Since I Have Arrived

A collection of travelling tales by a mother and daughter

Daytrippin’ to the Amish Country Co-op

July 8th, 2011

The former “Mattress Factory” has had a conversion. The Bertha, Minn. Amish community no longer needs to set up roadside stands. They have formed the Amish Country Co-op, south of Bertha just off highway 71, with owner Mary Larson.

You will be greeted with shelves of fresh baked goods, seasonal certified organic Amish fruits and vegetables, eggs, jams, jellies, quilts, toys, leatherwork, furniture and craft work. A green house also offers plants and seedlings. I highly recommend the chocolate dipped pretzels.

And, the price is right.

The co-op is open six days a week spring through fall.

Amish country Co-op, Bertha, Minnesota

A Walk with Dylan Thomas in Wales

July 1st, 2011

A soft day in Wales

A Walk with Dylan Thomas– The Cadence of Wales

Mumbles, Wales. Local Mumbleites will tell you that if you come to live in Mumbles for awhile, you will lose your ambition.

“That’s what happened to my husband, “said a Welsh woman sitting next to me on a city bus in Mumbles, “We came for a vacation; we stayed; he lost his ambition.”

Mumbles possesses a siren-like quality that draws you in and makes you forget where you came from. Call it the myth of the Welsh seascape and the misty landscape, which the Welsh call, “soft days.”

Mumbles, a derivation of the Danish “Mumme” and the Latin “Mammae” meaning breasts, is a reference to the two rocky islets at the western end of Swansea Bay. In 1807, the inauguration of the horse-drawn passenger train, the first regular passenger railway in the world, brought fame and fortune to Mumbles. On bank holidays in the mid to late 19th century, thousands of people arrived there to enjoy the sea air. The horse-drawn car made its last journey on March 31, 1896.

Wales’ most famous poet, Dylan Thomas, spent many hours in Mumble’s pubs, and on the Gower Peninsula nearby, “one of the loveliest sea-coast stretches in the whole of Britain.” In letters from 1934, he reported spending afternoons “walking alone over the very desolate Gower cliffs, communing with the cold and the quietness.” Mumbles and Gower played crucial roles in Thomas’ writing. It was here that the germ of an idea for his famous radio play Under Milk Wood was born.

About a five-mile walk along the coast from Mumbles, or a brief city bus ride, will take you to the seaport town of Swansea, population 10,000. Dylan Thomas no doubt walked this walk or climbed aboard the Mumbles train after an evening at the pub. You can still spend a night enjoying dark ale at the Antelope and karaoke at the White Rose.

Scholars have written that Thomas, the most quoted writer in the world after Shakespeare, is the cadence of Wales; readers hear the sound of Wales in his poetry and prose. For him, the sounds of words were as important as meaning. These sea towns, Mumbles, Gower and Swansea were Thomas’ world, and he gave his world to the larger world. He never strayed far nor lived or worked far from his path. As an adult, he always connected back to his childhood. For what else was childhood but a place to share secrets?

Thomas was an intriguing “bad boy” of his time. He and his wife Caitlin, evaded debt collectors, lived off the goodwill of friends, partied to excess and lived a Bohemian lifestyle. The Dylan Thomas Heritage Centre in Swansea’s Maritime Cultural Quarter captures the life and “buzz” created by Thomas after his death in 1953.
The Centre opened on Jan. 2, 2002, with former President Jimmy Carter, also a poet, delivering the keynote address. As you enter the main exhibition room, you face a freestanding mural of famous images of Dylan Thomas, his wife, friends and acquaintances. The last bust on exhibit is cast from Dylan’s death mask, after his death in New York City at age 39. A timeline of Thomas’ life starts with his death and ends with his birth on October 27, 1914.

The son of a schoolmaster, Thomas said the themes of his writings emerged as a record of his “individual struggle from darkness toward some measure of light,” themes of life, death, sex, love, nature, childhood, madness, himself. Other prose and poems, Under Milk Wood, Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night and A Child’s Christmas in Wales, surround you as you move through the user friendly interactive exhibit.
“I wanted to write poetry in the beginning because I had fallen in love with words,” wrote Thomas. “ I cared for the color of the words. Poetry is what makes me laugh, or cry, or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle.”

