A New Country at Each Stop

Caixa Postal 4216,

Rio de Janeiro,

Brazil.

November 22nd, 1959

Dear Mother and dears all, 

Here we are safe and sound in Rio! It seems strange to look back and see how quickly and comfortably this great journey was completed.  Finding a new country at each stop takes some getting used to.  We were very well looked after in Miami and then duly transported to the airport at about 10 pm.  Owing to a late arrival the plane did not leave until about 1 am, and we shared the time between listening to Portuguese from the tape and walking the baby up and down this super new modern terminal.  Poor little mite - he got a wee bit overtired and fretted a little until the motion of the plane rocked him soundly asleep.  For the rest of the journey he caused us almost no trouble at all - in fact when we landed he slept right through immigration, customs and a zigzaggy taxi ride up to our mountain home.  The plane was less than a third full and so we had no difficulty in securing three seats in a row.  The carry-cot proved to be ideal for the circumstances.  We put one end on the seat and then extended the legs of the other to the floor. This was very comfortable for him and also gave us plenty of leg space.  The stewardesses saw that his bottles were kept on ice and then warmed up at the appropriate times.

After watching the lights of Miami disappear behind us, we snoozed through what was left of the night and first light found us just in sight of land near Panama.  We didn't see the canal but we enjoyed stretching our legs in the morning sunshine.  Soon after leaving, we began to climb over the foothills of the Andes to Medellin in Columbia. Since the plane belonged to a Colombian line, this was where some of the crew lived.  They accordingly went home and we changed to a new plane.  With two long jungle hops ahead, the pilot waited about half and hour until he was quite certain that one of the engines was in proper working order.  Knowing that the vast stretch of Amazonia lay ahead, we didn't feel in the least impatient!

We flew high but through the clouds we had superb views of the great green carpet of trees, broken only by meandering rivers and oxbow lakes.  Sometimes too, we could just pick out a tiny Indian village perched on the bank of the Rio Negro.  It seemed strange to think that people actually lived in this vast wilderness.  We crossed the equator wrapped in blankets, but really felt the tropical heat on the ground at Manaus.  The final 9 hour trip to Rio was made in the dark.  They say that this is done on purpose in case folk get scared by seeing nothing but jungle for nearly 2,000 miles.  

We glided down over Rio harbor- the best way through the surrounding hills - and punctured a tyre as we landed.  The only result of this was that the kitchenette was thrown into chaos and we had to wait nearly half an hour while the ground staff wondered how to get the steps out to the plane which was a mile from the normal unloading point.  Finally we were driven from the plane in a couple of Volkswagens.  Apparently 4 am is a good time to pass through customs because they didn't open our bags or charge us a cent for the tape recorder.  Now we are in a beautiful house up in the hills with a gorgeous mountain view, all set to plunge into Portuguese.

As I write to you the sun has just broken through after heavy rain and through our windows we can see so clearly the different shades and colors of the trees as they climb up the mountainside.  There are still wisps of cloud but the highest peak, between 3 and 4 thousand feet, is now clearly etched against the bright blue sky.  

The baby is settling in fine and has already started on a little mixed cereal. 

This had better be all for now, so goodbye and God bless.  Much love to you all from the family and a special kiss to Gran from Michael.  John

The Magic of Kew

The Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew were founded in 1840, and I have visited them numerous times since childhood.  So why have I never written about the experience?  It could be that my visit there this July was under different circumstances that brought out a different beauty and appreciation for the grounds. 
I can't remember the last time I visited in summer. The rose garden, kitchen garden and rock garden are all in bloom.  I recognized some of the very same plants in my garden back in Minnesota, but without the weeds.  There was so much to see, smell and take in.  The gardens are planned, but still informal with groupings of perennials that complement each other in height, color and texture.  Lavender grows beneath the fruit trees and passion fruit climb over the vegetable beds.  The grapevines provide shade for the tea drinkers.

 There were notable absences as well. None of the beds that are carefully planted out with bulbs and spring annuals were blooming.  Some were left bare earth, others were planted with mustard to compost and enrich the soil.  I was surprised to find that not every inch is used year round.  Of course, there is so much else to see, with many new plantings and often an art exhibit. 
Kew has Europe's largest compost heap which is mainly used for the gardens, but is also occasionally auctioned off as a fund raiser!  There is a horticultural school and student beds.  The composting and experiments are hidden from the public, but are just a small part of the botanical knowledge to be gained from the gardens.

