Restoring and building means that we remove really old dirt. We move that dirt, then move it again so we can make way for new dirt. And sometimes we play with all kinds of dirt to make a palette of dirty, old colours to cover the other dirt. On any given day we are surrounded by dirt.

In spite of the hot weather and constant threat of forest fires, rubbish surf conditions cool mornings have allowed us to get cracking on the barn extension. Dirty, old walls have come down to make way for new walls and I’m always amazed at the size of the (dirty) rocks inside these old buildings.

sujos ~ dirty

Earlier this week we had a short reprieve from the ongoing summer drought. Thankfully we were outside or we would have missed it completely – it was over in four minutes.  A short burst of cool liquid drops evaporating as soon as they hit the ground but staying long enough to release that amazing smell of thirsty soil drinking in fresh rain.

As soon as the shower stopped everything was left coated in a strange, orange dust. Penfold drove into town and watched in amusement as every car in the area was fastidiously washed and pampered.  Ours were the only vehicles to actually get cleaner from the dust shower.

Most people speculate that the orange rain must somehow be a result of last week’s fires but the most interesting theory is that it was dust carried up from the Sahara.

Even when it rains, we’re still covered with dirt. Keep dancing …

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PS: Obrigadinha to DaddyP, KPX, daisyfae, Alice and kyknoord for their comments on Too Close to Home …

On Monday I noticed how loud the crickets had become, during both the day and the night. The daytime temperatures have been holding steady at +42C (108F) this week; going outside is like stepping in front of a hair dryer. Yesterday afternoon the skies began to fill with smoke and the birds were circling in fast, swoopy patterns.

By the time Penfold returned from his beach surfari the backdrop to Cabril became an eerie orange-black. There was a strange silence from the gorge, usually filled with the sound of kids playing in the cool water and brave teens jumping from the cliffs (to cool off and also look cool doing it). Now the only human noise is a random biplane or helicopter flying overhead.

'smoke over cabril' by Penfold

A growing area of Portugal is on maximum fire alert (FYI the Bombeiros use the Canadian FWI) and the map looks worse for tomorrow. Nothing to do but wait and hope or … tonight seems like a good time to call on the wisdom of the cannibalistic Windigokan tribe*.

Get on your feet — it’s time for a rain dance!

*Native American sect nicknamed “the backward people” who became famous for telling the US feds that the dance being performed was not the Sun Dance, but the Rain Dance, thus preventing any prosecution or intervention.

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PS: Obrigada to everyone who entered the Summer Soxtravaganza Giveaway. Congratulations to daisyfae — your Tango socks are en route! I was so happy with how many people entered to win so I’m going to do it again. And again. Stay tuned for more tangoNovemberbravo giveaways …

The ancient Greeks wore socks from matted animal hair while the Romans wrapped their feet with leather. By the 5th century AD socks were worn by holy people to express purity and by 1000 AD socks became a symbol of wealth.

Whether pure or rich, people need their feet to stay warm and dry. People need socks.

So, in a brief moment of humanitarianism, I decided to give away a pair of tangoNovemberbravo ankle socks*. Just fill in the entry form below for your chance to win these hand knit socks valued at 19 USD in the colour of your choice**. No strings, no hidden gimmick, just free socks to pamper your tired feet.

But hurry – this giveaway ends Friday, July 16!

* Available in EU ladies sizes 35 to 43 (US sizes 5 to 10-1/2)

** No favouritism here, winner will be chosen using random.org

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PS: Obrigada to daisyfae, DaddyP, KPX, Dolce, PVal(!), Penfold, JohnC and lillalotta and for their encouraging comments on Mint Julep, Anyone?

This was before I discovered my complete lack of domestic instinct. Sadly there is not a gardening bone in this body and our vegetables grow in the supermarket. However, while I am disappointed by this discovery I refuse to be defeated. So this year I’m starting with the basics.

Hortelã

The soil in Cabril is really not like any soil I’ve ever known.  It’s more like a s***tload of rocks held together by muddy clay-like earth. I’ve read all about the joys of gardening but working the soil in Cabril is anything but relaxing. So I decided to plant some useful herbs in among the rocks and, after a few miserable attempts with seeds, I went for the more sensible approach and bought tiny herb plants.

