Today it is gray and rainy, and tonight we are supposed to get gale force winds. We hope that our little house on the hill will hold fast and shelter us through the storm. We have had a few tempestads already this winter, and when the wind is really howling I am reminded of times at sea.

Waves lapping against the sides, the sky darkens, on the horizon you can see the wall of weather coming near. The ship starts to roll. At first you feel exhilarated. The wind pushes life into your lungs. You hold onto the side and feel the energy of the boiling ocean. Up and down you move, keeping an eye to where the sea meets the sky. 

Right now it is like that. The wind is picking up. The view of the valley below has gone dark. We light the candles and chimney for comfort. But this ship is new to us. We are are still getting used to the the weight of her tiller. We hope that the mast will hold. We have patched her sails and given her a new coat of paint, but when the big swell comes, we hope that she will stay upright.

 More photos of the house after the break

Its apple season around here. 

For those of you on the northern side of the globe, think September. The kids have recently gone back to school. The morning breeze is crisp, but the afternoon sun is still warm. The evenings glow, warm and golden, and the sleeping is good on cool nights. 

It is the perfect season for apples. Around where I live there are tens, maybe even hundreds of apple trees all brimming with green, yellow, and red treasures. Some of the trees are old forgotten relics of previous homesteaders, likely German immigrants nostalgic for a proper kuchen or strudel. Other trees have been recently planted by neighbors eager for a certain variety. Not all of the apples are pretty. Some are prone to pests, others to mold. Some apples are very small and sour, others are plump and sweet. Regardless, this year I can't get enough of the fruits that can be harvested from around the house. Spending more time at home with baby girl has encouraged me to be observant and creative. A trip to the supermarket is not as easy as it was, so why not make an apple crisp rather than go out for the missing cocoa for that cake? Even better, my mother-in-law helped me to capture this sweet season by starting a batch of fresh apple cider vinegar. Months to come we will be reminded of hopping old farm fences to sample apple trees. We will remember long slow walks with two month old Ana just starting to focus on the red orbs in front of her. 

Vinegar fermentation has the whole house smelling sweet!

We bought a house!

Rather, the bank bought a house and is letting us live in it... but we are really excited! As with all things in Chile, the process has been a long one, and we still won't move in for another month or two, but finally the paperwork is complete and the house is ours. 

So now with a two month old baby, a new house, on-going renovation work, and dreaming up garden and chicken coop designs, we are really busy! Even still, this moment in our lives feels impossibly sweet. Summer here might be turning to Fall, but we are entering Spring with all of the fresh new additions blossoming in our life. 

 Hello World.

It has been quite awhile since I have posted here. This is not for a lack of happenings, rather life has taken a new rhythm that is both fast and chaotic and slow and pensive. Like never before, I feel like the list is forever growing and time is continually shortening. The garden has gone to seed, the floor hasn't been washed in weeks, and the poor cat is more often forgotten than not. At the same time, we have slowed down. During this summer vacation, without classes to teach, or major research obligations, the mornings start later, we have been able to relish a long evening sitting around with Ana and her grandparents, and everything moves in function with nourishing ourselves and our baby girl. 

It has been the sweetest of summers.

The calm before the storm.

Right now life is quiet. It is early summer, which means warm days and cool nights. The weather allows us to take advantage of time in the garden, playing at the beach and on the river; cherries, strawberries and melons are abounding. At night, we turn on the AC by putting a fan in the window, and by morning it is still cool enough to snuggle under the covers. 

We know, however, that the only certainty is change. This year, more than any other, we can feel the slow rumble of change making its way towards us. Soon, it will be hot. The grass will stop being so brilliantly green, and everything will be yearning for rain. We will toss and turn, trying to find a cool spot in the bed. The lettuces in the garden will be long gone, replaced with tomatoes and perhaps some struggling squash. 

Most of all, life as we know it will change. Where once we were two, in just a matter of hours (?), days (?), weeks (?), we will be three. We will be forced not just to think of our own needs, but of those of another. From what they say, our days and nights will blend into an alternate reality of caregiving stupor. All three of us will embark on a journey that we have no preparation for, nor any idea of what we will be faced with. 

In the meantime, as the approaching storm sounds louder, we will continue to pretend that this year is no different than any other. The tree is up and decorated with the orbs of tiny spiders that claim our spruce as home 11.5 months of the year. As a blend of cultures, cookies have been made for Christmas, though you won't find ginger, nutmeg, or icing on the ingredients list, rather harina de yuca and aguardiente. And in the real spirit of the holiday, the nursery and gifted moisés peacefully await their new occupant.

Happy Thanksgiving to those of you on the north side of the world. 

While I am and always have been a great promoter of the turkey-laden holiday, today we are not celebrating nor is it likely that we will be doing so on fourth-Thursdays-in-November to come. Do not get me wrong, I am a stickler for traditions what with their obscure dates and at times ridiculous rules. In essence, holidays and traditions are nothing more than repeating firmly established protocols. This repetition, in turn, gives us solace and time for reflection. When one knows the hardship of winter, there is nothing more comforting than sharing a filling meal whose menu has been predetermined. 