I also noticed the fewer numbers of people people, the 'Closed for your safety' signs and strictly enforced path ways to follow that meant many parts of the gardens were not open to visitor.  Because of the pandemic, the gardens have only just reopened, and all visitors must prebook online to enter. There is no inside dining in the Orangery,  and the orchid hothouse is closed.  That meant I had less options, but came across some hidden gems nonetheless. I found the carnivorous plants and a very interesting beehive ginger whose waxy leaves resemble a large pine cone and hold water.  A peacock was posing in the Japanese garden, delicately patterned leaves climbed up the palm trunks, and Love-lies-bleeding made a soft curtain of hanging blooms.  At a certain point I stopped trying to photograph everything, and let myself just take in the refreshing experience.

 The water lily house had not changed, but reminded me of my last visit here, with family on my mother's 90th birthday. She loves Kew, and this house in particular. Unfortunately she was not strong enough to come on this visit. I hope to get her here soon, even if in a wheel chair, so she can feel the peacefulness of being amidst all this beauty.  Even without the ability to wander, one can feel the surround of living things, and benefit from the calming sounds and scents.  I am especially aware of the garden's healing effects as this visit comes at a stressful time of my caring for my mother.  My sister-in-law was the one who suggested the visit, her words:

I really felt that you needed a break somewhere beautiful like Kew with everything that has happened. I always find it healing and calming being in God's creation. Hope that this happened for you too.

I love to tend to plants in the garden, but they also tend to me - their seasons mirror my own.

“God made a beauteous garden
With lovely flowers strown,
But one straight, narrow pathway
That was not overgrown.
And to this beauteous garden
He brought mankind to live,
And said "To you, my children,
These lovely flowers I give.
Prune ye my vines and fig trees,
With care my flowers tend,
But keep the pathway open
Your home is at the end."

God's Garden”
― Robert Frost

A Day in the Travels of Fred Mitchell 1947

Fred Mitchell

September 21, 1947, Hong Kong: 
I had seen through the porthole that we were steaming slowly into Hong Kong harbour. On the one side was the mainland, with its port of Kowloon, and on the other the island with its modern city of Victoria. The city lies mainly on the narrow strip of land near the water, but then begins to climb in steep streets up the mountain behind. A railway takes one to the top of the peak if one chooses.

By seven we were drawing alongside the dock where officials and Chinese dock porters with their brown skins and bright red jackets, bearing the words ‘Dock Porter’ to distinguish them from others, appeared. On the starboard side small houseboats were drawing in and boys were soon diving for silver coins. At 7:45 our call to breakfast sounded and we left the decks. On our return the excitement was greatly increased and very soon port officers came aboard and turned the hose on the boats and boys and so drove them away. At the slightest respite, however, they came back again!

We now approached the British officers who had come aboard for permission to go ashore which was promptly given. The man who saw my passport, noted I was born at Scholes and told me he had lived for 15 years at Wibsey. I was glad to see a Yorkshireman again. There is a saying, as you travel, that Britishers consist of English, Scotch, Irish, Welsh and Yorkshiremen!


We took the ferry to the island and made our way to the Cathedral for the 11 am service. Walking along the streets we were suddenly disturbed by a cry after us. A police officer whom we found to be a detective, had seen a boy of 10 take Mr Griffin’s fountain pen and so caught the boy. There was a real scene; the boy crying to be free clutched Mr Griffin who would have been pleased to get away with no greater loss. But the police insisted on prosecuting so the boy was to be taken to the police station. The boy was then whisked into a taxi and driven away. A little later we called at the police headquarters and Mr Griffin signed for the pen, and we gathered that when the boy appears before the magistrates tomorrow morning he will likely get a good number of strokes of bamboo on his back. Will that cure him with such a background and home life?