Thomas became one of the first British artists to be wildly popular in the United States. He is called the first modern day multi-media star because of the entrancing way he could read his poetry. His voice had a “breathless, boom, boom, boom” quality said one radio commentator.

The exhibit also includes audiovisual displays and a research room containing letters, scripts, a typewriter and Thomas’ publications. The Centre also has a café book shop containing 7000 used books, a gift shop and an art gallery with a yearlong program of literary events.

A short bus ride leads to Laugharne (Larn), a sleepy town on Carmarthern Bay, and Laugharne Castle, which is immortalized by its most celebrated inhabitant, Dylan Thomas. It is a steep trek up the path, now called Dylan’s Walk, to the castle Boat House where Dylan and Caitlin lived during the late 1940s. On the way, view the interior of the bright blue work shed through a small glass window to see where Thomas wrote. It has been restored to resemble the shed when Thomas used it, right down to the discarded papers on the floor and an empty bottle of beer. The spectacular view from the shed stretches across Carmarthen Bay. A few hundred yards up the path, the 19th century Boat House, formerly used as a boat building and repair center, nestles under the cliff. This Boat House represents calm in Thomas’ otherwise turbulent life. The Boat House features Thomas memorabilia, a video documentary of his life, a tea room and a gift shop complete with a famous Welsh shop cat, Barnard, who has stories published about him in national newspapers. Be sure to stop and scratch behind his ears as you sign the guest book.

From the Boat House, the path turns inland and returns to town. A grassy track leads up the hill and then right to where the couple is buried in St. Martin’s Church graveyard. The grave, marked by a simple white cross for a complex couple, stands out among the expensive gravestones.
In the church, a plaque commemorates Thomas’ life with words from his poem Quite Early One Morning. “And some like myself, just came, one day, for the day, and never left; got off the bus, and forgot to get on again.”

I said goodbye that soft day in Wales to Dylan and Caitlin, to a poet and a country that had somehow captured me. Perhaps someday I will return; I will stay and forget to get back on the bus.

–Merrie Sue Holtan

And you think you’re cold? A guest blog from the South Pole

February 19th, 2011

Enjoy our guest blog from Judy down in the South Pole, a native from Makoti, North Dakota (a town soon to celebrate 100 year!).

January 30, 2011

Pole Tales #16

Weather:  -15F/-41F wind chill

Ave Temp:  -25F

Population: 182

Flights:  157

Satellite Times: 1:51am  -  8:26am (plus various afternoon times)

Ice Cream:  Pistachio is the only flavor left & we don’t get the ice cream bars til it’s gone!!!

South Pole Traverse Position:  Back in McMurdo & glad of it

Acronym:

Pictures: last bbq at summer camp; Makoti Centennial sweatshirt at Geographic Pole

Dear all,

We’re definitely winding down here, which is a good thing.  The D-8R is down waiting for a new “harness” (computer managed dozers are not necessarily user friendly here at Pole), and Megan discovered Saturday morning that the D-7R dozer has oil in the glycol.  Probably an o ring, but not a quick fix.  Plus we had White Trash, the snow hauler in the shop for some TLC welding & that takes up the entire big bay so it had to come out so the 7 could go in. Nothing is simple here.

This means we’re down to the old D7H, Pearl, and two D-6D dozers.  We are done, done, done hauling snow.  Even if we aren’t!  There is ALWAYS more snow to haul.  Putting away moveable buildings (such as outdoor toilets) has begun & Martha is hot after making a new line.  She’ll be leaving next Saturday & the rest of us on night shift in a few days after that.

Speaking of which, I have plane reservations, not confirmed, for Feb 13th to fly home to Nodak.  I lose a day crossing the international dateline, so arrive home the same day I leave New Zealand.  Schedule is not as crazy as last year:  Cheech, Auckland, LA, Denver, Minot.  Still a long haul.

