"View from Dornberk vineyard"

It is grape season in Primorska [near the sea]. The air is sticky sweet with sun warmed juice, tractors snail from the vineyards hauling loads of grapes and vats of juice, chatting and laughing rises from between the rows and entire families and close friends spend gloriously sweet days picking grapes. Many hands make light work; but it is also a traditional event of working out side, easing the labor of a loved one, socializing while working, gathering around the table outside for a harvest lunch, and enjoying the wine of your labors the rest of the year.

"Spoiled grapes" In some vineyards it was not a good year for grapes. Some of the hillsides had hail the size of eggs destroying much of the crop. Some bunches were full and sweet on the protected side but on the outside bruised and dried like raisins. In addition there was a lot of rain followed by high temperatures. Disease grows rapidly in these conditions and if the grower is not able to spray within an hour of the rain the mold is unstoppable. "Picking in Vogrsko"

Each grower has his own style of picking. Some who have larger vineyards tell us to cut the bunches and not worry about trimming out the dried parts, but others ask us to cut out every bit of the bad and only put the sweetest berries in the bucket [they call the single grape jagoda meaning strawberry]. Trimming every bad spot in the vineyard is a tediously slow process, but makes for lots of time for conversation. "Svetinje"

We traveled this week to Prlekija above the Pannonian plain, in eastern Slovenia on the Hungarian and Croatian borders, to visit the villages and vineyards there. Picking has not really begun yet so the vines were still heavy with grapes. The vineyards look so different because they are tended in different ways. The soil in Primorska is rocky and nothing grows under the terraced vines that follow the contour of the hillside. But in Prlekija the paths between the vines are grass, the vines are trimmed very close to the support wires [maybe to make it easier for machine harvest] and some of the vines run vertical on the hills as well as long twisting ribbons of green. "Jeruzalem"

In Prlekija there seem to be fewer villages on the top of hillsides, but small church communities. We stayed in Jeruzalem [pop. 55] named by the Knights Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem who brought the image of the Lamenting Madonna here on their return from a crusade to the Holy Land. The Knights were a Christian organization who built a hospital on the site of the monastery of St. John the Baptist in Jerusalem in1080 to provide care for sick and injured pilgrims to the Holy Land. In 1099 they were charged with defense of the Holy Land, and along with the Knights Templar, were one of the most powerful crusade organizations fighting the Muslims. When the Muslims expelled the Christians from Jerusalem in the 13^th century the Knights were given land on this ridge in Slovenia where the Benedictine brothers built a chapel and church community. The current church was built in the 16^th century. Now the monastery buildings have been converted into a lovely hotel. "View from Jeruzalem" We of course came up with our own fractured history: Richard the Chicken Hearted grudgingly started out for the Holy Land kissing his mama goodbye and promising a souvenir on his return. After a torturous crossing of the Alps and then going up and down, and down and up again and again he decided that the view was pretty good from this hill top so he stopped and called it Jeruzalem. Now he could tell everyone that he made it safely to Jerusalem and sent mama a bottle of Rumeni Muškat for her souvenir. The amazing thing about both stories is the amount of traveling people did hundreds of years ago. We think we are so modern and global and we complain how tired we are from a 12 hour overseas flight. But these people traveled for years and were offered hospitality along the way and were somehow able to communicate along the journey and used trade to pay for everything.

For a country of only 2 million people and a land mass the size of northern Ohio the diversity is incredible. In this region of Prlekija the language does not even sound like Slovene. Our friends tell us that they can’t understand the language here and we certainly didn’t understand anything. In our area everyone speaks English and Italian, but in this area everyone speaks German and probably Hungarian too. We saw homes that had Hungarian influence, stork nests, Austrian castles and regional dishes are made with pumpkin oil and buckwheat. It feels like a different country.