St John’s University is a beautiful cathedral, fairly modern and of Gothic architecture. It was damaged by the Japanese but is now largely, though not completely restored. Certainly it was bright, for the chancel window was of clear glass and was kept cool by huge fans rotating horizontally all over the cathedral. The clergy, four of them, were in white, and there was a choir which hardly functioned of boys and girls, with a few men and women. The boys and girls looked angelic in their chorister’s dress. We noticed all the clergy bowed to the altar which was an unhappy indication of high church tendencies. The service, all in English, was mainly conducted by the Dean. It was reverent, but, alas, followed the Revised Prayer Book of 1928. The Te Deum and Magnificat were sung to poor, uninspiring tunes, and so was the Psalm, and I confess I felt keenly sympathetic with our American friends who are not accustomed to such kind of services. As one who greatly loves the Anglican service when well conducted, I could imagine any stranger attending this morning’s worship would be put off for ever.

Our visit to Hong Kong gave us an opportunity of seeing something of Chinese life for we walked through truly Chinese streets. As we passed we peeped into the poor homes, saw the food shops where numbers were sitting at round tables and using their chopsticks. Returning to our boat we watched the innumerable coolies loading and unloading. Life seems very simple to many of these people, though we should consider ourselves living at the edge of ruin. As one had this first view of China’s millions my heart was sad. Here they are only concerned, as far as one could see, with the obtaining of life’s necessities. One seemed to see the raw material in abundance and the products of grace at least in samples.

Fred's daughter Audrey Taylor
during her time with the Kaiwa tribe in Brazil

Fred's son Alan Mitchell, daughter Audrey
and granddaughters today

Pandemic Air Travel

We are ready for take off, but I can count on one hand the number of passengers in my section aboard the Delta flight to London Heathrow. This is no normal trip, there will be no sight seeing, just the urgent need to spend some time with my mother in the UK. I had been putting off travel because of all the restrictions and was surprised to find that there are a number of flights daily between the US and the UK.
We were able to book the flight quickly, with an app on the phone.  There aren't many flights to choose from. When I went to my normal go-to cheap ticket site, it came up with an itinerary starting with a Greyhound bus to Chicago.
I knew that the UK is still under stay-at-home order, and those entering have to self-quarantine for 14 days on arrival. For my own peace of mind, I decided to get myself tested for COVID-19 before leaving Minnesota.  The testing process was free, quick and very painful. I'm glad I was armed with the negative results when starting my travel.  I also made sure I had lots of face masks.
The first leg to Detroit was half empty for the purpose of distancing passengers. Everyone behaved, and wore their masks. It was pointed out to us that we would need to remove the face mask in the case of oxygen masks being deployed. 😷

Instead of a meal, we got an antiseptic hand wipe. The steward called it my "complimentary sanitizer kit". The international flight was empty due to little interest in travel to Europe. However, on both flights I found someone else in my seat.  It was as if all the empty seats gave them the impression they could sit anywhere they liked. And instead of confiscating bottles at security, they were encouraging us to bring our own beverage and hand sanitizer.

No one was allowed to board the London flight without filling out an online form with personal details of our stay in the country. They wanted names, addresses and phone numbers. After watching "The Handmaid's Tale" on Hulu during the flight I half expected to be met by men with machine guns at the border. I got through pretty easily, as it turned out, but other passengers were not so lucky.  Also, there was a lot less social distancing from the weary travelers getting off the plane and being herded through passport control.
If you need to travel, then wear a mask all the time. don't expect to relax, the seats no longer recline (must be something to do with the social distancing).  If you are thinking of traveling for pleasure, then don't bother... it's not that fun.

Making the Most of Your Self-Guided Tour

We had already toured the castle, and we were on our way to tour the famous Guinness Storehouse in Dublin. The place is vast, and very popular. Starting in the basement, we were told to make our way up to the 7th floor bar, stopping for a free tasting experience on floor two. I felt like I was entering a ride at a theme park. The lighting was subdued, with flashing screens and lots of interactive displays to draw our attention to every aspect of the history of Guinness. The 'tasting experience' was similar to a scene in Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory, with lab coats and clouds of scented vapor. The Galaxy Bar, on the top floor, was where we hoped to stop and savor our complementary drink.  But there was

