In The Arms of Joy For All My Life

Olá a todos! E um grande bem-vindo ao Verão! // Hi everyone. And a big welcome to Summer! This may not be the summeriest of posts. But the paintings that I will share with you today were done outside — the real artists say, en plein air — in fine Santa Luzia weather. And my subject today, as was last week’s, is about the good life. That is, living all your life in the arms of joy! Hmm? Outside and the good life, well, I guess that says summer, doesn’t it?

Today I am sharing a couple of vignettes and portraits of people I have met here. These are from encounters in Santa Luzia. So the first involves folk whom I see frequently and have observed closely. But the second also is a couple I have gotten to know a bit. First I will share their stories. Then I will try to knit these vignettes together into some sort of coherence.

By the way, I have hijacked my theme for today from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver. Her poem, When Death Comes, is all you really need to read. Do not feel compelled to read any further here. Just click the prior link. Oliver is a far greater writer than I.

If you are still with me, let’s get moving. It is summer, after all. We all have better things to do than read blog posts on our devices. At least I hope so. There is so much life to live.

Gathering Life’s Small Joys

But, for now, in this first vignette it is Spring. No, not Summer. It is Spring. The winter rains are finishing up. Fields and fences have turned verdant green. And the road’s edge, that is, the hedgerows, have greened too. Now the entire Earth is a feast of delights. Snails, os caracóis, gorge on the tender shoots, the sweet new leaves and the delicate petals. Then these snails become a feast for the birds, the hedgehogs and the toads.

And it is morning. As on many mornings at this hour, I am finishing my run. Because it is Spring I am not alone on the hedgerows’ edges. I share these edges with the “gleaners”. The snails are a feast for these “gleaners” as well.

Portuguese does not seem to have a word that precisely translates “gleaners” or the verb “to glean”. There is os apanhadores, that is, “the catchers” or “the gatherers”. And there is os colecionadores, or “the collectors”. Neither seems to capture the truest sense of “glean”.

“To glean” comes into English from Norman French. In feudal, but especially in post-Revolutionary France, ordinary folk had a special right. They could enter onto the property of the big-wigs and take the harvest leftovers. Whatever they found was theirs. What they found were always tiny bits, remnants, scraps. But these were theirs. And while small, they supplemented and augmented their diet.

In English, at least, “glean” also carries the sense that the tiniest details are important. That is, the little bits, if you see them, yield surprises. If you pay close attention to what is around you, then new discoveries may result. And likely will. For example, “the researcher gleaned her discovery from a previously overlooked datum”.

Snails: One True Joy in Life, Arms or Not

Portuguese might not have a precise word for it. But the Portuguese, however, fully understand “gleaning”. That is, wrapping one’s arms around life’s simple joy and small pleasures. Then holding on tight.

Snails are to the Portuguese as greasy potato chips are to Americans. They are a guilty pleasure. Albeit maybe healthier as they are filled with protein, iron and vitamin A. But also low in fat except for the thick slathering in butter.

The snail gleaners here follow an ancient Spring tradition. They gather their snails each morning, just after sunrise, in the cool dampness. The snails are out for feeding. The gleaners are out to gather a feast.

Back home they create a feast of memories. With generations gathered round the table. A heap of garlicky buttery deliciousness sits in the center. With loaves of fresh bread for sopping. And wine, yes, of course wine. It is one of life’s purest joys. Life in the arms of joy. Hard work yields to shared pleasure.

And, Of Course, Alegrias de Viver!

Onward then. Patrícia and António have owned a little quinta, that is, a farm, together for about 20 years. They grow olives, pomegranates, almonds and vegetables. They raise chickens. Run a b&b with nine rooms. They have five dogs and also board dogs for others. We know them because of the latter. Tucker and Saga absolutely love them. That is my measure of the quality of a person. They are five star (⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑) folk.

The quinta has a lovely story itself. The house was a wedding present from António’s great-grandfather, Costa, to António’s grandmother, Amélia. António and all the cousins spent the summers of their youth there. Then a fire mostly destroyed the house. For three decades it was a ruin. In 2013, Patrícia and António completed its the full restoration and modernization. They created their life together in the arms of joy.

