Fleur-de-Babyjames

On the night of July 25, with just a flicker of streetlights on the square at Sint-Veerleplein, James Lynch became part of the lore and allure of the ancient Belgian city of Ghent.

Italian artist Alberto Garutti, in partnership with the Ghent City Council, integrated his work of art, Ai Nati Oggi (“For Those Born Today”), into the city’s infrastructure in 2000.  Every time a baby is born in one of Ghent’s maternity wards, the parents are given the option to push a button connected to streetlamps which causes them to flash. Marina and Koen were more than happy to share news of their son’s arrival with everyone in the pubs and restaurants at the popular square near the medieval Gravensteen (Castle of the Counts). 

A few weeks ago, James greeted me as a soft, little bundle in his mother’s arms when I arrived at Brussels-Zaventem Airport. It’s been years since I held an infant for any period of time.  I memorized his baby soft skin, his Billy goat heh-heh-heh, his bubbles. Some days, I called him Wild Bill Hiccup. Other days, Squirmy Wormy. His smiles, his humming, his farts, his big bottom lip, the whole treasure chest of expressions and sounds captured my heart. And, I heard the story of the flashing streetlights. 

This visit I was not a tourist or bicyclist in Ghent, I was Grandma LaLa.  I pushed the stroller to this appointment or that, tried to comfort James when he got fussy, changed diapers and, sometimes, whole outfits.  I babysat so Marina could go swimming or walk with a friend.  I pickled red onions, baked rhubarb cobbler, and stirred a huge rice and bean salad. I loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, folded blankets, picked tomatoes and flowers—just about anything that would give the new parents a much-needed break. 

But I was just a two-week assistant.  The real hero in this story is Hanneleen and all of the mother’s helpers who visit new mothers in Flanders.  Belgium knows how to take care of new parents.

First, new mothers have a longer stay in the hospital with coaching on breastfeeding and the like.  Then, a mother’s helper is hired to come to the home for four hours one day a week for the first three months. 

The first Monday I was there, Hanneleen made celeriac-crust quiche for our dinner, apple cake for dessert, washed a load of laundry, and vacuumed, all while James was bundled on her chest.  She even trimmed his fingernails. During that time, Marina and I were able to lay out and hang a cluster of family photos in the upstairs hallway.

The following Monday, Hanneleen made carrot soup, chard pie, parsley pesto, vacuumed, did laundry, and cared for James while we napped, sorted baby hand-me-downs from Marina’s friends, and weeded planters on the terrace. Then Hanneleen gave Marina a lesson in “baby wearing,” the intricate wrapping of about 6 meters of fabric around her waist and chest, over her shoulders, and finally tied around the waist, into which Marina slipped James, allowing him to securely nuzzle against her body while keeping her hands and arms free. James loves it and Marina has the hang of it.  Another mother’s helper.  Laurie Lynch

Marina, James and Koen in front of Gravensteen

Special Treat: Hanneleen made a pesto of parsley, cashews, some parmesan cheese and the juice of half a lemon. We put the thick spread on baked chicken breasts and also slathered it on freshly sliced Belgian bread and topped it with slices of tomatoes.

Search Button:  While I was in Belgium, I didn’t have my recipe box or cookbooks.  I was able to find the recipes I needed by getting on the Fleur-de-Lys blog site and typing in key words for the recipe into the Search Button, and presto, there it was.  Try it! 

BTW: I thought it strange that several stalks of rhubarb were included in Marina and Koen’s food co-op packet in late September.  Has anyone else heard of harvesting rhubarb in late summer?  I stewed it with a little sugar and water, and it tasted and had the texture of spring rhubarb.

Gory Details: The flash of the streetlights at Sint-Veerleplein, according to Atlas Obscura, symbolizes hope for the future generation and a new history for an area that had been used for executions throughout the Middle Ages.

Three generations: Oma Maria, Grandma LaLa, James and Marina

Fleur-de-Cape

My son Richard is always taking photos of meals—before he digs in.

I decided to follow suit. 

His response to the photo of The Brown Jug’s prosciutto and fig pizza topped with fresh arugula? 

“You drive all the way to Sandwich, MA, and have pizza?”

In my defense, this pizza was baked in a wood-fired oven manned by a young woman while I sat on the patio and watched, listening to a local trio.  It was no ordinary pizza—fig glaze—a first for me. And ever since I read The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak, I’ve had a thing for figs.  I mean, when was the last time you read a book where a main character was a fig tree? How could I resist? 

The Weather Store was across from the inn where I stayed.  On a rainy morning I stopped in to check out the weathervanes, rain gauges, tide clocks, sundials. 

When I explained that I was in town for a wedding the following day, and hoping for sunshine, the shop’s owner gave me this charming New England saying: “A wet knot never slips.” 

I texted it to the father of the bride.  Words of wisdom to bail him out, if necessary.  

Then the fellow asked where I was from. 

“State College, where Penn State is located.”

“I was there last week.” he replied. 

I was blown away.  Then, the rumblings of a small-world earthquake.  He went to the Grange Fair in Centre Hall, just over the mountain from Pleasant Gap.  He married a Zerby from Spring Mills and her family has had a tent at Grange Fair for 110 years.  Next year will be the Centre County Grange Fair’s 150^th anniversary.  Amazing. 

But enough Pennsylvania rambling. 

The main event was the wedding.  Ansley and Adam exchanged touching vows at the Heritage Museums and Gardens in Sandwich under a clear blue Cape sky.  In the backdrop was the Flume, a 208-foot-long trough of water falling 26 feet into a pool filled with waterlilies.  A stunning beginning to an evening of teary toasts and wild dancing by uninhibited 30-something Bostonians and a crew of twirling grandchildren.

The parents of the bride, my sister Lee Ann and Tim the poet, hosted a post-wedding brunch.  I stayed on for a few days to explore their new home turf and enjoy Cape Cod sunsets … and sandwiches. Laurie Lynch

Tossing Rice: If you are looking for a delicious end-of-summer salad, try this.  Fresh figs on the side would be a perfect marriage of flavors.  

Fanny’s Rice Salad

1 cup rice

1 package frozen peas

1 can black beans, rinsed and drained

1 can black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained

Several stalks celery, chopped

Red onion, chopped

Bunch of cilantro, chopped

Cook 1 cup rice with 2 cups water according to directions on package. As it is cooling, add frozen peas and stir. Mix other ingredients in large bowl.  Add cooled rice and peas, stirring.  Toss with dressing. Refrigerate.

Dressing

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil

Juice of ½ lemon or lime

1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard

Clove of garlic, minced

Salt and pepper

Yarmouth Port Sunset