Along our walk from Jeruzalem to Svetinje we followed the sound of the klopotec echoing throughout the valley. The clacking sounds of wood blocks striking wood are used to scare the birds away from the ripening grapes but to us it was the giggling sound of laughter which added even more joy to our adventure. "Klopotec"

FOR NEW SLOVENIAN ENTRIES GO TO www.kayraplenovich.com

Kitchen Garden













Vegetable Garden












Sunset






















Peace Flags on Front Porch

I had no idea how it would feel to come “home” to Ohio. I have visited twice in the past two years, but visiting home is like taking a nap on an old bed; it feels right and comfortable, but it is just not long enough to know for sure if your back is going to hurt. Living in Slovenia on the border of Italy is an incredible adventure. Each day we are discovering new places, struggling with language, meeting new people, and wading through the adventure and challenges of two cultures. Some times we are so tired of not understanding, of getting lost, of being continuously confused that we crave familiar normalcy and a place where we can understand every inane thing that is said. But the familiar eases out adventure, and at home we found ourselves searching hard to discover the new and interesting. Would we simply fall into old patterns when we returned? Would the sameness seem dull or comforting? Would the familiar be cozy or uninteresting? Would family and friends be curious about what has changed us, or are we expected to slide back into being the people of the past?

Our home stood breathlessly waiting for us. The trees and bushes lined up for inspection showing how tall they had grown in 3 years; the flower gardens hung their heads in shame because the weeds had invaded and the gardens had lost the war, and the field laughed in wild flower joy. On my first morning at the house I brewed myself a cup of coffee, fluffed milk for a latte and settled in my quiet ritual of rocking on the porch until the coffee is gone. But the hummingbird had other ideas. No one had feed him in 2 years and he was unhappy; buzzing my head on the porch unhappy. So before I could even finish my coffee I had to find the feeder, mix him a cocktail of sugar water and feed him his treat so that I could have a little peace. This same hummingbird has been returning to my feeders for around 6 years I think; but they all look alike. He always comes begging the beginning of May and if I don’t have the feeders out he searches for me. One year I was in my studio on the second floor at the back of the house where there was never a feeder and he found me. He hung at the window fluttering his tiny wings until I got up and filled the feeder, as if to say “Mom, come on I’m home, where’s the food”. He doesn’t search for Bob; he somehow knows that I am the dealer for his sugar habit.

Bob came home the beginning of February and he did an enormous amount of work on the house; keeping it safe during the -17° F temperatures, repairing things, painting rooms to cover renter nicks and finger prints and he planted the vegetable garden with some flowers for me. So I came home to the house that felt like my home. It is delightfully peaceful here. The stream that fills the neighbor’s pond from the artesian well across the street snickers all year long, constantly reminding us that she carries secrets from deep in the earth. The song birds dance in streaks of yellow, red, blue and orange, calling to each other from perches on high and serenading us early in the morning. Bob also moved the hot-tub from the master bathroom to the back patio and where we can celebrate the setting sun from the depth of hot water. Now home seems like a fancy resort with luxury in our back yard. We are so very blessed!

We have found in other visits home that contact with family and friends is very different than we expected. People ask “Do you like living over there?” “Are you home to stay?” When we answer yes to the first question and no to the second the conversation comes to a screeching halt. There seems to be no more interest in what we have done, what we are doing and who we are becoming. The conversation quickly oozes to the local gossip, the quality of playing by the Cleveland Indians, the romantic encounters of music and movie celebrities or diatribes about recent illnesses. Generally people seem to not be curious about what we are doing. That is strange for us because we are so fascinated by the experiences of other people, that we thought people would be fascinated by ours. After sharing stories one friend said “You make me feel like I am doing nothing with my life.” Her comment makes me wonder if that is how our stories make others feel. Rather than feeling interested and excited with us the conversations make them feel badly for themselves. We of course hope that our choices can help inspire others to take the risk and do the things that they have always wanted to do and live life without regret, but it doesn’t seem that way.

This summer has been a garden holiday. We have reestablished some of the flower beds, grown the vegetables for our dinners, and built a wildflower labyrinth. It has been a time of reclaiming the home that we designed and built with our own hands. It has been a time of reading, talking, visiting and sharing. It has been a time of great contentment.

Our plans now are to live in Slovenia for 6 months during the school year and 6 months in Ohio working the land. We both will have part time teaching jobs in Nova Gorica and we will call Šempeter our Slovene home for another year. We hope to return to Ohio in April, reestablish Thistlefink Gardens, sell flowers and take full advantage of both of our homes and all they have to offer.

