The honking of geese overhead at first light — a frightful cacophony to be roused by, but though muddled with sleep I manage a faint smile as I recognize the sound. They’re flying back home, I say to myself — winter is truly, definitely past.
The day turns out to be warmer than predicted – it is 20ºC and sunny. We take a slow stroll along the Rhine, relishing the unobstructed view of Petersburg up on the mountain and the castle on Drachenfels. I wish I’d brought my camera along.
There is a bikers’ path, and on this early summer’s day, flocks of cyclists make for unceasing traffic. An occasional rollerblader glides by, crouched low, almost as if skating on ice. I am glad to be out of their way on a separate path for walkers and hikers, higher up the bank.
Afterwards resting on a bench, we watch barges laden with containers headed downstream to Cologne and leisure cruisers bound upstream with daytrippers to Koblenz or Linz and the quaint green train to Bad Honnef on the track parallel to the Rhine. A couple in a boat energetically sculls as they chat, rather loudly as they cannot hear too well, being seated one behind the other; a cabin cruiser with a young family churns the water. Away from the river traffic, a cormorant dives repeatedly, surfacing further along. I try to catch a glimpse of fish in its mouth. How much fish does a cormorant eat? It doesn’t seem to stop. A lot, says M.
A goose, which we at first take for a duck because of its strikingly coloured feathers, is on its own on the edge of the water, calling out in that startling goose honk, like a donkey braying. Its feathers are a warm mix of amber and butterscotch, orange, and brown, with black edging. And its eyes are surrounded by a dark brown patch. Perhaps it’s looking for a mate? Or else it has lost its way, got left behind by its mates who’d flown by earlier? As we make our way back, the goose is on the bank, waddling back towards the river. Could it have a nest then somewhere in the thickets? Later I find out it is an Egyptian goose (click on link for images).
I am ever on the lookout for wildflowers or fungi on these walks. Little white daisies cover the grassy verges like galaxies of stars, and on one spot close to the outdoor swimming pool, already filled with water but no swimmers yet, there are wild geraniums with tiny pink flowers, a bit larger than Robert’s Geranium (also known as Herb Robert), and near them, some blooming white bladder campion.
Back home, I leisurely peel, core, and score apples for an apple cake from the book Backen Macht Freude (Baking Makes Joy). I adore cakes (and pies as well of course) made with fresh fruit, and my fanciful thoughts turn to Eve – our proverbial ancestress — as I prepare the apples. Would she have made cakes with this symbol of downfall – hers, Adam’s, ours? (Yes, I do have rather whimsical ideas. Often!)
A perfect tempura lunch is made by M – not classic prawn and little fish called kisu (pronounced ‘kiss’), but squid heads and tentacles, one large carrot cut into rings, and one Florence fennel bulb in vertical slices. We do have some authentic Japanese ingredients: mitsuba leaves that I’ve been growing since last spring — wide as shiso and that lend themselves to being fried to perfect crispness; Kikkoman soy sauce and the dashi for the dipping sauce. Tiny round red radishes sub for grated daikon: the red flecks of skin quite festive, even if not authentic and not as pungent as daikon, but the grated Thai ginger’s zing make up for it. The squid heads are ready to cook from a frozen pack bought at the Thai-Viet food shop in Old Town Bonn – certainly beats cleaning them from fresh. (I am glad to be spared the task as I cannot think of anything more unpleasant – I have done it countless times because I love cooking and eating squid. Afterwards, replete (and no more room for rice), we have slices of our first watermelon this season: it is perfectly crisp and sweet.
At the close of day, as the sun makes its descent — swallows and swifts in pairs and alone, wheel and swoop with unfettered joy, soaring and gliding high up in the sky and then abruptly diving low and then back up again. It is definitely summer when the swallows and swifts are back.
That was my day yesterday — certainly a perfect day of grace. A heartfelt and deep thank You.