Pedals & Petals

Kyle and I rented bikes for our last few weeks here in Metz.  I thought it may not have been a good investment~after all, our other bikes sat in the basement untouched (or so we thought) until we discovered they had been stolen.  I'm happy to report that I was wrong.  We've been making great use of our bikes whether to dash to the grocery store or cruise on all the great trails near our home.  Last Saturday Kyle mapped out a route that would take us on a tour along the Seille river.  Metz has two rivers~the Moselle and the Seille.  The Moselle is the larger river, and our region is named for it (within Lorraine).  The Seille is a much slower and calmer river, but I like it very much because it runs by the school I taught at in Marly.  If I got to work early, I'd hide out in the library (it was always empty and definitely better heated than the teachers' lounge), and I'd look out the window at the river.  Our bike ride, I imagined, would be just as lovely.

Conditions are perfect.

We hit the road around lunch time.  We passed the old fort down a huge hill and across a few intersections before we reached the river.  There were lots of folks out, and we found a big park hidden behind a sports arena.  Naturally we couldn't resist a playground with its unique attractions.

My substitute bike & me at the park behind the arena and Centre Pomidou (on the left).

Kyle takes on this thrilling contraption.

How majestically he soars through the air!

From there we followed the river to an area of Metz called Magny.  Trails run right along neighborhoods; it is definitely the most beautiful place to live here.  Our route split from the Seille to head back to our home via the small town of Peltre.  This is vast and endless farmland (I may have mentioned something like it in my last entry about where I've been running).  They are in the process of harvesting hay; there were bales of it everywhere.  Our riding became less leisurely through these regions as the paths were very hilly.  The roads aren't always paved; many are gravel.  Even when they were paved, the farm equipment has done such a number to them that it became a game of dodge the pothole.  The down hill sections weren't as enjoyable as they ought to have been because it's a seriously bumpy ride.

We found the tiniest vineyard ever.

Kyle's taking in the sun by a creek.

Nothing for miles but farms~hills not pictured.

My enthusiasm for the bike ride started to ware away when the trails became more and more arduous, but there was a dangling carrot I forgot to mention earlier.  In Peltre there is this farm where you can pick your own fruits and vegetables.  They have huge signs and giant fruit statues along the highway like you'd see in Georgia to draw shoppers in off the road.  Once we arrived, we could leave our bikes for a bit and bring home some fresh food.

What's on the menu, little farm?

In addition to fruits and vegetables, they sell tons of flowers.

Kyle rewarded us with water and apple juice that they make there on the farm.  It was the best apple juice I've ever had.  We set off to collect produce with bags and clippers in hand.  We started with the basics~peppers and tomatoes.  In a bold move, Kyle thought it'd be nice to bring home some eggplant (or aubergine as the french say~what a fun word!).  We also extracted a head of lettuce from the ground.  That's the last time I do that~it was super dirty.  My sink was full of mud while I was cleaning this at home.

Your toil was not in vain, Kyle.  If we never made it, we'd never have tasted that sweet sweet juice.

For some reason being in greenhouses always reminds me of Big Top Pee-Wee and the hot dog tree.  Now when I see tomatoes I expect to see tiny sausages...

It looks like a pepper, but it's a tomato!!!  That's one freaky fruit.

A man and his pepper~for some reason the flash went off making this picture seem a little odd.

 Despite blazing heat and the impending threat of sunburn, Kyle stayed with me for a good long time collecting raspberries from bushes that had surely been picked over by other folks.  I am not wildly in love with raspberries, but when my sisters and I were little, we'd collect them from the bushes at my granny's house in Massachusetts.  For the car ride, we'd each get a little jar that we could fill with raspberries from the garden to enjoy along the way.  I hadn't done it in a while.

Yum!  It's fun to collect berries.

Kyle, king of the Hamilton kitchen, whipped up some pretty neat dishes from our farm shopping trip.  Saturday night we had a pizza with homemade dough, smoked duck, and peppers.  It was insanely delicious.  Sunday we had BLT style salads (plus some cucumber from the Pounds garden).  The bacon was the only thing that came from the grocery store.  Tomorrow we are planning to have eggplant parmesan~I'm pumped about it because I've never had it before.

Who knew duck, peppers, and cheese on fresh bread was a heavenly combo?

Garden fresh salad garnished by miraculously tasty pork.

Forgot to mention we came home with a bottle of sparkling apple juice from the farm.  It felt like New Year's Eve drinking this bubbly nectar.

Kyle said something while we were riding along that I really appreciated.  He said that this experience~that exploring this hidden country~was really special and unique to really living somewhere new.  We aren't like students who come abroad to try to add a new country to a list every free weekend or collect pictures of ourselves in front of monuments (though we do a fair amount of that).  What we shared on this particular day was unique; we'll likely never have a day quite like it again (mostly because I'm not ready to go all-terrain through farmland again so soon).  It just makes me grateful that God gave us this opportunity to experience a different kind of life this past year.  Even more so, I'm thankful God gave me someone like Kyle to share it with.  I'm getting a little mushy, but isn't that how it's supposed to be when something is nearly over?  We're on the precipice of a new season in life; perhaps, even a new adventure.  It's just good to love what we have left here.