But, alas, today marks the day that I and my household break from tradition, not to forsake it, but rather to establish a new one. From this year forth and those that come hereafter, as long as we live in the southern hemisphere, we will celebrate a Day of Thanks in May, as it should be, according to the seasons. Because, I must tell you that 14 hours of sunlight, spring greens, strawberries, and miniskirts do not a Thanksgiving make. In fact, Thanksgiving is perhaps my favorite holiday due precisely to the fact that it is a reflection of the season's bounties. A coming together in appreciation before times get tougher. It is thus, just not possible, to celebrate such a day at the end of Spring when it seems that the world can hardly get more beautiful, the days are ever longer, and pumpkins and apples won't be ripe for months.

Therefore, friends and family, do not pity me when I tell you that this Thursday was like any other beautiful Spring day. There was no pie, there was no turkey, there was no celebration, but those things will come. Perhaps, like this past Day of Thanks in May we, with close friends, will feast on rabbit in addition to stuffing and potatoes and all of the other goodies. Perhaps we will create a song, or choose not the fourth, but the third week of the month. That is the beauty. At this point, while we are still cultivating our routines, traditions, and protocols, anything is possible. 

As your world brightens, mine becomes darker.

At 40 S, the sun makes a brief appearance around nine in the morning and sets no later than eight. That is on a good day. Most days this time of year are various shades of grey.  Steely, to bluish, with massive clouds that threaten snow but never deliver. For better or for worse, the nearby coastal breezes keep our temperatures above freezing on all but the coldest mornings. The muted days, however, are nothing compared to the darkness of night. Living outside the aura of city lights, night engulfs the little glow worm that is our house. Only a small perimeter of fallen leaves, piled wood, and plants waiting for Spring can be seen from the light that leaks from our home. 

Now is the time for hibernation, baked goods, warm reds by the fire. I think that here every season challenges us. Spring is incredibly wet, summer is at times unbearably hot and dry, fall warns of winter, and winter is dark. But with the challenges come the reward, technicolor mosses and iridescent flowers, sunny days to jump in the river, crisp breezes smelling of apples, and coziness. Winter is the only season when we can actually snuggle under the covers. When the cold teaches us to appreciate warmth. When the dark allows us to revel in the light. 

Pablo had been dreading this day for awhile. Since our trip to Colombia in February, his stash of homemade arepas had been dwindling. Thursday night quick arepa dinners and our Sunday morning ritual of arepa, quesito, y huevito had quickly demolished our supply of corn cakes trafficked from paisalandia. 

So, today, after finishing the last remaining arepa brought from Colombia, we went crazy. It was time to start some serious arepa production right here, at home, in Valdivia. A land not known for its corn-based cuisine. We scoured strange neighborhoods known for selling grains, and the tools to process them. We assured the helpful vendors, that no, we were not buying corn for our chickens, we were buying it for ourselves. You can imagine the look that they gave us. But with two and a half kilos of feed corn and a newly purchased food mill (fabricated in Colombia), we went to town. Six hours later, our freezer is stocked with fifty arepas. 

As one of the crucial steps in making arepa de maiz sancochado is cooling the corn after it has been cooked. Lacking a vessel large enough to hold all of the cooked corn, we got the ingenious idea to cool the corn in the lid of a bin. Worked very well :)

Happy Holidays from Christmas in summer!

With various other events taking place later this season, we decided to spend Christmas in Chile. It was our very first Christmas as just the two of us and in summer! I would like to think that we celebrated in style, albeit quietly. 

Yesterday morning, Pablo took his new kayak for the premier voyage (more on that later). I happily worked in my garden where we now have ample greens- spinach, acelga, lettuce- and the tomatoes, potatoes, and squashes are growing rapidly. We then got to some pie making, I tested out my first cheater's lattice, and we indulged in a hearty cheese platter. We went for a nice little walk, picked some astromelias, tucked into Joy's beef stroganoff and roasted roots, and set the gifts around the tree.

We felt very adult calling all the shots ourselves.

Feliz Navidad!

Its my birthday today.

Even though my husband sang to me this morning, it doesn't feel like November the 10th. Maybe that's because its Spring instead of Fall. The season of greens, not the season of pumpkins. Everyday is getting warmer instead of colder.

I've thought back to so many past birthdays. My first one in Chile after I had been here for only two months. A birthday spent battling the flu in the Qatar airport. Some birthdays in Saudi with friends and werewolves. My first trip to France. One in Bermuda. My 21st hiking around a cloud forest with some really great gals. And so many before those with my family, some pie, and often even snow.

Maybe birthdays themselves can't be that special. They are just one more day that we are here. Plodding along, maybe with some cake. But they are a moment to stop, and think, and reflect on where we've been, where we're going, and who holds our hand along the way.