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Fleur-de-Twister

Chris and I were youngsters in Happy Valley when The Twist was all the rage on dance floors. We didn’t meet until much, much later.

During the last dozen years since my return to Centre County, our twisted paths keep crossing—in gardens, through books, various community projects.  We remember State College and Boalsburg in “the old days” and compare the antics of our knuckle-headed dogs.  In the last few months, she earned a secret nickname: The Twister.

It started with two books Marina gave me written by British author Alice Vincent: Rootbound, Rewilding a Life, and Why Women Grow. I could go on and on about those books but I’ll be brief: Why have I never grown sweet pea flowers?

All local roads in horticulture lead to Chris, so at the beginning of the year I asked where I could find sweet pea seeds in Centre County.  One Sunday in February she brought them to my door: April in Paris, High Scent, Old Spice, Summer Love, Mermaid’s Dream—all known botanically as Lathyrus odoratus.

Then the twisting whirlwind began.

I had been collecting plastic jugs (cider and distilled water from my hairstylist Rhonda) to do winter sowing … but Chris just kept pulling things out of her bags as she covered our workspace on my front deck.  Dollar Store plastic boxes. More seeds—lupine, dahlia, chamomile, mâche. Sacks of potting mix.  Blank labels made of old venetian blinds with a special marker that won’t wash off.  Then, out came her drill. 

The drill twisted and poked drainage holes in the bases of the jugs and on the tops for air and water flow. She did the same for her plastic boxes—30+ holes in each lid and another couple dozen in each bottom.  I could barely keep up as I handed each container to her.  In went moist potting soil, seeds, labels.  

As I continued, Chris pulled out a bulb drill and began scurrying across my yard from one planting bed to the next, boring holes in the soil and plopping in her cache of bulbs—Narcissus ‘Littlefield’ and ‘Canaliculatus’, Iris reticulata ‘Clairette’, Crocus tommasinianus ‘Barrs Purple’, and Camassia quamash ‘Orion’.  Chris was a twisting, spinning garden gnome filling deep holes in the soil with spring blooming treasures. I was overwhelmed.

Days later, with a seasonal flourish, my winter sowing area became a snow sculpture.

At the end of February, I moved my winter sowing containers so contractor Dave could replace the original wooden deck on the front of my house with composite decking.  Then I added a new storage/garden seat (the earlier one had seen better days). My winter sowing space returned to the new deck and by late March, sweet pea seeds sprouted to seedling stage. I texted Chris.

Then, a twister of another kind.

The winds of April roared down from the mountain and I woke to the sound of a “BOOM!”  The wind caught the new bench, it skidded across the new deck as if skating on ice, and crashed into my winter sowing community.  Boxes and jugs, seeds, seedlings, and soil toppled onto the lawn. The plastic jugs weren’t the only things crushed. I texted Chris.

But resilience is at the heart of gardening. Some seedlings survived, some did not. Labels were misplaced in my hurry to save what I could. The plastic jugs were twisted and torn and eventually pitched.  

And now, in these last days of April, I’m planning to build a sweet pea teepee out of pruned branches from my exuberant elderberry bush. That way, my surviving sweet peas can twist and climb and blossom and share their fragrance with our Milmar Circle neighborhood. Hello May!  Laurie Lynch

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Fleur-de-Birder

Habitat: He was about 40 yards from us, headed toward the marsh.

Location: Centre County, PA.

Time of Year: Early spring. 

Plumage: All white with a dark blue spot on his chest.

Behavior: Showing agility with swoops and turns.

Sound: Silent.

Size, Shape: BIG! 

This was no junco. One day, perhaps an Eagle, Falcon, Raven or Seahawk. Only in Happy Valley. 

A flock of us, with borrowed binoculars hanging from our necks, were gathered at Millbrook Marsh Nature Center for a Birds & Bagels program. What fun!  Doug, our birding leader, was using one of his Recreation, Park and Tourism Management students (and Nittany Lion football player) as an example of what to look for when identifying birds in Central PA.

