What I Learned This Spring

I'm joining Emily P. Freeman's quarterly post link-up today of things she's learned in the season just ending.  She writes and shares some of her list every three months--always including the silly and the sacred--and I always mean to start this practice of reflecting, too.  After listening to her latest podcast outlining some of the questions she asks herself, I eagerly sat down and did some reflecting on the past three months of spring.  Here are a few things from my list:

1.  I'll probably never choose the fancy restaurant.

I think I already knew this about myself a little, but it's become really clear in the past few months that going out to eat is just not that important to me.  I've been a little slow to this realization because in certain circumstances, I greatly enjoy going out to eat, and I can see that it's a fun and valid way to spend your time and money, savoring an experience.  But it's just not that important to me.  

On Mother's Day I treated myself to a wrap from the supermarket

filled with things my kids don't eat:  goat cheese, nuts, and beets.

2.  I spent a lot of time looking at cherry trees.

From the first blossoms all the way to the cherry pie at the end, I spent a lot of time with cherry trees this spring.

I couldn't believe I got to be like Anne, with a cherry tree

outside my bedroom window.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lynn Pugh (@lynn_pugh) on May 29, 2019 at 10:07am PDT

3.  Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo share a crypt.

On Mother's Day I visited the Pantheon by myself before church, and I know it's just their bones, but it made me happy that these two French writers share a room here.  

4.  Humans often blame God for the evil brought into the world by other humans.  

This is not an original thought by any means, but it occurred to me after watching a television show one night and reading a book the next morning.  In both story-lines a character assumes God is disinterested, non-existent, or that He created a world without order based on the bad things we're all affected by, and it struck me how upside down that thinking is.  Don't get me wrong, I've engaged in it myself.  When we're in pain we wonder what the point is and we think that perhaps if there is a God He might not care after all.  

But what if there is a God who's very interested?  What if He created a world of immense order and all that is disordered and evil didn't enter into the world by His hand?  And what if He's already executed the rescue mission that will rescue and restore all that was broken? 

5.  A well-stocked fridge, freezer, and pantry gives me great peace of mind.

I convinced K.J. we should join Costco last month, and I get so much joy out of having enough meat on hand to feed us for two weeks.  I'm positively buoyant when I push that heavy cart out the door.  This week I saw a group of corporate Americans there touring the store (it's the first one in France), and I resisted the urge to hug them and thank them personally.  

What have you learned this spring?

Le Mont St. Michel

The last week of February I sat in the back garden in the sun with Noreen.  That pleasant week made the cold wind and rain that descended on the first of March that much more of a shock to the system.  The day we planned to visit Mont St. Michel there wasn't much rain, but the wind was fierce.  Have you ever ridden a bike in the wind?  It's a lot like running I suppose:  when it's at your back you feel like you could fly, but when you're pushing into it, it is hard-going.  

There was a fair amount of singing, "When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything!" as we rode in a group down this path to the mont you can just see in the distance.

Seeing Mont St. Michel from a distance makes you feel like you've entered into the enchanted world of fairy tales.  It's so other-worldly.  

The stone streets at the bottom are filled with restaurants and shops to purchase memorabilia as well as swords and shields and books about the history of the abbey at the top of the mount.  Once you enter through the gate you keep climbing slowly up and up, gaining an ever-more-impressive view of the sand and water below you.

There are dangerous sections of sinking sand amidst these coastal flats.  

The smell of salt water is strong in the air, and if you want to visit the abbey be prepared to climb a lot of steps.

The church is really beautiful.

K.J. and I most enjoyed the cloister this time.  Maybe it's the bright patch of green in the middle that seems to be begging for a tree.

I loved all the white stones used in the path, and the colors of the sea reflected in the window glass.  There are many huge rooms to walk through, and it's always tempting to go stand in one of the enormous open fireplaces.

The size and scope of this room seemed the perfect place for a skirmish between the fellowship and orcs.

Outside the abbey, the Japanese cherry blossoms were just beginning to appear all pink and white on the trees.

I recently read a book published in 1942 that partly takes place at Mont Saint Michel.  When I read the author's description I thought, Yes!  That is exactly what it feels like.

Les Obiones: Staying at a Lamb Farm

For the past couple of years when we travel K.J. has used Airbnb to find us a place to stay.  It's been a great way to stay somewhere reasonably priced, be able to cook our own meals, and most importantly--have a separate bedroom from the kids. 😊  It's also just fun to stay somewhere charming, old, different, or some combination of the three.  

When K.J. was researching our two-night stay in Brittany he discovered a sheep farm that was opening part of the old stone farmhouse as an Airbnb.  I loved photographing the lambs in North Yorkshire , so I was really hopeful our trip would coincide with lambing time in Bretagne.

Our hosts at Les Obiones were a young couple who left their former jobs and spent a year learning from the previous owner how to run the farm before taking over for themselves in October.  Felix invited us to come to the barn at feeding time.  The barn is a very loud place at feeding time; a chorus of maaa-maaaas greeted us.

A few lambs whose mothers weren't able to feed them were kept in a special pen.  They ran to greet us when we walked up and made a huge racket.  I think they knew what time it was.

Felix filled the tubs with milk and gave us the opportunity to bottle-feed the two who needed special attention. 

All was quiet for a few minutes.  The lambs were eager and contented eaters.

What a floppy-eared darling.