The rest of the crews are winding down too & the weather is feeling more like fall at the Pole.  We’ve had DAYS of wind, wind wind, but at least it’s sunny.  The planes have been sketchy.  They’re trying to pull in the field camps right now & the weather is changing all over the continent.  I’ve heard we have around 50 more flights of just fuel to get in to Pole.  The math just isn’t working as the station is due to close Feb 15.  hamm

Ilde came for two days to cut hair—she cut 37 heads day one, & 27 day two.  How many hairdressers do you know who can do that???  No planes flew here yesterday, so she is

stuck here until Monday.

We informed Douggy that next year he’s limited to two barbeques instead of three.  I think he knows why as we OLD PEOPLE sat on the couch & looked like we were falling

asleep!!  While he was outside in 15F below with 20 knot winds cooking steaks!!!

Take notice of the dates on the sweatshirt & the geographic Pole sign…You gotta love it.

All I can muster for this week.

Love, Judy


A Travelling Tail

January 18th, 2011


Datvi

Datvi

This is the story of my cat Datvi, which means bear in Georgian.

I met Datvi nearly three years ago when visiting my friend Gia at the Open Air Ethnographic Museum in Tbilisi, Georgia where he works.  I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in the former Soviet country at the time.  Often fed by Gia, Datvi was the daughter of a rather noble cat that lived on the museum grounds.  I wasn’t looking for a cat, but she wooed me with her massive eyes and nervous meows.

At the time, I was frequently travelling between Tbilisi and Kutaisi, the second city of Georgia located four hours outside of the capital.  Not wanting to leave her alone, Datvi would travel with me by bus or marshutka – vans used for public transportation.  She oftentimes won the hearts of my fellow passengers, many of them were mama katsis – large Georgian men who exude machismo. Others weren’t always so kind.  She was quite noisy at the start of each trip and I would laugh nervously and apologize for ‘my child’, which added to their confusing looks. Indoor domestic cats aren’t very popular in Georgia.  Over time, she became a professional – it was on the Georgian highways that Datvi learned how to travel and travel she did.

The Russians invaded in August 2008 and Peace Corps evacuated us from our communities.  I had to leave Datvi behind. While my dear friend and colleague Marika feared for Kutaisi and her country, she visited Datvi every day while I was away (she didn’t seem trust my neighbours).  I think that through caring for such a small and helpless creature, it helped her feel a bit of control over a situation of terrifying uncertainty.

After the situation seemed to settle, I returned to Georgia to find Datvi had grown out of her collar and turned into what she was destined to be – a bear.  She comes from a long line of bears.   Oso – Spanish for bear – was my family’s first cat.  My parents brought him from Guadalajara, Mexico after living there for some time.  Osito – little bear – followed Oso and became a wild creature himself, until his kidneys failed on the fourth of July, 2002.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Datvi’s bear lineage goes farther back in the Holtan family tree.

When I moved to Scotland, things became complicated as the UK requires animals to take various tests to enter the country and avoid quarantine.  It was here that my sister, a transportation planner for the US military in Italy and avid cat lady, agreed to help.   You must realise – I couldn’t leave my little one behind.

Datvi explores Edinburgh

Datvi explores Edinburgh

I travelled with Datvi to Italy, where she stayed with my sister for more tests before her trip to Britain.  Again, Datvi and I found ourselves travelling together and me, apologizing for my child to surrounding passengers.  She enjoyed her time in Tuscany and quickly fell in love with a neighbour cat through the window screen.  He was gray and his name was Grigio.

Finally, the day came when I could pick her up from the Manchester Airport.  The reunion was overwhelming and the man waiting for his own bulldog to arrive applauded my efforts.  He understood.  There are just some furry friends you need to have around.  The moment I opened her cage to my flat in Edinburgh, I could sense her relief. Even more so, I was swimming in mine.  She was finally home.

Only three years old (and a cat, for that matter), she has already become quite the world traveller thanks to the kindness of family, friends, and strangers from all over the world. Datvi now spends her days exploring Edinburgh rooftops, chattering (in Georgian, no doubt) at seagulls, and eating haggis scraps. Who knows what travelling tales have yet to be written, but for now, my bear has truly found her domain.