But life throws curveballs. We have no choice but to catch them. Our choice comes when the ball lands in our glove. What to do next? Patrícia and António have caught theirs. The quinta is important. The foundation of the life they have made together. But now, with that curveball in hand, the quinta gets in the way. A new life awaits in the arms of joy.

Take the Curve at Full Stride Then Catch Life with Arms of Joy

Patrícia and António have sold a quinta da Avó Amélia. We will miss them, Tucker and Saga especially. They are building a new home and a new life about 150 miles (240 km) northeast of Santa Luzia. They will still welcome guests and pups but without the other intrusions that can waylay the collection of life’s joys. Their dream is to have a bit more time. Time for sitting under the stars, in front of a fire, with a glass of wine in hand, each others hand in their other hand. Living every moment, every hour, every day. Parabéns e boa sorte os meus amigos!

In the Spring of 2020, I was out for a solitary walk without my iPhone. Both, something of a rarity. In the tall grass, I noticed a dandelion. It had gone to glittery, gossamer seed. Because I am a bit of a loon, I got down on the ground in front of it. Because I wanted and I needed to take it all in. To remember. Just as I was prostrate on stomach and chest. Head hoisted. A soft, gentle breeze exhaled. In an instant every glimmering seed was aloft. Headed to new futures.

Like those feathery seeds carried on a gentle breathe. And headed off to new futures. So our lives are born from as well as borne on the curveballs. Now mixing metaphors. A page turns. It is up to us to write the next chapter.

Writing the Next Chapter

Like all good writing, writing a good life has some rules. Not many, but some. I have discovered some rules through these two encounters.

From my gleaners. The memories that I might want to hold the tightest are hard won and rare. As well as shared with lots and lots of others. Keep these because they are all richness, sweetness, buttery deliciousness. All the other memories. Those of slights and cuts, slings and arrows. Perhaps, as I find, they are best left out of the next chapter. Not even worth inclusion in the last one. If I were a better editor, well, they would not have been there.

I am grateful to Patrícia and António for reminding me about plot twists. Those curveballs. They are incredibly hard to catch, and to write over. Damn those mixed metaphors! But my plot twists brought me to Portugal. And I am incredibly thankful to be writing my next chapter here. It just may be my best yet. At least I will try to make it so. We shall see once we get to my last page.

What “Life in the Arms of Joy” Truly Means…

Give a listen below to the Nancy Lamont if you would like to find out. Like Mary Oliver she knew because she lived it, that is, all her life in the arms of joy. Every moment…

Obrigado por se juntarem a mim hoje. Aproveitem este primeiro fim-de-semana de Verão. Até à próxima quinta! // Thanks for joining me today. Enjoy this first weekend of Summer. See you next Thursday!

Special Notes

Like my theme today, my snail “gleaner” painting is a copied idea, not my own original. I have copied this conceit from a favorite painting. Des glaneuses (The Gleaners) by Jean-François Millet is at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I visit d’Orsay as often as I can. I stand in front of Des glaneuses for as long as possible. But it is not as if there are crowds elbowing for selfies there. I first met Des glaneuses in high school, in my art history textbook. I was enchanted by it then, and have been ever since. Now, half a century later, I am beginning to understand why.

My portrait of Patrícia and António, “Os colecionadores de alegrias de viver”, is a first for me. My first in which the subjects actually know I am painting them. I had asked them if I might. They graciously invited me over one day. It was their last olive harvest at the quinta. I took a bunch of photographs of them beside their favorite oliveira. In painting them I added Casa da Avó Amelia behind them. It had to be there. In another first, I had their portrait printed on canvas and framed. My gift of thanks to them.

Finally, “curveball” might be a specifically American term. It is a sneaky pitch made in the game of baseball. It has a downward spin. This causes the ball to drop. Then veer to the side. It approaches the batter on the other side from which it was thrown. The batter does not know what to expect.