Sure, there are 10,000 species of birds worldwide, but less than 300 make an appearance in our neck of the woods. Even the youngsters in the group could identify several of them already—cardinal, robin, blue jay, mallard.  It just takes curiosity, attention, observation, a field guide, and perhaps the free Cornell University Merlin app (which provides photos and sounds of birds) on your phone.

Doug pointed out that winter and early spring, before the trees leaf out, is a perfect time for birding because our feathered friends are easily spotted, not hidden behind foliage. 

A chunky black bird with white specks lands in a nearby walnut. The Millbrook Marsh trail becomes a stage.

“Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak nothing but ‘Mortimer’,” booms Doug, his voice taking on an actor’s confidence from Henry IV.

So now, Doug tells us how a group of William Shakespeare fans brought the European starling (Sturnus vulgaris) to the United States. The American Acclimatization Society so loved Shakespeare that the group wanted to introduce every species of flora and fauna mentioned in his plays to America.  At least that’s how the story goes.

In 1890, a member of the society released 60 European starlings into New York’s Central Park. The following year, 40 more. There are now an estimated 150 million starlings in North America. 

I couldn’t wait to learn more.  I searched the web and found similar accounts—then I came across Duke University’s Environmental Humanities research article saying that the story was “birding folklore”.  While bits and pieces may be true, few records exist.  Over the years the passed-on information was developed as a cautionary tale against importing species that could become invasive. 

So, while all of the world is a stage, I’ve decided to focus on my small part.  I’m going to buy a pair of binoculars and see what I can see. Laurie Lynch

Speck of a bird atop this weeping cherry, just a short walk from Millbrook Marsh.
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Fleur-de-Fetch

Sandy 4.0 and I have failed at traditional fetch.

He loves his bone, but he won’t give it to me to throw.

With his boney-bone tight in his teeth, he does a whirling-dervish dance. Then he runs, slides across the kitchen floor, and comes back wagging his stump of a tail. That was fun!

Yes, if you like playing solitaire.

When it’s time for bed, boney-bone is clamped in his jaws.  In a corner of the bed, he’s doing the whirling-dervish thing again. Then he gnaws on boney-bone for a while.  I prop my head on the pillows and pull out a book to read.

Now it’s time for the gravity game. Sandy places boney-bone at the edge of the bed, balancing it ever so carefully.  He eases out into a tummy sploot, legs stretched behind him.  He gives boney-bone a nudge or two with his nose, then snivels and settles.

Finally, it’s lights out and I put my book on the nightstand.

There are three outcomes of Sandy’s game of gravity. 

First, foot-of-the-bed gravity trap.  Middle of night, I kick my sleeping legs under the bedspread and accidently hit boney-bone.  It tumbles off the bed, ricochets on the floor with a clatter, and bangs into the metal baseboard heater, waking both of us. Sandy retrieves boney-bone and hops back on the bed.  Boy, that was fun.

The second scenario is that boney-bone is placed on the side of my bed. He noses it closer and closer to the edge.  Again, if I roll and kick, off it goes, onto the area rug.  Kerplunk!  I roll over and Sandy barely stirs.

The third possibility starts with boney-bone falling onto the rug with such force that it bounces off and skittles under the dresser with a clackety-clack. 

Hmmm. This is not good. Sandy hops down, sticks his nose under the dresser and starts crying.  I hear his nails scrape under the dresser but boney-bone is out of reach.  The whining and whimpering don’t stop.

It’s time for Momma action. I slowly ease out of the bed and get on all fours. With my long right arm, I reach under, scattering dust bunnies, and grasp boney-bone.  Success! At least Mom is learning how to play fetch. 

Lest you think I might wake up grumpy, no worries.  During the morning hours, I practice pet-centered meditation. Ommmm.