Hummingbird friend















Garden Harvest















Red and Black Raspberries picked with friend Carson

The views from my bike today

Cliffs of the Vipava Valley









Predmeja meadow



Pot [path]

It’s really SPRING in Slovenia!! I know it is spring [or trying to be spring] where you live too, but here spring is oozing out of every pour and the air is sweeter than a candy shop. The sweetness is roses that reach caressing me when I walk by screeching me to a stop, the sweetness is the locust trees hanging their flowers in front of my face along the bike path, the sweetness is the crowns that light up the giant chestnut trees along the street, the sweetness is the cluster of lily of the valley sneaking under the fence begging for attention.

When we first moved to Slovenia in August the air was thick with the smell of roses, lavender and rosemary and I was so distracted by the scent that I had to be careful crossing the street. Now those scents are not as strong to me because they are so familiar, but when spring comes new scents attack me and this year seems to be more intense than the past two years. I never remember being overwhelmed by the smell of the air in Ohio. I’m afraid that we have so many hybrid plants that the roses are perfect and beautiful, but they don’t smell. Lilac bushes are the most glorious scent, but we were given a lilac for our new house that did not smell. I was profoundly disappointed. How can they steal the lilac smell? So I am delighting in the taste of each smell here and planning my walking path to pass by certain gardens and trees.

Last week I had an unusual free day and I went hiking near Predmeja. To get there I have to climb, weave and wind along a long narrow road that has 3 tunnels hand cut out of the rock. At the top, the walking path follows the cliff edge looking into the Vipava valley and dashes in and out of forest, meadow, farm fields and rocky out crops. The profusion of wild flowers was amazing; florescent blues and yellows tucked protected in the grass or near the base of a rock, white clusters spinning in the wind along with the apple blossoms that called to me with the song of the Sirens. The complete peace was interrupted only by the twitter of yellow and grey birds, the warning of a rooster or a farm dog. I could have walked for days, but the wind quickly exchanged cotton candy clouds for charcoal whirlwinds and I escaped just before the rain.



Vipava valley from my picnic spot



path marker



forest floor of blue



glow of the sun at my feet

Sunny yellow cottages tip-toe through the grass
like dandi-lions dotting the walled pastures.

Slab stone flat pavement glistening in salt spray,
their toes tickled by delicate blossoms, seeds blown from across the wind.

Guinness chocolate foam licking the lips of repeeated melodies
of flute, concertina, guitar
toes tapping, stepping to time.

The language sings to the wind swept bushes
nothing could be greener.



Burren looking to Fanore



Cliffs of Moher



Rocky coast



pasture

Bob went home to Ohio the end of January because our house was going to be empty during the most bitter cold part of the winter, and we just couldn’t take the risk of damage due to freezing pipes. It’s difficult to be here in Slovenia without him. Not only have we spent 35 years supporting and caring for each other, but after a day of traversing another culture, another language, and many cultural differences, it is a huge comfort to come home to the snugly warmth of his arms. But the thing I have discovered most is that I am pretty boring company for myself!

We decided to have a romantic rendezvous for my May holiday, I kept telling people that I was meeting my American lover . Now I know that no cartographer would believe that Ireland is half way between Slovenia and Ohio, but for us it seemed like the perfect mid point. And they do speak English. Don’t they?

We each flew into Shannon. Bob arrived before me and was all ready with a rental car, a warm loving smile and the comfort of US. We planned to hike a lot, and I wanted to do the entire trip by foot and bus transport, but Bob really wanted to drive on the left side of the road so we had a car [and I am really glad we did]. We had booked a B&B on line outside of Doolin for a couple nights and the rest of the week was up for grabs. Bob did great with the driving!! I just said “left” when we turned corners to be certain that he was not on automatic pilot. The only difficulty he seemed to have was judging exactly where the left side of the car was. The secondary roads are cart paths lined with 5ft. high stone walls and bushes growing on them. He could see the middle of the road just fine, but the side of the road was a mystery. I learned quickly not to hang my arm out the window.

