Coming to Portugal meant that our children could learn Portuguese. It was also important to me that they be exposed to Portuguese culture. I have been blessed by the beautiful people I have met every placed we have lived. I really have. Yet, I knew that the culture and the village lifestyle would be something wonderful to expose my children to. We also desperately wanted for my father to come stay with us. For one, we wanted to see him. Simple as that. But frankly, there is another reason. We also believed Portugal would be good for my father.

Living alone in the United States, it is very easy for someone to isolate themselves. To get anywhere, at least where we are from, you hop in your car. Here you can’t go get your mail without seeing at least one neighbor, sometimes two. There are no secrets in a village to be sure, but there is aways company.

My father was supposed to come ‘visit’ us six months ago. Unfortunately due to a medical issue he had to cancel his flight the day before he was due to leave. This Friday, he finally made it.

On our drive to our apartment in Lisboa, he reminisced about driving through that area over 45 years ago and how much it’s changed. I was amazed at how much that man can remember. After a good nap we went to pick the children up from school. Nuno ran to his vôvô. My son loves his grandfather and has a very special place in his heart for the man.

The ride home was lovely. My father and I chatted the entire way and he seemed happy that the kids were handling some Portuguese. Pretty darn happy.

I will be honest, this past week has been pretty stressful. We had a lot on and we were two days away from a big party for Nuno’s birthday. A party with maybe too many kids that I would have to entertain for a few hours. Can you see where my head was?

Well, upon driving into my village we passed my cousin. He and I had ‘pumpkin business’ to attend to that very night. We stopped on the road and had quick hellos, driving off as a car approached. It was a quick stop, but nonetheless sweet to unexpectedly spot a family member we adore on our drive in. With a car full of stuff and a son needing to go for a wee, we opted to drive straight to the house then go to my godmother’s (my dad’s sister) house after. But to my great surprise we passed her walking back from our house. I quickly pulled into the salão parking lot and my dad and I hopped out. We were also quickly joined by Sr. Antonio, my cousin’s partner. This man is a gem. I will be honest. At first my dad seemed stiff, almost shy, but after a few minutes he was beaming. I tell you, right there I knew that his all nighter to prepare and pack for this trip and his near heart attack as he ran to catch a flight  connecting in Madrid was worth it. That smile on his face was gift not only to him, but to me. Obrigada Madrinha for lighting up my dad’s smile. Muitos Beijos!

So while we are down in Lisboa my cats are treated to homemade soups every day. So it should come as no surprise that after dropping my darling husband back up at the house so that he could get things ready  for Nuno’s birthday Halloween party, that he too got a delivery of fresh homemade fish soup. Both he and I realize that those cats eat better than we do mid week.

Obrigada Ti Evangelina…

Okay, today, at this moment in his life I do not think Nuno will mind this picture being there for the world to see. But one day, he might be too cool. And he might question my motives for posting a picture of him having fallen asleep reading a book about Halloween. But to me, his mother, this captures so much of what I love about him. 1) He, just like every other child is just so damn cute when he’s asleep. 2) He fell asleep reading! Do I need to say more? I mean really isn’t there a moment where you move the book aside? Nope, reading ’til he passes out. Now, that’s hard core. 3) He loves Halloween as much as his mommy. A little gift this child gives me every year, so far at least, is asking that we celebrate his birthday as a  Halloween theme. This year we are celebrating on the day. Two birds, one stone, thank you Nuno.

Halloween does not exist as we know it in Portugal. But, we will do our part to make it fun for us and our friends. We just ordered the book he fell asleep reading, along with a few others to get us all in the mood. I specifically ordered the one on his head to share the ‘basics’ of what Halloween is with the kids’ classes. I am going in to read and talk about Halloween to his and Lana’s classes. I can not assume that the kids know anything about Halloween, so I am starting with the basics. You see, even last year there was some confusion. The kiwis had it in their mind that Halloween was only about scary costumes. So when I showed up at an adult’s Halloween party dresses as a New Jersey Housewife people thought I was mad. What? Really? People questioning MY understanding of Halloween?!?!? Not on my watch will I allow children to grow up with such mis-information. The kids in Lana and Nuno’s class are going to learn the true meaning of Halloween.

I have run for some time now. I love what running does to me. It can be difficult to drag myself out of bed some mornings. Especially now as the mornings are a little bit darker, but it is always worth it. I have been especially lucky in having beautiful spots to run. Sydney was just spectacular. Auckland was lovely. And now Portugal is a treat. There is something about the scenery here that is just good for the soul. Running is a gift I give myself. I love my kids and the time we get to spend together, but I also love the time I get to myself when I run. My music or podcast comes on and I am alone in my thoughts. Well, until friends or family drive by with a smile and a wave. I love that too. Here I will take you on the run I do most often. Enjoy.