I received The Petitation Companion by Elizabeth Paige and Joanne Leslie for Christmas.  After reading the book, I became a believer.  And, with vocal instructions that I can play on my computer, Elizabeth takes me (with Sandy on my lap) through a number of meditation themes.  I breathe deep, exhale, do a body scan, pet my buddy.  The two of us chill … and all is well.  Laurie Lynch 

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Fleur-de-Bakeries

In 2020, the census of Pleasant Gap was 3,208.

By 2021, the population bumped up by at least one–me. 

And since I moved in, THREE bakeries have opened.

I have a theory about that. Hint: It has nothing to do with my sweet tooth.

First, we have to go to State College. The main drag, College Avenue, separates Penn State campus from downtown State College with rows of parking meters. Sometime during my youth (or so) College Avenue became one-way—the wrong way, for this example. So, at The Corner Room, 100 West College Avenue, we’ll hop on a magical stadium blanket to fly above and against traffic. As we cross Allen Street, we’re on East College Avenue. 

Old Main is on our left. On the right, parking garage signs and high rises and cranes and more high rises. As we leave town, we find ourselves above a four-lane highway. If we were flying high enough, up over the hill on the left you’d see Beaver Stadium.  As we continue on East College, more high rises on the right, Hickey’s Beer Distributor on the left, and two turns on the right to enter the lovely Village of Lemont from either direction. But no detours on this trip.

Chugging along, we’ll come to a Y in the road and we take a right at the Nittany Mall, still on East College. Macy’s, if you haven’t been for a while, is empty and may become a casino. No reason to stop. As we keep traveling on the now two-lane road, the behemoth SCI at Rockview looms on the left. Definitely no reason to stop. 

A sign welcomes us to the Village of PERU, as in Penitentiary Employee Residential Units, or so I’ve been told.  As we fly a little further, we are now on West College Avenue, Pleasant Gap. On the right is PennDOT’s drivers license center, where I flunked my test not once, but two times, at 16.  Then, about 8 miles into our journey, we come to the first of two traffic lights in Pleasant Gap. As we proceed through the signal, West College becomes East College and we pull into the unmetered parking lot at 113 E. College Avenue, our first stop: The Cakeshop by Tati.

Alfajores & Croissant

Tati and her husband Derek opened up the Cakeshop about the same time I bought my house in Pleasant Gap. Tatiana, a native of Lima, Peru, and Derek, who grew up in State College, met at The Culinary Institute of America.  They married and went to NYC to hone their culinary skills.  When the pandemic hit, they came to Centre County.

As I became a semi-regular at their bakery, I learned of our connections. Derek took a high school cooking class with my nephew Nick. Later, Derek staged in the same restaurant In Lima, Mayta, that Nick’s brother Wille, aka my chef-phew, interned. The parents of Pesaque (the chef at Mayta) are friends of my sister Patty and her husband Lalo, who also live in Peru. This past September, Wille and his fiancé Natali (also from Lima), went to the reopening of Mayta. 

I love the shop for its almond croissants (best this side of the Eiffel Tower) and enjoy looking at the special occasion cakes beautifully decorated and on display in the cooler. The bakery also has Peruvian specialties, such as alfajores (a classic Peruvian sugar cookie sandwich filled with dulce de leche) and chicha morada, a traditional Peruvian sweet drink made of purple corn and spices, as well as traditional coffees, teas, and pastries.  In their spare time, Tati and Derek are personal chefs and hold pop-up Peruvian dinners.

Now, if we turn our magic blanket around and head back to the traffic light, you’ll see a 2 1/2-story red brick building called the Red Horse Tavern, a local landmark since forever, at the corner of Main and College Avenue. What used to be the RHT’s bottle shop has been converted into the Tiny Tavern Café. This is Pleasant Gap’s most recent bakery/coffee shop addition.

