Drink Tea and Talk Nice

My friend, Evelyn, and I had a "tea for two" party at her house. I wore my new straw hat with the high crown, 4" sloping brim, and wide black ribbon with a flat bow, a long blue flax skirt and blue linen blouse. I felt "Southern". I don't remember what she wore. It's her complexion that catches my attention. It's to die for: peachy and without a single line.

Welcoming Petunias spilled out of front porch containers sharing their sweet summer fragrance on a hot spring afternoon.

Her cottage is decorated in white, crisp and subtle blues. I could live on her large screened-in porch with its swing and ceiling fan.

We "took" tea in her dining room. She served icy cold lemon and black tea. Refreshing! We shared cucumber sandwiches on savory sesame crackers with a smidge of sour cream and dill weed, and nibbled cold oven almond pound cake. We talked recipes, family and friendship. She brought out her latest commissioned needlepoint project. Over the years several churches have commissioned her to needlepoint kneeling bench pads and other projects. She paints free-hand on wooden eggs for any occasion, too. I celebrate her creativity!

Rose-like double impatience grace her shaded and fenced-in back yard of little paths between the monkey grass. There was "something" growing at every turn. Her green thumb is evident inside and out.

Lace-cap hydrangea centers remind me of elderberries that grew wild in
Nebraska. Grandma and I used to ride through the country side searching the ditches. It was a dusty job collecting them. All our efforts netted a few half-pints of jelly, but our time together was priceless.

Hydrangeas peeked around the corner of her house. So brilliantly colored, who could ignore them? I grew them in NE and saw houses surrounded with hydrangeas on Nantucket. They are voluptuous fresh and dry well.

We had a pleasant afternoon. A tea party represents a slower, kinder time. I'd like to have a cottage by the sea like Evelyn's, where I could drink tea with friends, retreat, read, write and rewrite to my heart's content and take walks on the beach. I'm putting it on my bucket list.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Swiss Cows Summer Home

Our cows were underprivileged. They never went anywhere. Like the people of the Midwest United States they stayed put and worked. Our black and whites, Holsteins, provided us with plenty of fresh milk. Mom made butter from the cream. Over-whipped cream made "accidental" butter.

Brown Swiss cows summer in the Alps. With a twinkle in his eye, Papa said their legs were shorter on one side from walking the side of the mountain. Our B&B in Wattens (Vattens), Austria had an empty barn. Kati, our hostess, invited us to the "summer home" for their cows near the top of the Alps. Her husband had driven their dozen cows up the ten miles in May, would stay with them all summer, and drive them down in September wearing wreaths of wild flowers and maybe a small Christmas tree on the top of their head. The community will be so glad to have all the cows and keepers home they'll have a celebration.

So few miles up the mountain took thirty minutes. Where the road ran out we parked, gathered the groceries and walked a path through tall, dense, dark woods for ten minutes. The air was clear, clean, thin and quiet except for the rustle of our bags. In the clearing a rooster announced our arrival. Contented Brown Swiss cows chewed their cud lounging in a 1700's barn. The chalet from the same period had been replaced with a new knotty pine Alpine structure.

Ernst was thrilled to see Kati. Summer is lonesome. There are no near neighbors, and it's just mid-June. While our hostess made her promised cottage cheese pastry we visited with her husband, as best we could. German is their language. He showed us their gently sloping pasture and grazing land. We couldn't fall off or roll down here. Going to the mountain top and looking over didn't interest us. It's too high and steep. We'd need a guide, ropes, etc., but maybe some other time we'll do that.

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and warm pastry drew us to their table. The dough was soft, the filling grandmotherly, soothing and delicious. We could see mountain tops for about 100 miles and Innsbruck in the Valley. If our flat-land cows were here, would they feel privileged or scared?

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series