Walking the Long Eat

January 10th, 2011

Being familiar with studio crawls, pub crawls, wine walks, progressive dinners and church potlucks didn’t really condition us for a wine climb on a sunny afternoon in Italy’s Tuscan region.

But the event, which is basically a long walk with food and wine tastings along the hilly path, has become an annual tradition; one that ends with dessert.

Six years ago, the Italian commune of Pontedera, a city of 28,000 people near Pisa, created the ‘Mangia Longa’ (the long eat) to rediscover the territory and typical local products. The name plays on the title of the legendary 70-kilometer cross country ski race, the ‘marcialonga,’ which takes place every January in Northern Italy.

On this May day, more than 500 people (100 every 20 minutes) set out for the journey. We gathered at the city’s equestrian center with our daughter Elise, who lives in the area working for the U.S. Army, and her ’30-something’ Italian friends to climb for local Tuscan tastes. The crowd included grandpas pushing strollers, young couples, senior citizens with walking sticks, large families, and a couple of Americans – us. No English spoken here.

‘The total course length was a 5K,’ Elise said. ‘It was about two kilometers straight up the trail to the hilltop Treggiaia and then about three to reach Montecastello. Our group wanted to take the hardest climbs, so in the end we were grateful for the bus ride back.’

Before leaving, we picked up passes, hats, and wine glasses and sampled the Antipasto prepared by local bakers. It featured Tuscan toast with fresh tomato basil and mozzarella omelette with potatoes, fresh onions and ham. White wines from the cities of Pontedera, Cenaia and Fauglia accompanied the appetizers.

We ascended a fairly rugged trail; working hard on the first climb, resting as needed, remembering it wasn’t a race but a time for conversing, a little heavy breathing and photo taking of the Tuscan valley unfolding beneath us. The experience was about ‘as good as it gets.’

Finally, the high medieval city of Treggiaia, where young red local wines and Zuppa di Cavolo – cauliflower soup with bread and onions, awaited us. We took our time as the group debated taking the difficult or easy trail to Montecastello.

‘Difficile,’ said Jonathan, who grew up near by. ‘It’s not so bad.’ Later, this choice earned him a dousing with water bottles.

Montecastello volunteers greeted hungry climbers with Maiale in Porchetta, roast pork with beans, Formaggi Busti (cheese), and aged red local wines.

‘Cheese from the family Busti in Fauglia is very famous,’ Elise said. ‘Once I nearly ate half a wheel in one day.’

At this point, buses returned all climbers to the starting point of the equestrian center for dessert. The bus had been available throughout the entire course, which took about five hours, if needed.

At the center, where they breed Italian pedigreed horses and train riders, bakers prepared a party atmosphere with Trancia di Torta Golosa, a slice of sweet cake with dessert wines, champagne and coffee. Musicians played Italian blues and folk music, while the mayor of Pontedera schmoozed with his constituents. Slow food on a slow day – straight up. A nice day in the neighborhood.

Travel the World with Tater Tot Casserole

January 10th, 2011

Some good old comfort food

When the winter gets long and the temperature matches the stock market, you might need to lift your snowy spirits with some specialized Fargo-Moorhead comfort food? Well, it’s not expensive; it’s easy to make; and it’s a sure hit around the world (more about that later).

This is the tale of TT. C, Tater Tot Casserole. For years I made it for Fargo North sports teams: soccer, basketball, volleyball and swimming. It was simply inhaled. Positively the first thing to go on the buffet table. What is the special allure of this dish? My husband considers it a miracle if the casserole even makes it to the table without half the Tater Tots picked off. (You Tot pickers know who you are.) Do you ever wonder how the Tots are made? Like, maybe some assembly-line folks molding them into little cylindrical, bite-size pieces. Ore-Ida Fun Facts say the Tots are made from potato shreds left over from French fry production and they entered the scene in 1954. Maybe they are Red River Valley spuds?