To start I have to first leave my house. After three steps the smile appears. I’m off.

After running just a short way down the road I turn right. This allows me to extend my run just a bit.

Below is a picture of a  typical farm. Those couves (cabbages) for human consumption at first, but as they get older and tougher they are fed to pigs as well as chickens. The corn grown here is not the sweet corn variety, so it is fed to the pigs. It would probably be safe to say everyone here has some ‘horta’. That is a garden. People grow all sorts of vegetables as well as fruit  for their consumption, but many times also for their livestock. Feed is expensive and when you are raising a pig and the average/minimum monthly income here 500euros you need to concern yourself with how much it costs to feed your livestock. Growing ones own feed is a great option.

This stretch comes just after I start my first looonnggg hill. But that’s okay. It’s pretty. And if I’m hungry I suppose I could pick an apple. Well, actually you can’t. Living here you learn that the fruit is sprayed and you must always ask before you eat.

Here is a look down back towards our village. Pretty, isn’t it?

 This is a typical older house. I think it is charming on it’s own, but that purple plant adds something spectacular.

 I love this house. I have no idea who owns it. It is in my mother’s village and I must ask my dad when he arrives. Even though it is an older home it is quite obvious the care they take to make it as nice as they can. Out front their garden has a bamboo fence around it. They have not only some vegetables but some flowers growing as well. And the fresh paint. That costs of fortune here and yet there is a nice new coat on the house.

I’ll call this photo ‘Apples so red they pop my eyes open”. Yes, I was able to run by without picking one, but it wasn’t easy.

Back in my village…This run that takes me about 50 minutes has me going through 4 villages. So rounding that last corner let’s me know my workout is almost done and I have arrived because even though I am not yet at our house this village is my home.

If you come and visit me we can run this together:)

Fruit, glorious fruit. We have it in abundance here. And please don’t hate me, but it’s either super cheap or free. It’s so bad, I mean it’s so good that the other day my husband was complaining that we had too many peaches, that people keep bringing us more and more delicious freshly picked peaches. I looked at him and told him that everyone should have such problems. I mean really. Eat them and shut up!

For the past couple of months we have had a friend of Sophia’s staying with us. She is more like family really. Her father is from our village and our families go as far back as anyone can remember. While she was here, she and Lana went with my niece to go picking blackberries. I have fond memories of picking blackberries with my friend Carlos and my cousin João Armando when I was a young girl, so I was thrilled that the girls were having the same experience.

Yesterday the kids and I drove to the edge of the village, yes, we’re lame, but there are no walking paths on the ‘outskirts’ of town so I thought it was best. We parked in our friend’s driveway and off we went.

This work isn’t for wimps. Within a few minutes my poor boy was in tears insisting that his wound would need ‘blood surgery.’ I told him to suck on his cut. No, I am not a doctor I just thought it might be a good distraction. That was not a good idea as it brought more tears. After a few hugs I chose to move on with picking. You might think that I am some cold-hearted mother because I chose to ignore his pain, but people, we are talking about fresh blackberries and it was only a flesh wound.

After a bit, he got right back into it. It wasn’t long before we felt we had enough.

For a child who does not like many fruits the smile on her face indicates how happy she is to feast on these berries.

The berries in this bowl did not last very long at all. If we want more we will be out again to pick the unripe ones we left on the vine. If you want some, you will have to come help us pick them on our next outing.

Telha artwork: Auntie Maria

For the second time since we have been here we have been invited to a matança. A matança is a killing of a pig. Not sure any of you would want to see the body of a dead pig hanging from the ceiling or the served head on a table. If not, you’re in luck because I won’t be posting any. We missed the actual killing of the pig both times, but my kids did see that above mentioned carcass and head. Our involvement in these matanças was more to enjoy some of the freshest meat you could ever consume. That and some great company.

Lana had the ‘opportunity’ to see some turkeys being killed the last time we were in Portugal and although this did not have a significant impact on her, she is no longer interested in seeing any animals being killed. That being said, she also has no problem knowing where her bacon comes from. I think that is very important. Many people would cringe at the sight of a dead animal. If they do, then it is probably because they have a hard time with the concept of eating meat. Funny, but even as a person who strives to eat a vegan diet this is something that has never bothered me. Well, not until this year. Funnily enough it is my son who is making me rethink the ethics of eating meat. Both he and I are on some journey. Where it will lead us, who knows.

