Tag Archives: milk

On a walk – a tidbit from a few years ago

2 Replies

In anticipation of a green spring to come…

I’m a bit lethargic today as sleep was disrupted last night once again by the unsolicited delivery of a stuffed toy mouse, courtesy of my cat Calvin, and thus I slept in longer than usual. I decide on a walk to shake of the remaining sleepiness, and as I’m out of milk at the apartment a stop at the grocery store seems in order too. Moo juice is still one of my favorite drinks, and is held in high regard by my cat too.

Walking under the sprawling branches of the old ginkgo trees near the library which by now all have their distinctly shaped green leaves of spring again, I can see why Goethe loved the ginkgo tree so and why he wrote his famous poem to celebrate it.

Interestingly enough Goethe omitted the letter k from the word Ginkgo in the first draft of his poem as he thought it sounded too harsh. A different era.

Coming back from the store, I opt to walk through one of the many alleys that criss-cross Benicia, rather than trudging down the main street. Next to a tall fence that obscures the view of the lot behind it, something catches my eye: some stacked firewood at the bottom of the fence and a sign up above said same that reads “Stop taking my wood!” Below this stern warning posted by the wood’s owner, the miscreant apparently guilty of this wood theft infraction has posted a response:  “Then why is the wood piled up outside the fence? – signed – the wood chuck”. Apparently a woodchuck with a sense of humor, although perhaps with a more than questionable sense of property rights I muse, continuing my walk.

Milk and Butter

Leave a reply

I climb up the steps to the alley to walk to the supermarket. I really like walking through the alley. Its quiet, with almost never a car, only the occasional “blue monster” (the garbage truck) in the early morning usually — My cat Calvin’s arch-enemy. Trees line both sides, and often a sumptuous surprise, such as a lemon, may be found on the ground. Having walked a few blocks, I hear some rhythmic tapping coming from between some fence boards, My interest is piqued, and I look through a small opening between two fences to see a girl tapping on a bucket. She is so completely immersed in her activity, that she is oblivious to me. After watching and listening a bit, I start to clap my hands in the same rhythm. Stopping momentarily, she turns to look at me, surprised and with a smile. An orchestra in the making here. I wave to her, as I walk on.

In the next block, I admire a huge old tree with enormous leaves. I would guess the leaves to be as big as dinner plates, with half of them covering the ground already. It is like standing under a huge umbrella. Fall is in the air, you can sense the change in seasons.

I buy only a few items at the market, as this is not my regular grocery store. The price these days of milk has gotten astronomical, as have most dairy products, due to our ongoing drought here in California, so I switch from my usual half-gallon of milk to a gallon of milk. Drama in the dairy section. Oh — that’s a nice surprise — Tillamook butter is on sale — it is sweeter than the generic brands too — that’s one happy consumer here. A few tomatoes hop in the basket to complete the expedition, and that’s it for today. On the way back, I stop at the library. The librarian smiles at my bags of groceries, as I check out a DVD. Perhaps I should have checked out a cookbook. Efficiency indeed today.

Have a blessed Sunday and week

Summer Memories

Leave a reply

As I sit at a new small wooden table with my brother Holger under the Linden tree, a slight drizzle ensues. The table — a birthday present — is made of a very unusual wood. I don’t know what kind of wood it is, but it has a wonderful aromatic smell and it changes to a darker color when it gets wet, revealing the intricate pattern of the wood grain. Wood grain has always had an attraction for me — nothing compares to its natural beauty. We are enjoying the last of the late evening summer light under the canopy of the old tree, listening to the stream, and enjoying the smell of rain in the air. “Oh crap, my laundry!” I jump up and run behind the barn to retrieve several towels and some pants that I had hung outside to dry. I keep forgetting, that unlike California, where its dry from May until November as a general rule, the rain has its own timetable and playful unpredictability in Germany. Oh good — the laundry got only slightly wet — I hang it over some chairs in the barn. My brother grins at Mr. Forgetful, as I reemerge from the barn. “Wipe that smile off your face!”

I can be as quiet as a church mouse, but when I come from the barn in the morning to go into the house, I am always detected by Holger’s dog Moana. “Good morning girl!” She rolls on her side, and I rub her tummy as she wags her tail — a happy dog. As I turn on the burner under the water kettle, I see a tiny snail stuck to the outside of the top window pane. That’s quite a climb you have accomplished there Mr. Snail — your own skyscraper assent. I wonder what inspired such an endeavor.

The four wild cats have detected me as well, and are jumping up against the glass door, paw prints everywhere. Alright, alright, already — one order of crunchies and warm milk coming up. Usually I can pet them just a bit when the milk is served, as greed then outweighs fear, although they still shrink back or dart away sometimes. There are two new wild kittens, one of whom I am able to pet now, as he has discovered the milk dish. The kitten usually shows up only at dusk though.

It’s time for a walk with Moana. She has waited patiently for me to drink my cup of tea. She loves the morning walk through the forest, and as we get to the large downslope, she waits behind the same tree where she always waits on every walk, looking expectantly at me to throw a rock down the slope. When I throw the rock, she goes tearing down the hill after it at breakneck speed, once in a while even overtaking the rock. She doesn’t necessarily return the same rock that was thrown however. But then again, retrievers are not exactly know for being the brightest bulbs. The rock is then proudly carried in her mouth all the way back to the barn. She has a collection of them next to the stream, some of which I occasionally take to reuse on the walks.

Skipping to evening: the Linden tree, the barn, the house and the meadow have all melted into a charcoal darkness. A few bats — fleeting shadows — are flying over the stream (briefly barked at by Moana until I hush her) gathering up lots of mosquitos one hopes. Blink, blink, blink — three fireflies have appeared. I love fireflies, one of God’s prettiest creations. I opt now to go for the same walk I usually take in the morning, to see if I can meet more fireflies. It’s almost pitch black now. I am rewarded soon: more and more fireflies turn off and on here and there, occasionally illuminating the silhouette of a tree. They make me so happy. On the way back, I count twenty-five of them, or did I miss a few?

Have a blessed week