YEAR’S END
Early December I am called back to Holland where my father has fallen seriously ill. In the frenzy of securing a ticket on short notice I am sharply reminded of the disadvantages of a life so far away from loved ones, family and friends. Even though we chose with our eyes wide open and even though I value and enjoy our new surroundings, the location is a cause of rupture and disruption as well. My unexpected trip shows the fault lines of an expatriate life. On our farm apricots are ripening and with continued hot weather a harvest is expected by mid-month; Arn stays behind to take care of business while I cross half the world to be with family in my native country. Arn and I celebrate the holidays miles apart.

The long trip, the circumstances, the time of year, and, in addition, the fact that we have celebrated our one-year anniversary in Argentina put me in a reflective mood. Moreover, being brutally confronted with the very obvious differences in weather, society and culture make reflection inevitable and comparing almost inescapable. At times my mind short-circuits and I grab in the wrong bag of words, ritual responses, habitual answers, but then, the universality of people’s emotions, the basic good-will of most and the willingness to reach out especially during this time of year provides me with stability and connection.

Our one-year anniversary in Argentina has come and gone; we would have let this day pass unnoticed were it not for our British friends who arrived at the same time a year ago. They throw a party. Three couples are invited, all of whom settled in the region November 2005. We ran across each other in the expat community which is still relatively small. Our paths have been in many ways similar; we all struggled with water at the onset of our stay, sometimes too much as in leaking roofs; sometimes too little as in not a drop from the faucet. We talk about our obvious ignorance of farming matters, our lack of basic knowledge of techniques and implements: we are shown the grapevines tied upright along supporting wires instead of along as is needed; we hear of the (mis)-use of a tractor for treetrunk removal with the unintended result of the engine dropping out, the trunk was hooked to the wrong end of the tractor! We add our own tale of misfortune, a break-in and the subsequent stealing of Arn’s mountain bike. The locals strongly suspect our handyman whom we had hired despite many warnings. These warnings were accompanied with a gesture that has become so familiar since; an index finger pulling down the lower eyelid of one of the eyes while invoking the word ‘ojos’ (eyes). Being on the look-out is the message. Well, we were on the look-out for awhile but, as time progressed we relaxed into our normal routine of giving the appearance of vigilance while in fact being rather sloppy. Anyone aware of our casual ways could take advantage when the opportunity would arise, and so they did.

We all had to deal with the rather primitive conditions in which we found our homesteads at arrival; all of us had outright fixer-uppers. Moreover, we all owned acres that had been either abandoned or totally neglected. We all are still renovating, remodeling, or planting, and we all are in dire need of a break from it all. Our remodeling adventure went out with a big and unexpected bang. Our very last job involved laying a cement patio connecting our house to the barn; an area through which the stiff southern wind whirls daily, depositing heaps of loamy sand from the vineyards behind. We had lived with this daily nuisance for awhile, tossing ideas around that would solve the problem while creating a natural environment that could take weather’s abuse. However, fantasies of soft contours and lush plants had to give way to something that could stand up to the harshness of the elements: cement. I hated and hate the feel and the look of it; to placate me we agreed on staining it red. Our handyman assured us he knew the process, had done it before and insisted on applying a coat of red pigment mixed with oil on top of the dried cement. Since he had many times shown us the local ways we reluctantly agreed to something we had severe doubts about. We have regretted our decision ever-since. Red dye tracked all over the patio, our white-haired cat turned into an unnatural looking redhead shunned by her sister and mother; the black and tan coat of the dogs transformed into a deep chestnut which rubbed off against the creamy yellow of the newly painted house. Big blotches of stain were left in the ditch creating a red wave with every irrigation turn. It surprised me that the leaves of the nearby trees did not turn the same color!! Our efforts to solve the problem made matters worse; water applied to the area soon turned the graveled driveway into a sea of red, drainage carefully calculated to run away from the house had a mind of its own and pooled where we did not expect or want it. Our ‘contratista’ dryly commented that water always finds the lowest place. We had amply shown we did not know.

Fortunately a welcome transformation took place in the company of our new-found friends, people with similar experiences in a strange and sometimes harsh land. Our mishaps and misadventures, our stupidities and clumsiness, our hardheadedness and sheer bluster were spun into stories resembling stand-up comedy. Our frustrations turned into laughter, our irritations melted into a comic strip in which we only faintly recognized the underlying hardships. We had a long afternoon of sheer joy and hearty pleasure.

I traveled this past year to the two places where I lived for an extended period of time: Holland and Colorado. In each place people asked whether I long to return and my answer each time is an unequivocal ‘no’. I miss each place in some ways: the charm of Holland, biking or iceskating along the canals, its picturesque old towns and ‘brown cafes’, its quirky politics and spirited debates; I miss the natural beauty of Colorado’s mountains with hikes along its streams or blooming meadows, its musical scene in majestic natural settings, and surprise, surprise, I even miss the snowstorms, I would have loved the blizzard of December 2006 with snow on the treetops and a few extra days off of work. Most of all I miss friends and family especially around the holidays. Yet I love the adventure we have chosen, I love the place where we have landed with its beguiling simplicity, its uncompromising climate, its natural abundance and its tight-knit community. Each life comes with its drawbacks and so does this one; simplicity comes with much extra work, the natural abundance of our fruit crops is courtesy of the climate and again much hard work, the tight-knit community comes with responsibilities, sharing and availability always.

Missing friends and relatives is the hardest and the easiest remedied; our place is finally in a condition worthy of guests. We are looking forward to sharing our bounty with whomever heads this way; we offer a farm life in a quiet setting with opportunity to use muscles or hands, we cater to the senses with fresh produce and home-made goods, and above it all you can ski here in your summers and raft and kayak in some of the dreariest months of your winter.

Despite it all we are extremely lucky, 2006 has been good to us. To all of you: happy 2007, may your year be prosperous, healthy, happy and filled with love and laughter.

Helena; hlouwe@hotmail.com