no where to sit and enjoy the view of Dublin.  So we ended up in what was originally the worker's dining hall. I felt like Jack Dawson on the Titanic, being forced to find room with the working classes below decks. Possibly, a more real experience than the modern glass bar up top.
With time to fit in one more visit in Dublin, I wanted to see Christchurch Cathedral.  I could not convince anyone else to go with me; the men were heading to the Jameson Distillery, and the women out shopping.  In fact, the cathedral was quite empty of visitors.  Only two of us were interested in the guided tour, and they only do tours for parties of 5 or more. So we were given a leaflet and told to wander round.
This is the first cathedral where I have been told to look up. Here the floors capture your attention with their beautiful tiles.  I did follow the advice of my pamphlet and look for the leaning wall on the west side; and the tomb of Strongbow, before heading down to the crypt.
It was down in the roughly finished crypt that I was delighted to find the most colorful parts of the city's history.

Firstly, I understood that the cathedral was the center of commerce and sales of tobacco and alcohol were conducted in the crypt. Citizens only made deals and sealed contracts over the tomb of Earl Strongbow. The crypt displays the stocks used for those who couldn't pay their debts. The building was heavily used and not kept up.  This resulted in the roof caving in and destroying the original buildings.
Just as Guinness poured money into the renovation of St Patrick's, so it is said that the distilleries of Dublin reconstructed the cathedral on a grand scale.
The filming of the TV series "The Tudors" was also set here.  By now I was no longer surprised to find that this slightly racy story had used the cathedral as its backdrop.

By far the most interesting exhibit was of a mummified cat and rat (quite a huge rat by today's standards). These were found inside the cathedral's organ pipes around 1860 and they add to the vision of underground life in the crypt.
The visitor's gift shop was closed, and many of the lights were out of order. Some workmen seemed to be trying to assess the situation.  Christchurch cathedral is apparently still having difficulty making ends meet, or paying its own way. They don't have the money and flashy exhibits that Guinness has, but they also don't have their crowds. I appreciated the quiet and uninterrupted opportunity to poke around. I didn't make it up to the belfry, but found the crypt much more interesting.
As I left the building, having a plan to catch, I stopped to take in the outer view with the Homeless Jesus in front.  There is no plaque, no explanation, no name plate. The identity is known by the nail marks in the bare feet.  And as I take the time to reflect on what the cloaked figure might mean, I realize that this cathedral has seen it all.  This is not just the religious center of Dublin, but in it's distress, deprivation, rebuilding and healing, it is the center of life of Dublin. 

Pubs of Dublin

I have been told that the only way to visit Dublin is by visiting its pubs. But I didn't expect to find this to be true. We had hardly landed, checked into our hotel on St Stephen's Green, when my brother texted me to meet him at the Hairy Lemon.  This named seemed a wee bit unusual compared to British pub names, and I was surprised to find that this was in fact the name of the pub and it was quite a popular venue. Named after a Dublin character whose head resembled a lemon, the place is a maze of rooms and seating areas.  The website said it could hold up to 150, but I really don't know where they would all fit in.  My brother had found us a cozy alcove with a table for four. We ordered oysters and drinks.

Well, when in Dublin...  I felt like I had checked something off my list of  'must's'.  Wandering on, we came across the busy Temple Bar Area down by the river.  The streets were already full of people and it was barely three o'clock.  Jon went to have a closer look and was pushed through the door by a lively crowd. We found restaurant seating upstairs and decided to order another meal.  The place was packed with people waiting for tables at the bar. The food came almost immediately: hot Irish stew and Guinness pie, and more drinks. We didn't feel rushed, but comfortable in the bustling, noisy pub.
The next day we wanted to try to get in on some of the live music venues.  Most of the pubs advertised music for at least part of the day, so we headed out early. The Temple Bar Pub seemed the most popular. A musical duo was playing in a back room. It was standing room only. I managed to film the banjo player on my phone above the crowd. We sampled the local Guinness and waited for someone to leave.  It became apparent that the crowd was just getting bigger and there would not be any available seating. We sang along and bumped elbows with others enjoying the Irish music.