When I visited, they featured specialty coffees and teas, as well as pretzel bread egg sandwiches, avocado toast and apple pie overnight oats. But it was the beignets that drew my tastebuds.

The golden pastry pillows were served warm in a brown paper bag and heavily dusted (think major snow squall) with confectioner’s sugar. They are best eaten on a park bench wearing light-colored clothing and accompanied by your four-legged, finger-licking friend. Memories of New Orleans and Mardi Gras.

Unfortunately, the TTC website says the shop is temporarily closed due to staffing shortages.

So, we’ll now coast down Main Street to 214 North Main Street, Café Luna.

The woman at the counter’s name is Marina, so how can I resist being a regular?  Pastries and breads, both sweet and savory, originate from eastern Europe and central Asia, as do the array of soups.  Originally from Kazakhstan, Marina and her family use home recipes and most items are made from scratch. The only exception is specialty cakes imported from Italy.

One day Richard and I tried the adjaruli khachapuri, also known as a cheese boat. It looks like a bread canoe with a wider center filled with a sunny-side-up egg and cheese. We just stared—until Marina came to the table and explained we should break off a piece of the bread and use it to stir the egg yolk into the piping hot cheese. Those were the last instructions we needed—yum!

One refrigerated case holds desserts—apricot tarts, baklava, pistachio cake, blueberry scones, tiramisu, and a honey cake with close to a dozen layers. Another, flakey börek bites with spinach and cheese, potatoes or mushrooms, and other meat and bread combos.

They also serve coffee and fruit juices, including Georgian lemonade, from the country, not the state.  Soups change often for lunch—pelmeni (filled dumplings in a broth spiked with assorted vegetables and teeny cubed potatoes, borscht (beets, other vegetables and beef), or kharcho (spicy meat and vegetables). Café Luna has opened a whole new culinary world to me.

Ok, so my theory on why we have three bakeries in this tiny town? 

Affordable rent. Parking, free and plentiful. Not a parking garage or meter in sight. And maybe they heard Pleasant Gap residents (and those driving or flying through) are looking for a foodie adventure. Laurie Lynch

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Fleur-de-ATaleof2Citruses

A tale of two citrus trees. 

I got a call the other day from a fellow gardener, whom I will not name.

He asked how my Meyer lemon tree was doing.

Not good. I moved it inside from my front deck before the first frost.  Always a tricky transition. In early December, it was looking great—blossoms that I pollinated with a Q-Tip, leaves glossy green.

Then came the new year. I had a few teeny-tiny green fruit where blossoms had been. As the month progressed, the tree declined. Leaves started falling, several a day. Sticky honeydew (pest secretion), but no sightings of aphids or scale. 

I can’t pick up the clay pot to move it outside for a quick organic herbicide spray on a warm day. So, I read about a different strategy: wiping each leaf with Neem oil (a naturally occurring pesticide made from Neem tree seeds). Weekly. I’d give it a try. 

When I mentioned cleaning individual leaves with Neem oil, my gardening friend gave out a “Harrumph.” 

I figured he didn’t want to spend the time wiping each leaf, week after week.

 I bought a bottle of Neem concentrate, made my mixture in a spray bottle, and squirted the magic stuff on a microfiber cloth. 

As I cleaned each leaf, I lost a few in the process, but all in all, it seemed like progress. Then I pruned out a half-dozen leafless branches. The fruit, no bigger than teardrops, had disappeared.

My bare little tree.

But maybe there was hope. I snapped a photo and emailed it to my gardening buddy, fingers crossed.

The gardener’s wife replied with a photo of their Meyer lemon—full of fruit.  And a sad emoji. 

The heartbreak of gardening. Always lessons to be learned and challenges to be met.  Or move to Florida.  Laurie Lynch

Mine
Theirs

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Fleur-de-Grammy’sCookies

I didn’t send Christmas cards and neglected to bake cookies. But I might have started a new holiday tradition.

