Pig Roast and a Superlative Garden

First off, I loved the invitation:

So off we went on Saturday, so happy to flee the relentless Berkeley fog.

Not only was there roasted pig, but a raft of pies.  Plus a superlative garden.  (My pictures aren't very good because my camera gets confused when it's intermittently foggy and sunny.)

The pit

 

 The pig

Smartly dressed for a picnic:  my friend Elisabeth

Buffet table with vats of beans, herbed rice, fresh lettuce from the garden, and our hostess (sorry about the poor picture, Camille!)

The non-porta potty, complete with art on the walls

On the drinks table

Before dessert, we toured the huge fenced-against-deer garden,  on the other side of the house:

Many apple trees, fruit just ripening

...and pears

An greenhouse (left) and an office (right), with crops in the foreground

Greenhouse plants outside for a daytime airing

Inside: all manner of onions

A lot of work goes on here

 Mega-peppers

 Chard

 

Love the texture

 Plentiful tomatoes

 Looking toward the house

View from the deck

Pizza oven

 Where people feast

 And then it was time for dessert:

 Hidden, and then:

Ta-da!  Pies!

Interested small parties (the plastic container had pig cupcakes, very popular with this group)

Killer mocha cake

The biggest kid of all.  He went back for seconds, ice cream and all (note drips on sweatshirt)

It was one of those afternoons that feels like a gift from the hosts--really good food and a wonderful setting.  And why is it so heartening (nurturing?) to see a beautifully tended garden?   Still thinking about that.

A Missing Jet, the Kardashians, & the Coen Brothers

There are about a million things these days that I just don't understand. 

I find myself getting impatient and cranky and have to back away from the Cliff of Judging Other People, because I could fall into the Ocean of Unkindness, Intolerance, and Intellectual Laziness (the Sea of Republicanism?).

I am currently bewildered/confused by:

1.  The relatives of the people on the missing airliner.  They are very angry at Malaysian government officials because they don't feel they've gotten the entire story, and maybe they haven't.  But where I'm confused is that no one, not even the USofA with all its overpriced Pentagon gear, can find the jet.  The radar/satellites/weather situation is complicated.  I want to say, "I'm so sorry for what's happened to you, but I don't see how throwing plastic water bottles helps."

Rushed back to Netflix

2.  "Inside Llewyn Davis."  We watched the Coen brothers' movie last night, and I was exasperated within ten minutes.  The newspaper review says it's "bleak but funny, and funny is its own justification."  We hated the main character, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever.  Also, it's not funny.  I dated people like that in college (narcissistic-poet types), and it was never funny. Shudder.

3.   Why Khloe and Kim Kardashian are described as having toned bodies, well-suited to skinny jeans.  The media would call the rest of us "fat." 

4.  Why Michael Chabon's novel, "Telegraph Avenue," is called "a masterpiece."  I'm on page 43 and probably will get no further, even though I'm really trying.

* * * * *

Updates:

1.  My friend Marian, 90 years old and hospitalized for six weeks, is no better.  I took another bouquet of flowers on Monday and spoke to her briefly on the phone.  I'm going again today with some macaroons to tempt her appetite.

2.  The quilt show, "Voices in Cloth" is at the Craneway Pavilion in Richmond this weekend. (A spectacular building, right on the Bay,  originally a Ford plant, converted to producing Jeeps, etc., in WWII).  Be there or be square.  Wear comfortable shoes.

3.  Jerry woke up out of a dream the other night, said, "Damn it!  I spilled a Coke!" While he went to get a towel,  I leaned over his side of the bed and looked, even though I was pretty sure there wasn't any.   "No Coke, no Coke!" I yelled. He tossed the towel aside and went right back to sleep;  I did not.  Attack of the Phantom Coke.

4.  Spring has arrived.  We didn't earn it, but it's here.  I painted my toenails and created a big mess in the front yard, pruning (man's job to clean up?).

Wave Hill: Such color! Such textures! Such design!

This place is an oasis.  Especially if you're staying in New York City and you want a break from the pace.  It's only 25 minutes from Grand Central Station on the Metro-North Hudson Line.  There's a free shuttle that runs uphill from the Riverdale Station to the estate. 

 

 

 

The big house (above) was built in 1843.  After passing through various owners, it was donated to New York City in 1960.  There are 28 acres, much of it gardens, trails, a smaller house  that serves as an art gallery.  Also a visitors center, greenhouses, and formal gardens.

Here's what we saw:

A loggia on the Hudson River

  




Massed coleuses

Beautiful colors and textures: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I've owned several of these plants, but they never look like this:

 

 

Or this:

 

 

 

 

We walked the Abrons Woodland Trail trail and found a gazebo:

 

A view of the Hudson River through the trees:

 

A burst of sudden, lush color:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Marco Polo Stufano Conservatory:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gates, fences, and Adirondack-style chairs:

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

The Glyndor Gallery, also on the estate grounds:

 

 

 



 

Beautifully restored interior, with permanent collection and temporary exhibits:

 

 

 

Fish Lamp, Frank Gehry, 1985, Formica, wire, wood, glass, light

 

Inspiration for a quilt? (minus the toe of my shoe):