We wandered out into our small pocket-sized garden after dinner and read until 10pm. It's been hot here. We have summer. It's for sure now.
There's even talk of 31 celsius at the weekend. We have a BBQ to attend, a birthday party too. Oh, and the monthly expedition for supplies.
But anyway, the garden ...
Note of caution, based on what I read in Gert's mind ... if you want peace and tranquility, best not take a photographer.
I have a new toy and in these days where I recover from 'much', I am occasionally playing with photographs taken over weeks.
Roberto took me wandering through Genova, introducing me to this place and that. And this was a place of much quiet beauty and grandeur.
On that last day in New Zealand, I got up early and photographed the mist burning off ... just wandering.
Then later, Peter and Christine, Michael too, dropped the boat in the water and took us out on Mercury Bay.
A stunning day with good people.
Sitting here, having just completed 100-shot photo-shoot, a hotwater bottle on my aching back, Miss 8 downstairs with that horrible flu/cold that's going around, waiting for the predicted snow to arrive on a zero celsius day ... I find myself missing those sublime days, back in New Zealand, on that roadtrip in the little red car.
I miss pies too.
I loved the friendliness of strangers back home in New Zealand.
It's like nowhere else for me. Turkey has been a close second, then Italy but New Zealanders ... they're my people and I'm so proud of them.
It was across the board, from the supermarket workers, to the people at the cafe sitting nearby, people on the beach, and those jetski guys, to name a few.
They came into view while we were out on the boat in Mercury Bay. I had the long lens on and couldn't resist. This is the last shot I took of them. The farewell shot. Before this, they put on quite the display, making me laugh as I attempted to capture them in action.
A beautiful day, courtesy of Christine and Peter, much-loved friends of ours.
It's not happening this year ...the rain keeps returning, the grey skies reappear again and again.
We've had glimpses of a glorious summer but no, it disappears and is replaced by weather so foul that you forget that you had those warm and promising days.
On the bright side, the garden continues to thrive. The rhubarb, back home, has been prolific. Here in Wallonia, the zucchinis are going crazy too. We fight our way through a reasonably abundant supply of fresh tomatoes and beans. The hens are all laying, so we 4 are dreaming up things to cook with those eggs.
Peach clafoutis and pavlova are at the top of the list, quiche too.
I have set up a work station at the dining room table, here in the light-filled kitchen, keeping company/kept company by the lovely Rwandan woman studying for her examinations. I think we have given up on summer. She mistook this morning's drizzle for snow. That it didn't seem impossible probably tells you how we feel about summer these days.
Anyway, here's a glimpse of the house where I'm staying ... just a corner for now. I have to work out how to photograph it, in all its hugeness, and I need to learn the story of it more precisely. There is a Nobel prize winner involved in its history ...