I picked up my phone and made calls to family members to ask what they were baking.  It was my way of observing and appreciating tradition from afar.  No bowls or baking sheets to wash, and fewer calories

And the winner was … Grammy’s Cookies.  These are often called Pinwheel Cookies that swirl with contrasting light brown sugar and cocoa-darkened dough.  In our family, they were our Polish grandmother Stella Wrobleski’s trademark. 

The beauty of these cookies is that you can make the dough ahead, roll them up, wrap in waxed paper, and stack the logs the freezer.  When you have guests coming and want to make the house smell like freshly baked cookies, you just pull out a cookie dough log, slice off thin sections, place them on a cookie sheet and bake for 10 or so minutes. Mmm,  warm cookies, just out of the oven.

My sister Lisa baked Grammy’s Cookies with her own twist and eyes on health—egg free. Instead of an egg, she uses a substitute: 1 Tbsp. ground flax seeds soaked in 3 Tbsp. water until the mixture thickens.  If you’ve never had the originals, the egg-free Grammy’s Cookies “pass with flying colors,” she says.

Her daughter, Lia, who lives in Vermont with her new husband Luke, wanted to make Grammy’s Cookies to take to her Boston in-laws. But … they had to be gluten-free. So, she made them with cassava flour. Lia proclaimed the end result “Just ok.”

On the other side of the Atlantic, several years ago Marina said she was thinking of changing the name of Grammy’s Cookies to “Auntie’s Cookies” because, although she has a small European freezer, the freezer cookies were so convenient when nieces from Charleroi and Antwerp came to visit in Ghent. 

Well, in 2023, Momma Marina is still baking Grammy’s Cookies, but with a Belgian flair. She added Speculoos spice mix.  (Speculoos biscuits are ginger cookies that accompany each cup of coffee at Belgian cafés). The end result was Grammy’s Cookies that tasted “Christmasy.”

I can feel Stella smiling down from the Heavens, fascinated to learn the ways her cookies are being interpreted by grandchildren and great-grandchildren in the 21st century. Laurie Lynch

Recipe Card Re-Do: This little survey did point out the importance of one thing—the rotten shape of my recipe cards.  Some were actually browned (did I bake them?), splattered with pasta sauce (stirred with too much enthusiasm?) or written in terribly faded ink. Sometimes I had to use readers and a magnifying glass to decipher them. So, my New Year’s project has been making sure all of these treasured family recipes are legible for my great-grandchildren. 

Lais and James

Grammy’s Cookies

Mix 2 cups light brown sugar with 1 cup soft butter thoroughly. Add 2 eggs and beat well. Add 1 tsp. baking soda, ½ tsp. salt, and 1 tsp. cream of tartar to 3 ½ cups sifted flour. Work mixture into batter.

Add ½ cup chopped walnuts mixed with a little flour.  Add 1 tsp. vanilla.  Take about half of the dough and add enough cocoa to give it a good chocolate color. Roll light dough between two pieces of waxed paper (about 12”x16”). Then repeat with the chocolate dough. Chill for a short time in the freezer so that waxed paper can be easily removed.

Remove top layer of waxed paper from both; turn over and lay the chocolate dough on top of the light dough. Remove top layer of waxed paper. At long end, begin rolling dough together to form a long roll, creating a pinwheel effect. Roll can be elongated and cut into shorter lengths for easier storage. Rolls should be chilled in freezer until firm enough to slice thin cookies. Bake on greased cookie sheet in 350-degree F (175 C) oven for 12 minutes or until golden brown.

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Fleur-de-GazingTree

I call it the gazing tree.

Whether I’m looking out my living room window or sitting on the bench on my front deck, my eyes settle on its domed shape.

The other conifers that spill from the mountainside into our neighborhood have steeples pointing into the heavens.  The gazing tree has a rounded top created by life scars, I’m guessing. It’s a Norway spruce (Picea abies) planted one street over, yet it calls to me—in the moonlight, in mist or snowflakes, on sunny, blue-sky days. Its branches reach out like uplifted arms, welcoming birds into its shelter, creating an arch of protection. 