On a roll, we tried another pub called The Quay, just a block away and with its own leprechaun greeter. The musicians had set up right by the door with guitar and fiddle. After another round of drinks, and nowhere to sit, we decided to stand just feet from the music. Suddenly a man next to us approached the "stage", put down his drink and started to sing a lovely Irish ballad. I was not the only one with my phone out. After his song he thanked the musicians and left.  Could he be moving on to the next pub?
We visited another pub later that evening for a meal. This one was an old Victorian called Doheny and Nesbitt.  It took as a while to find our party in a room behind the bar with wooden paneling and its own door. We had shepherds pie and more oysters.  We helped bus our tables by pushing the dishes through a hatch into the bar.  I nearly got lost looking for the toilets which were down in the basement.  I walked through another room where a group were watching football on TV, and noticed a man sitting at the bar with a pint and a book of poems.

Each pub was different, unique in its layout and decor. Some were louder than others, more full of people, but all full of life. It could have been because the weather was cold and gray, or because it was near New Years, but I got the feeling that Dublin pubs are well frequented all year round. They provide good food, drink, music, a place to watch the game or use the facilities, warmth and a quiet nook to read a book. I left Ireland with a fondness and a calendar of at least 12 Dublin pubs.

It's Thyme

I enjoy gardening, but I was never sure what it is about the hard labor and uncertain results that attracts me. However, one of the advantages of owning a home in Minnesota is the expectation that I should have a neat lawn free of weeds, and borders blooming with fruit and vegetables. 
When we moved in the garden had been neglected for over 10 years. Overgrown with weeds, there didn't seem to be anything to save. We hacked down the borders and sprayed everything with weed-killer. Then came the arduous task of digging out the dead and decayed, while waiting for summer.
The waiting is the hard part. I am sucked in by the beautiful flowers at the garden center, and rush home to plant them with visions straight out of "Better Homes and Gardens".  It is frustrating to watch and wait, and wonder why they choose not to flower for me.

This is me in my garden in 2004.  It is the same garden I am now tackling.  Needless to say it doesn't look the same. The phlox and lilies have taken over.  But I smile when I uncover a hosta or cone flower that I planted 15 years ago.  They are still there, struggling to grow between the weeds.  I give them space and replant them; then watch and wait.
One border had been planted long ago as a herb garden with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.  I dug it over to get rid of the grass and weeds.  Then I watched them reappear to reclaim their patch of ground.  I pulled them up without mercy, not allowing them to win.

Until, one day, I got a distinct scent from what I was pulling. I took another whiff and realized it was thyme. Then I started to look closer at what I was pulling: chives, mint and cilantro were popping up, despite my lack of care.
In my flower beds I decided to let things grow in order to try and identify them.  I have discovered lily of the valley, dead-nettle, alium, sunflowers, canna lily, primrose and beebalm.  The alium, and nettle have bloomed. I am waiting for the rest.
Somehow the  waiting doesn't bother me now. I may never see them bloom again, but I have enjoyed discovering them, uncovering their beauty, and rediscovering how they grow.
Instead of wishing for past glory, or anticipating next year's crop, I am enjoying the present. Each plant has it's day.  They continually surprise and amaze me as they pop up, produce leaves and bloom. No day in the garden is ever the same.
I should be used to change and new developments. My life has hardly been settled or in a rut. But I find I still overthink change and weigh out it's merits, trying to predict the future.

That is why, when asked what we were doing for my youngest's graduation party, I answered,"Oh, nothing much." I am not much of a party-er and I was looking for a way round hosting what I knew traditionally to be a lavish affair with catered food and crowds of guests. Is any party worth all the work that goes into planning it?
Oh course family rallied round and gave suggestions as well as physically laying a new patio before unloading tables and chairs.  Our yard and garage were a hub of activity weeks before the party. Because it was then that I realized that you don't give a party because tradition expects you to; you take advantage of the opportunity to give a party. Ben is my youngest and I will never again have a chance to host a graduation party midwest style.  Now is my chance to entertain, bring people together and be a part of a family/community.  (Most of this community is related to me by marriage)  So together we took our place and hosted a party to be remembered.
Twinkle lights strung through the rafters of the garage and guests  were greeted with drinks and some of favorite foods from around the world. No one seemed to mind that they couldn't pronounce "pao de queijo", and were willing to try dates with mint lemonade.

We shared memories and music outside under the lanterns on a beautiful night. Everyone who came got to know us a little better... which is probably why they came. And it is time to make memories here, in this place, with these people; not to dwell on where we have come from, or worry about where we will all end up, but to celebrate this time, here, now.