

Oh, the cakes are usually okay, but they aren't lovely. Sometimes they aren't even special. They're just cakes.

This year I stepped toward My Girl's 15th, I knew my weakness. I wasn't going to make anything special, just a cake.

And slowly I got sucked into the same spiral: I started looking for a recipe (because my traditional carrot cake with cream cheese icing doesn't work quite as well here as it does in Canada). And I found one. And it was more than a recipe. It was inspiration.

Six layers of rich dark chocolate filled with luscious Swiss meringue butter cream icing, and covered, top and sides, with thick ruffles of the same icing. Beautiful.

I knew there was no way I was going to make it look like the picture, but I thought I could still make it good.

So I started baking. Borrowing pans to make all those layers. Googling icing recipes, since the Swiss meringue buttercream wasn't really an option.

And the layers were beautiful, but there was no way there were going to be six of them.  All my baking resulted in four layers, but at the time of assembly, one suffered a sad fate, and I was left with three. Still, three layers of wonderfully moist rich dark chocolate cake? Not too bad.

And then, once the icing was over the cake, it didn't look nearly as wonderful as it was meant to.  And I was, once again, disappointed.

Why do I set myself up for this? Every year I think it will be different. And every year it's the same: high hopes which, like my fourth layer of cake, suffer a sad fate.

This cake was supposed to be different. I wanted it to be different. My Girl's 15th was going to be special, even if it wasn't a traditional South American 15th. And I'd hung my hopes on the cake.

A bit of consulting with my friends started me thinking about chocolate ganache. One of my friends came over and walked me through the surprisingly simple process of making the exotic-sounding ganache, and the transformation had begun. A bit more advice, four women in my kitchen, all embellishments considered, and the transformation was complete.

No longer a sad, slightly lumpily iced cake.

This was now a treasure.

This was the cake I'd waited my whole life to make.

Sure there were imperfections. Lumps beneath the ganache don't simply disappear. Slightly slanted layers from a slightly non-level oven can't be magically made symmetrical.  

But that's okay. I don't even mind. 

I love this cake. 

I love it for what it represents:

My Girl; team-work; restoration; hope; beauty out of what was considered lost; my imperfect-best made more lovely by those in my life.

Happy Birthday!

I am a mother.  And the child who gave me that role is a young woman, blossoming and stretching to fill the place the Lord has given her.

How does a mother describe her first born child? What words would capture that one's place in a mother-heart and still be believable to those who listen?

This woman-child, this gift from Above, this precious life-filled daughter of mine turns 15 today. Fifteen. Can it be? So soon? And at the same time, only fifteen? Her influence on me has permeated all of who I am, and to realize that it has really only been fifteen years, just over a third of my life, that I've shared with her fills me with amazement.

I was challenged in choosing how to address this, her birthday, in writing. Because it is about her. But it's also about me. Our lives are intertwined in a precious way, and as she grows and matures and prepares for adulthood, our lives will continue to twine together. The twining will just look different than it did as a child.

She is My Girl, the one who brought me a new identity fifteen years ago, who continues to shape my life and my dreams, who is becoming a friend and companion. More than that, though, she is His girl, and He is the One shaping her life.