The mystery remains, however, as to who made the first Tater Tot Casserole. The Tots have been featured on the Simpsons and South Park, and Sen. Amy Klobuchar from Minnesota served 1000 servings of the hot dish at her Minnesota inaugural party in D.C.

Low and behold, a picture of me holding up Tater Tot Casserole appeared recently on my daughter’s Face book. One friend responded, ‘What’s that thing she’s holding?’ Apparently, not everyone is in the know.

Tater Tot Casserole

Merrie Sue and her famous Tater Tot Casserole

When I visited my daughters who formerly lived in Italy and the Republic of Georgia, and now in Germany and Scotland, the first thing they ask for is Tater Tot Casserole. Let me tell you, it’s not easy. Italy and Georgia are slow-food places; most everything is local and fresh. The Army base in Italy provided us with canned cream of mushroom soup. The market in Tbilisi provided us with some mystery meat that looked like ground beef, fresh green beans and potatoes. So we did our best. Neither place had Tots, however, so we punted and put potato slices on top of the casserole. No matter what the variation, it turned out great! An international delicacy.

Anyway, here’s the Midwestern basic recipe I use. Spread 1 lb. uncooked ground beef on the bottom of a casserole , add onion, salt and pepper to taste, add canned or frozen green beans, spread a can of cream of mushroom soup over the top, add a bag of Tater Tots. ‘Bake for 45 minutes to an hour (until meat is done) at 350 degrees.

I thought it might be fun to share variations on the theme of your favorite Tater Tot Comfort Casserole – maybe mom’s, dad’s, grandma’s or your own concoction. For example, I recently saw a TT.C recipe in a lakes country cookbook using venison. Maybe even a TT.C for vegetarians or a low-cal version. Send us your recipes, and let’s have some fun with our favorite comfort food. Perhaps you’ve found a global TTC in your travels. Who knows? It might become the secret training meal for Fargo Marathon Runners.

Since I have arrived

September 10th, 2010

View of Home

View of Johanna's home in Edinburgh

In order to travel well, you have to know where you are coming from. To understand another culture, to speak another language – you have to appreciate the intricacies of your own.

Four years ago, I left the American Midwest for the former Soviet Union. After a series of unexpected encounters, I packed my life into airline-appropriate luggage one year ago, left Tbilisi, and landed in the country of whiskey, kilts, and rolling R’s. After 28 years, I had arrived.

My apartment is in the centre of Edinburgh. Opening the window an inch invites the sounds of the wonderfully compact city. Tourists come to Edinburgh for the famous Castle, bagpipes & whiskey-tastings, and underground ghost tours. Once home to the likes of Robert Burns, Alexander Graham Bell, Mary Queen of Scots, and Robert Louis Stevenson, it’s easy to imagine what Edinburgh looked like back then while strolling alongside the Water of Leith, the river that runs through the city, and between small alleys, called ‘closes’ here.

Among many things, Edinburgh is also known as the world’s festival city- a label I didn’t fully understand until this past August. The 64th Fringe Festival hosted over 2 million tourists, organising over 40,254 performances of 2,453 shows in 259 venues. Performances included comedies, magic acts, music gigs, theatre productions, musicals – even a man wrapping himself in tape in front of an intimate crowd of 12 people.  In addition to the Fringe Festival, there is the International Book Festival, the Storytelling Festival, the Film Festival, the Science Festival, the Spirituality Festival, the International Festival – and the list goes on.

Being in the centre of the city, my neighborhood hosted over 662 street performers, from the fully organised to small acts.  On my way home from work each day, I would often stop to take it all in – an American man laying on a bed of nails, one fellow twirling fire, and oftentimes I would have a chat with the most pierced woman in the world, who is really quite lovely. At 1 in the morning, I still battled the crowds to get to my door. No venue left unturned and no act left unexplored, the month long Festival season in Edinburgh is like no other in the world.

In addition to the city, Scotland provides a number of opportunities – Glasgow, the West Coast, the Isle of Skye, the Hebridean Islands, the Highlands, and even the rural spots just outside the city limits. I look forward to sharing them, along with my mom’s stories, in this blog.

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