Unfortunately, I’m not a big fan of reading manuals, instruction books or anything vaguely helpful. My learning style is much more hands-on which basically means that I only learn what not to do.  In hindsight, this would have been useful to know:

“Mint will grow in, out and around all garden plants. Not unlike a weed, this herb is tenacious and dedicated to spreading through the garden like wildfire.” (from the ever-so helpful Canadian Senior Years)

Now then, what to do with all these mint leaves …?

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PS: Muito obrigada to KPX, DaddyP, stinkypaw and daisyfae for their comments on Green.

Verde ~ Green

Right below our courtyard is a tree farm belonging to one of the local nurseries. During the warmer months the field is always filled with rows of trees sprinkled with a smattering of loud tree farmers. So when I saw this week’s theme for chick<8000clicks>chick I just opened the door and stepped outside.

I’m lost in the endless rows of tiny orange trees on the left while djbeat is on the right cuddling with Baby W’s furry green frog in Vancouver (that is a frog, isn’t it?).

.tNb

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PS: Obrigada to djbeat, DaddyP, stinkypaw, KPX, daisyfae, Alice and John C for their comments on From Cambodia to Peru.

Regreso a la ciudad de la montaña by Simon Wilches on Flickr

It’s been a long winter and Quinta do Cabril remains in various stages of completion. There is still so much work to be done, I’m often overwhelmed by a heavy sense of frustration and guilt.  My thumbs are anything but green and the art of landscaping escapes me completely. It turns out I am missing the Martha gene.

In the last few weeks Penfold and I have started feeling antsy and restless. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the onset of wanderlust.

Machu Picchu anyone?

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PS: Obrigada to daisyfae, DaddyP, Somnambulist, stinkypaw, djbeat, KPX and JohnC for their quiet comments on Whisper.

Sussurro ~ Whisper

I’m whispering sweet nothings into plastic ears on the left while djbeat is cooing in hushed pink tones on the right.

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PS: Muito obrigada to daisyfae, DaddyP, emma, Shannon, Alice, KPX, penfold, Esta(!), Sue, and stinkypaw for their kind comments on Wind at my Back.

My older sister stayed in ICU (intensive care unit) for more than twelve weeks after the liver transplant as her body tried to accommodate a poorly matched organ. Progress was slower than molasses through a feeding tube and the ICU staff had a hard time hiding their concern. But we were incredibly optimistic, busy making plans for the future. After the surprise of a transplant at the 11th hour (11:58, more precisely) we knew that miracles were possible.

It had been several weeks of being confined to a bed by countless machines to help her eat, breathe and keep all bodily functions going.  Kilo* was eager for a taste of the outdoors. She had already managed to invite the sun into her room by finding the perfect angle to hold a pocket mirror up to the window above her bed. She wasn’t able to speak yet but I knew that she always felt better when she could see the sun. When news arrived that a trip to the parking lot was planned I thought we would both burst with excitement. It took 2-1/2 hours to unhook and rehook the various tubes and machines. It took another 45 minutes to get her into a wheelchair, followed by a 20-minute rest and an excruciating 30-minute convoy of nurses and machines until we reached the outside door. Everyone was exhausted.

But then I saw the slow smile that gently changed Kilo’s face and the single tear that escaped when she felt the cool wind against her cheek. And I knew that it had been worth every minute.

Kilo, Tango and some other morose-looking Bravo (from L to R)

This post (and most of this blog) is in memory of Kilo Romeo Bravo (May 27, 1966 – May 26, 2005).

.tNb

* Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent

PS: Obrigada to DaddyP, Esta(!), penfold, daisyfae and KPX for their totally awesome comments on Because it’s, like, Thursday.

What. Ever.

In true Valley Girl fashion I’m embracing this, like, social media wave to the max. Thank god that old telephone pole gives us ADSL so I can Facebook. So, like, OMG these are some of this week’s totally awesome fan pages. They’re fer shur bitchin’.

Brought to you by this most gnarly fan page:

Spread the like.

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PS: Obrigada to daisyfae and penfold for their comments on Glow.

fulgor ~ glow

This week’s theme was “glow” and I love the way Cabril’s country glimmer contrasts with Vancouver’s urban neon. I’m glowing with the season’s first roses on the left while djbeat does bright lights in the big city on the right.

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PS: Muito obrigada to daisyfae, penfold, emma and stinkypaw for their comments on In a Siesta State of Mind.