As I sit here staring, a memory surfaces.  It is like the pigeon tower of Qatar. 

No, I’ve never been to Qatar.  But in September 2022 Marina took me to the horticultural world’s fair called Floriade in The Netherlands.  Counties from around the world shared exhibits showcasing their botanical culture.  Qatar featured a tall dome dotted with wooden pegs and hundreds of holes for nesting pigeons.

The conical pigeon towers made of mud bricks are built in fields of the Arabic world to provide shelter, shade, and breeding areas for thousands of pigeons at a time. The solid lower walls provide protection from snakes; the pigeon-sized holes above prevent birds of prey from entering. Pigeon dung collects at the bottom of the tower and is shoveled out and sold to farmers to fertilize their orchards and melon patches.

I’ve been housebound for almost two months.  Thank goodness for library books, mind travel, memories, and a gazing tree to channel my imagination. 

 Foot surgery No. 3 is completed. Stitches out, cast off, boot on (occasionally).  Borrowed knee scooter on its way to another patient. Glow-in-the-dark walker with tennis balls and I have become one. Counting steps and occasionally reach 1,000.  Physical therapy starts next week, and maybe Trek Sticks and anti-gravity treadmill.  I’ve handed off the 60s baton to my youngest of five sisters and have embraced 70.  Sort of.  Laurie Lynch

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Fleur-de-NativeLand

After reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s first book, Gathering Moss, and her spectacular Braiding Sweetgrass, and listening to her speak at Penn State, I am definitely a fan. 

I try to keep her mantra of the Honorable Harvest—knowledge, respect, taking only what you need, sharing with others, gratitude—close to my heart throughout the year, but especially in November.

Details of Penn State’s Celebration of Native American Heritage Month arrived in my Inbox. In the email was this paragraph, an Acknowledgement of Land:  

The Pennsylvania State University campuses are located on the original homelands of the Erie, Haudenosaunee (Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida, Mohawk, and Tuscarora), Lenape (Delaware Nation, Delaware Tribe, Stockbridge-Munsee), Monongahela, Shawnee (Absentee, Eastern, and Oklahoma), Susquehannock, and Wahzhazhe (Osage) Nations.

This acknowledgement, writes Diné (Navajo) Tracy R. Peterson, Director of Student Transitions and Pre-College Programs at Penn State, is “intended to recognize the Indigenous Nations that were displaced from the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, to amplify the voices of Indigenous people and allies leading to changes that will make a difference at our educational institution, and to reconnect and build collaborative relationships with Indigenous nations and communities.”

Two Zoom sessions this month caught my interest—last week’s How to Become a Good Ally to Indigenous Peoples and next week’s Indigenous Sciences of Sustainability: Ancient Native Food Systems and Their Lessons for the Future.

How to become a good ally?  I came away with a starting point: Learn about whose land you are living on.

It’s definitely a work in progress, but beginning is simple.  Just click on the site Native-Land.ca The website features a rotating globe. You click on the landmass of interest, type your address in the search box—Bingo! 

In my case, I’m living on the lands of the Susquehannock. And, that’s where I’ll start.

According to archaeological evidence, the Susquehannock native landscape was centered around the Susquehanna River in 1550 A.D. where the indigenous people spoke Iroquoian.  They were large-scale agriculturists who grew the Three Sisters (corn, beans and squash) and lived in longhouses (60-80 feet long) along the river, according to the website of the Susquehanna National Heritage Area in Wrightsville, PA.

It is thought the Susquehannock moved south to better control the fur trade, acting as middlemen between the New York, Ohio and Canadian native groups and the Europeans, using dugout canoes on the river and a circuit of walking paths between the Susquehanna and Delaware rivers. 

