A Day in the Country

In celebration of Columbus Day, there was no school today. I am not going to go into how confused I am regarding which countries celebrate this short little man, but I certainly have nothing against the free time he has bought us. As such, today Marga brought me out to her family's country home. It is just around the mountain from the city of Andraxt ( pronounced An-drach). We took the autopista to Andraxt then wound the narrow lanes of the city, getting stuck once behind a car which kept stalling at the hands of a driver who could not seem to decide where he was going. He was immediately identified as a 'turista'. We turned off the city roads onto an uphill climb where we almost immediately encountered a family in a horse drawn buggie. After dropping back to give them right-of-way, we began a steady climb out of the extremely populated city on an impossibly narrow road. At each hairpin turn Marga tooted the horn, notifying any potential downhill driver of our endeavour. We soon ran into a group of about 6 folks on horse back coming down and again gave way. I could smell the horses and the freshly rained on green around us and I could hear the assortment of birds singing to us of the Mallorcan country life from the shrubbery that encroached on the path/road. It was a lovely and eventful drive. I can assure you all that driving here is nothing like driving in America.
We pulled up to an old stone building on the left where Marga's parents' car was already parked and full of jugs of the water drawn from the house's own well which we drink (as the city's water is not so tasty). I got a variety of responses when I inquired as to the age of the building, ranging from 150-300 years. I did, however, learn that it used to be an old windmill used for grinding wheat into flour and that it has been in the family for more than 4 generations.
There is a large room which they had recently renovated which was where the mule used to walk in circles. working the wheat. While the roofing and floor was new, there was still a trough in the corner where the four legged labourer used to take his union break.
The house is a matrix of what used to be grain storage rooms, now filled with antique furnishings. They recently updated the bathroom from a hole in the ground to a flushing toilet. While still not connected to the main grid for electricity, there is a generator which they use when necessary. The kitchen involves a large fireplace and a hearth around which are stone bench seats where generations of people have sat to cook, chat and work. Making stories, sharing stories. It is an amazing house with many a low doorway, Marga informed me it was not built with 'tall' people, like myself, in mind. Dad, I suspect you may be able to relate somewhat?
A second part of the kitchen was a covered room outside, one entire wall blackened from the wood burning stove built into it. This is where Marga's mother, also named Marga, was cooking up some sort of magic.
We took a walk along one of the country roads and by the time we got back there was time for one chapter in my book and then lunch. A lettuce and tomato salad (covered with salt and olive oil of course), grilled red peppers, bread and pork chops. We had been 'merendiendo' (snacking) all day, but somehow I found room not only for the lunch but also for some dessert which grandma had made. It was all so delicious.
Afterwards Josep Maria, the 10 year old son, and I went and explored the trees on the property. One of which the government had officially decided to protect due to its significant age. I thought it should probably be protected, if for no other reason, than that it is one of the best climbing trees I have encountered since arriving here. Once we wandered back to the house there was quite a commotion over the 'culebra' that was found swimming in the rainwater in the bottom of an empty paint bucket. I thought it was quite a commotion for a 4 inch long little guy but apparently snakes are not very common around here. Apparently St. Patrick's influence reached farther than expected. Either way, they were very impressed to hear about the sorts of snakes encountered by my cousin and even more amazed to hear how they are dealt with (so you are internationally known Brian, just a heads up). I then went out and wandered by myself for a bit, taking in this new countryside, adjusting my perception of what a 'farm' looks and functions like, and taking in the old building ruins, the stone walls, built by hand and just the general ambiance of the place.
I feel an almost constant inclination to try to make this new place fit into old perceptions. To reconcile it to the way I think it 'should' be. To fit this round peg through my square hole. But sometimes I can just sit, and let go, and let the place wash over and through and around me. I realized today that places and people aren't made to fit conveniently into perceptions, they just are, and we are free to absorb as much or as little of them as we believe we can handle. In this light, I strive to make myself an empty vessel, without a top or a bottom. To just let these things flow and to teach me. But I also realize I am not channeling any significant portion of this world; rather, I am submerged in a sea. I am so small that all I can do is try to learn as much as I can and tell the stories, and do my all to share the best of me and contribute as much as I can.