Since we arrived in Portugal we have gotten three chickens and two cats. Nuno has also asked for a dog, goat, donkey, and that’s just to name a few. Problem is, if we get them, we are never allowed to kill them. Cute concept, but I can’t go back to New Zealand with a menagerie of animals so looks like my son is out of luck.

Tonight my friend Emilia, was just about to offer Nuno this rabbit, when I interrupted her and informed her that we could not take it. Even with his limited Portuguese, Nuno understood exactly what conversation we were having and begged for us to take it. I stood firm. Yes, it’s cute, but to me a rabbit has no business being a pet. No, rabbit was always this lady’s favorite food. But like I said if it comes to our house a pet it will become. So the answer is não.

As of yesterday besides a number of ducks, chickens, roosters, rabbits, and geese, there was also a pig living in that pen. Yesterday afternoon a man came by and shot it. They used to slit the pigs’ throats, but they believe this is more ethical. Then after draining it’s blood, which can be saved to make blood sausage, the same man butchers the meat. Most of the meat is frozen to be used until one’s next matança, but some is set aside to eat immediately with friends and family. In talking to people this is not the less expensive option. Pigs need a lot of water, and they eat quite a bit. The vegetables they consume are grown for the most part, but the grains must be purchased. Although economically it is not the cheapest route, there is no question which manner renders the most beautiful meat.

Besides our meal, we were also given a tour of their property.

my husband enviously admiring the fields 

white plums, not to rub it in, but they are amazing

watermelons

This last picture is of one of the five varieties of grapes they grow. They have kindly offered to have us come back in the fall and to pick our favorite so that we can grow some ourselves. I have also been offered their assistance with my garden. I have willingly taken all the fruit and vegetables given to us, but the thought of having a nice garden influenced by their green thumb is very exciting.

The kids had a great play with their friend and at one point Nuno said that their house was heaven. When asked why he said because of all the vegetables, fruits and animals. I know at least for him, he was referring to the live ones.

The past three days were a marathon on school work. We had so much catching up to do after 1) Kyle & Carly’s visit, 2) Diane and Jose’s visit and 3) the two weeks the kids spent at the Portuguese school they will be attending next year. All justifiable reasons to play hooky, but it meant trying to get 4 weeks worth of school work done in a week and a half. But somehow we did it.

Nuno had a project on getting to know ‘the orchestra’. It was a cute unit, but one that I really needed us to plow through if we were going to get any vacation. One section involved his being a conductor. Poor kid, he had me and his sister to pick from since his dad had to video the piece. Well, homemade maracas, a homemade trumpet and a keyboard were what we had to pick from. Oh yes, and a mother who can not really sing, but likes to play the part. Lana is still laughing at my first attempt, that one I will not post.

Even though I may regret putting this video out there, it was nice to have some fun amidst the madness of that ‘learning’ marathon.

click here for video

Our village will be ‘Em Festa’ in a little over a week’s time. Em festa translates into “In Party’ and that is exactly what it means. Starting on the Friday, our village will host a three day festival. There will be food, music and of course dancing. What more could you ask for? ‘Em preparação’, in preparation, for the party there is sausage to be made. Heaps. As our homemade sausage is a draw for crowds and a source of revenue for our village.

Although I do my best to avoid eating meat, anything having to do with my village, and therefore my culture, is something I want to be a part of. That is why I was the first person to show up with my chopping knife ready to help the other volunteers get through 1,500 kilos of pig meat.

It is no secret that I love my village. The primary reason is not its location or the look of it, but its people. They are fabulous. To begin with there is this woman, Nisa.

I give her, as many do, the credit for the life that pulses through our village, especially how that energy impacts our elderly population. They are individuals, who have weathered a lot and they are survivors. But it is in these years when life can become more difficult and more lonely that someone like Nisa makes all the difference. On days like this they walk or hobble across our village, some on crutches, to our salão because they are needed. Needed. Isn’t that a nice word at any age? Nisa, makes it very clear that there help is essential in making our festa a success, which it is. And their expertise be it in seasoning, stuffing, or curing the meat is critical. And it is.

So there we were, about 30 of us. Sitting, cutting but also talking and laughing. I heard stories about my mother. I asked questions about 25 de Abril. In perfect Portuguese form there were multiple conversations happening at once. And although I was a bit sore and quite tired by the end of the day, I will file this day in my memory bank as one of those days where I smiled the most.