We stayed only on the western coast along the monstrous cliffs to the sea. It is the most amazing countryside. Checkered all over the rolling hills are ancient stone walls used still to corral cows and sheep. The land rolls and rolls along until it falls off the cliffs of Moher into the crashing, smashing sea. And there are no trees!!! Yes I really mean that in some places there really are NO trees. The trees that do stand, jitter-bug all day with the wind and have a distinctive limp. The soil is thin on top of the glaciated rock, the wind is powerful, but we also read that the English cut down all the trees so that the Irish would not gather in the woods. This is just one of countless despicable acts done by the English to keep the Irish in slavery, desperate poverty and as a subservient population to the crown. The lack of trees though provides brilliant vistas to the sea and we could watch the rain storms and the bursts of sun come and go on the currents.

Bed and Breakfast cottages speckle the landscape all along this area brightly painted yellow, salmon or trimmed in shocking blue. Tourism has brought new life and lots of people to this farming community, but the B&B’s are still working farms raising cows for milk and meat as well as sheep and following Irish traditions with warm hospitality and kindness. We booked a couple nights at Moher Lodge on the internet and stayed in the lovely home of Mary and Patsy Considine, but then moved to the Aille River Hostel so that we could cook our own meals. The off season rate for the B&B was 35€ per person plus breakfast, the hostel was half that, but we had a private room and we could cook. One of the fabulous things about the B&B was breakfast; fresh squeezed orange juice, fruit, home made scones and a traditional Irish breakfast for Bob. This breakfast of sausage, bacon, black pudding [blood sausage], potatoes, eggs, grilled tomato washed down with strong tea would be torture for a vegetarian, but I understand for a meat eater it is “The way to start the day”. I had a hard time sitting at the same table with him.

Doolin is advertised at the music capital of Ireland and we decided that the Irish have the same gift of exaggeration as the Slovenes, because it is hard to even describe Doolin as a town let alone a capital. But this title brings people from all over the world to this tiny hamlet, without a grocery store, a bank or an ATM, to hear traditional music. There are lots of places to stay and pubs for music, food and Guinness. After watching the sunset we went every night to O’Connor’s to hear music by a different group nightly. I am pretty sure there were never any locals in the pub, but lots of Americans and French. None the less, to sit all night soaking a dark foamy beer engulfed in fiddle and flute tunes is a taste of heaven.




Bob hiking in the Burren










music at O'Connor's pub



Aille River Hostel, Doolin



trees dancing with the wind

During the day we hiked. I had hoped to hike from town to town and settle in a new place each night, but the hiking routes described in “Walking Ireland” are really walks on these narrow roads that have a 100km/hr speed limit. What are they thinking?! So we were really thankful for a car.

We drove to the Burren and hiked cow paths, across fields, climbed walls and walked for hours on bare rock polished by the glaciers. This is a karst region just like our area in Slovenia, but nothing at all like it. Karst is a geological phenomenon caused by slightly acidic rain dissolving the limestone surface creating fissures and then forming under ground aquifers. In Slovenia sink holes are very prevalent and the underground water comes to the surface out of holes in the side of the mountain or sneaking under the hill. But in the Burren the fissures are crevices in strips and down inside there are miniature flower gardens protected from the wind and able to collect the rain. Looking into the distance on the path from the Black Head Lighthouse the Burren landscape looks like giant petrified cow pies. It is tricky walking up the hill and over the slices in the ground. Humans have lived and worshiped here from pre-history and forts, tombs, and stone circles still remain. Unfortunately if you don’t know what you are looking for everything looks like rocks piled on top of rocks so everything or nothing looks like an ancient monument. We had a marvelous time wandering; chasing the sunshine and hiding from the rain showers.



Poulnabrone Dolmen [prehistoric tomb]











fissure garden



prehistoric fort on Blackhead point








the Burren

We also watched a local Gaelic football game. It was played on a plateau over looking the bay and it is a combination of soccer and basket ball. They did not dribble the ball with their feet or their hands, but both. Running down the field at full speed they would bounce the ball on the grass or kick it off their foot back into their hands [did I say they were running full speed down the field being chased and guarded??]. One point can be scored if kicked through the goal post [like Am. football] or 3 points if it is kicked past the goalie into the net [like soccer]. There was very little physical contact between the players, but a lot of running without stopping. I was exhausted just watching!

With the map of the area we also went searching for castles, churches, monasteries and grave yards. There are so many remains of old buildings that cows graze in the living rooms. The map tells of a castle, but the signs are few and far between. It made great adventure turning down rough roads trying to find a place that is pictured in a guide book, but hidden in the mist and only available for the very determined.

