We started our walk a little later in the day than usual. It turned out to be in our luck because of the mist. I felt a few drops on my face and hand here and there. The drops never amounted to more.
It was magic walking in the mist. Here are some of the photos we took.
This view is very similiar to the one from my bench where I sit while the kids play. We are there almost daily. The Jura is full of variations of this image.
An ant mound that we pass at least twice a week. The first time we passed we saw several ants concentrated in one area but with each passing we have witnessed the hard work of their colony. The mound is growing fast. We watched the ants placing pieces of straw on their mound while the others did a strange ant dance at our feet. The ants will walk about an inch and suddenly stop all at the same time for a few moments before doing it all over again. The children are very interested in this mound and it’s workers. It is a great source for learning about animals and the way they shape the environment we all share.
It is impossible to take a walk in the Jura without greeting a Swiss cow. Sweet Bear informed me that these particular cows make chocolate milk. I wonder if the cows know that?
A misty countryside.
It got pretty thick for a while there.
The train tracks we passed.
Horses grazing. The horse in the back had on a black cape. It reminded me of little old widowed ladies from the 18th century.
The wheat fields are beautiful.
Our walks are never complete without meeting up with at least a dozen slugs and a couple snails. In France, it was dog doo that I had to worry about. In the Jura, I have to watch out for these little guys. I ran over one by accident two weeks ago with Boy Blue’s stroller. The girls didn’t forgive me for two days.
This is a photo from last week during another walk. I wanted to share it before I forgot. I see wagons full of tourists at least once a week even in our tiny village. I haven’t overheard English spoken in Switzerland more than three times since moving here. Each time I went to Strasbourg I overheard at least one person speaking in English (usually an American). One day during a morning walk with the children we were passed by a wagon. A man driving the wagon (I shouldn’t really say he was driving since another man had the horse by it’s lead walking along with it) told me bonjour and I told him bonjour back.
Afterwards, I overheard him speaking in English. My English. He was American. I walked on. He had passed fellow Americans in Switzerland on his vacation without knowing it. He had no reason to think I wasn’t Swiss. It made me wonder about how often that happens to all us expats. It isn’t the first time an American has spoken with me in simple greeting without knowing I was American. I am sure I have done the same with other Americans. It is kinda a weird situation for me. I feel sneaky not blurting out, “Hey, I’m American!” However, I understand even if we are fellow Americans we are strangers. In a simple passing I never reveil the truth. Believe me there were times in the beginning of my life as an expat that it was hard not to chase them down and drag them off to a café forcing to talk to me for hours. I was homesick. Now, I don’t feel that need anylonger. The homesickness isn’t a problem anylonger.
I still can’t help but cling to every single word I overhear an American speak. It is like a drug. It is still home.