In 1608 Capt. John Smith met a delegation of the Susquehannock just north of the river’s mouth and described them as “great and well-proportioned men” who “seemed like giants to the English.”  That’s just the beginning. So much to learn.  Laurie Lynch

Singing at the Table:  As I was working on this piece, the WPSU Folk Show was playing in the background. “…enough is a feast, enough is a feast, take what you need, save some for the least…”. I Googled the lyrics and Bill Harley was listed as the songster.  Check it out.

Giving Thanks:  Although I was introduced to the magic of Sambucus nigra elderblossoms in Ghent, Belgium’s delicious cordial Roomer, Native Americans found many uses for our native Sambucus canadensis. 

They made fritters and teas from the lacy flowers, according to the Indigenous Peoples Perspective Project at Adkins Arboretum on the Delmarva Peninsula. The seeds in the berries are poisonous and therefore the fruit must be cooked before eaten.  Native Americans boiled the black berries, for syrup or jam, and used them medicinally as a tonic for fevers, colds, and headaches. From the branches, they made smoking pipes, blowgun darts, arrow shafts, and bow drills for starting fires.

In My Kitchen:  I’ve used elderberries to make pies and jams.  This year, I got smart and harvested some of my elderberries (leaving the tallest clusters for the birds), stripped them off the stems, washed, dried, and then froze them in Ziplocs so I could use them at will in the winter. I’d rather cook on a cold day so the kitchen warms the house than during a sweltering day in August. This past weekend I made a batch of Elderberry Syrup. I’ve drizzled it on my oatmeal, mixed it with warm water for a tea, and even had a spoonful or two as a tonic.  Elderberries are high in Vitamin C and antioxidants, and are said to boost your immune system, lower inflammation and stress, and are reportedly good for your heart and lungs. 

Elderberry Syrup

3 cups water

1 cup elderberries

½ tsp. ground cinnamon

½ tsp. ground cloves

1 tsp. minced fresh ginger

¾-cup honey

  1. Combine water, berries and spices in saucepan and bring to boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 30 minutes.
  2. Mash berries to release juices. Strain mixture, retaining juice and let cool for 30 minutes.  Compost the pulp.
  3. Stir in honey.
  4. Pour into clean jars and refrigerate.
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Fleur-de-Mami

I may be Grandma LaLa in Ghent, but south of Brussels, in French-speaking Wallonia, I’m Mami for granddaughter Lais.  

She’s 9 already, and a little mother to her new cousin James.  She fed him a bottle, helped change and bathe him, and got down on the floor to play with him. But during our brief weekend together, Lais also pampered me by making crepes with her Maman (Sabine), enjoying the various playgrounds we visited around town, and playing our favorite card game, Go Fish.

What thrilled me the most was her deep connection to the natural world. While the older folks were resting on a park bench and James was snoozing in his stroller, a ladybug alighted on Lais’s hand.

Immediately she went to work.  She gathered grass from the park lawn, a few twigs and leaves from a nearby tree, and built Madame Coccinelle a house to protect her from the park pigeons. Lais played there for 10 minutes or so, completely enthralled. So was I.  Laurie Lynch

Help the Planet:  Encourage your communities to invest in bicycle infrastructure. Belgium does it so well. The country has roughly 10.8 million people and 5.2 million bikes.  Belgium ranks No. 9 in the world for bicycles per capita. (Neighboring Netherlands is No. 1 with 16.6 million people and 16.5 million bicycles—and 27% of trips are made by bicycle.) 

In Ghent, tree-lined canals are enhanced with walkways and bikeways, even a high-tech scorecard to let everyone know how many bikes pass each day, as well as the running total for the year. In Antwerp, when Marina and her sister-in-law Fleur took the girls to the World Gymnastics Championships (and Simone Biles), they arrived in style—via pedal power. Fleur took the crew while Marina, the photographer, rode solo. James and Rozanne stayed home with dads Koen and Sven.