In a few towns thatch house can still be found. Many are charming tourist spots, but some are still lived in. It is clear that the Irish economy is doing well by the energy that is used to keep the houses in lovely shape and beautifully cared for.
Everywhere people were warm and friendly and curious. I found it very difficult to wade through the accent, and I found my self speaking more slowly and simply the way I do in Slovenia because I couldn’t understand them. I had to shake myself into remembering that English was our common language [although all the signs are in Gaelic and we heard a lot of Gaelic spoken].

My family immigrated from Donegal, Ireland before the potato famine that devastated the country. 50% of their population immigrated from abject poverty and slavery. On the next trip we will go to Donegal and search the McGarveys.

http://www.doolinireland.net/
http://www.cliffsofmoher-ireland.com/index.html
http://www.esatclear.ie/~ailleriver/





High Cross at Dysert O'Dea



O'Brian's tower


Gaelic football

thatch house in Adare



makings for thatch



horses have the greatest view












signs in Ballyvaughn

dining room

Zapreval Tourist Farm

Bob in front of the peč

Slovenia has over 200 tourist farms; working farms where guests are treated like family. http://www.slovenia.info/en/Countryside.htm?podezelje_1=0&lng=2

When Bob and I visited Slovenia the first time in the fall of 2004 we stayed in 4 different tourist farms in different parts of the country. Each experience was unique. There was one we wouldn’t recommend because we needed to put a chair against the door to keep it from swinging open at night, the people seemed to argue about everything, a light in the bedroom was dangerously hanging from a wire and Bob had to bend backwards in half to keep from hitting his head when using the toilet. Another was just an apartment in someone’s modern house and it was not on a farm or had any of the charm we came to expect. But we have a favorite that we have visited often since and can highly recommend.

http://www.slovenia.info/en/farm-with-accommodations/Tourist-farm-Žgajnar.htm?farm_with_accommodations=162&lng=2

Zapreval is a small village high above Ljubljana and not far from the medieval village of Škofja Loka. From the Žgajnar tourist farm you can see the lights of Brnik Airport if there is no fog, but there is no sound of planes. There are only a few farms in Zapreval but it sits in the middle of Stari Vrh ski resort so day and night time skiing takes place all around the village. In the months when there is no snow people hike and the very strong and determined ride bikes. We have been there in all seasons except summer and it is the most perfectly peaceful place at all times of the year.

Jana greats each guest with a warm smile and šnops made from flowers, blueberries, or maybe even honey before she shows you to your room. I keep trying to drink this horrible liquid that makes me shiver with every sip just to see why it is so celebrated, but so far I can't recommend it. At the farm there are basic accommodations for as many as 20 people, and most of the rooms easily sleep 3. Each room has a private bath and an incredible site viewed from the tiny old windows to the mountains, the valley, the ski slope or the gardens.

Meals are served in the common dining room with the peč. My favorite seat is leaning up against the tiled stove and keeping my back warm. A peč was a common part of every home. The hearth was in the kitchen and served as a cook stove and oven for baking, but the channels of hot air blew through a maze of ceramic tiles that stuck out into the room next to the kitchen and served to heat the house. Children slept on top of it in the cold winter, and on racks hanging from the ceiling clothes were hung for drying. This family farm is generations old and they still raise cows, fruit and vegetables that are served at table. We stayed here the first time in September and Bob went with Jana to the woods hunting for mushrooms that were then served in the most tasty mushroom soup [gobova juha] imaginable. The food is homemade daily and she is very sensitive to vegetarians. Mostly it is a place of great aesthetic beauty in a natural farm sense and we feel very cared for and welcome.

Off season the cost for a room, breakfast and dinner is less than 20 € per person per night.

We have visited Zapreval 3 times this school year. Once in the fall, when Aaron and Elle were here after Christmas and then late winter just before Bob returned to the U.S. Sadly the snow was not so good this year and even though they make snow and have beautiful new ski equipment and buildings the skiing is only marvelous if the snow is great. We did do some skiing and it was such fun, but we were never there when all the slopes were open. But that didn’t matter, because it is really fun to be there on top of the world, in the quiet of the early morning, when the fog is still settled in the valley and the sun is melting the ice off the trees. It is truly a piece of heaven.