Farther Shores

Other than Canada (Ontario at that, which is basically just Michigan’s cooler cousin), I hadn’t left the U.S. in 25 years, since our honeymoon to Mexico. So when

It’s springtime there, in the very far South, with weather approximate to May in the Midwest, including people emerging from winter in combinations of puffy coats and shorts. The rain cleared for our last couple days there, and the sight of blossoms and green leaves against blue sky was all the more beautiful after longing for the sun to shine. I got to experience new pollen allergens.

Buenos Aires is an amazing city, with distinctive & walkable neighborhoods, friendly people, a vibrant arts scene, and a cafe on every corner. They honor the hobbit meal plan there, clearly believe in butter & pastries, and expect patrons to linger over their meals. At night, the main streets are full of couples, multigenerational families including elderly in wheelchairs & children in arms, and groups of young adults not on cell phones. We were on a budget-conscious type of splurge trip, which meant walking, people watching, visiting free museums & churches, and just happening upon an international street festival.

We joined throngs of people treading cobblestone streets for the weekly San Telmo outdoor bazaar, which stretches more than 10 city blocks and draws tens of thousands of visitors every Sunday. I was accustomed enough by then to the unique Argentinian Spanish to start a chat (at the language level of a child) with a vendor & a passionately opinionated 80-year-old woman about the friction between gentrified shops and independent artisans over the continued size & existence of the fair. We saw amazing graffiti, gardens overflowing on terraces & rooftops, and discovered where all the pigeons have gone. There was also visible misery and abject poverty, seen in whole families living on the street and children begging at tourist sites. I know this occurs in the U.S. as well, but living in rural-burbia, we’re sheltered from the tragic scale of homelessness in the large metropolitan areas. Our charity is mainly local, and most people we meet in our community are within 2 degrees of separation.

It took around 24 hours from initial airport arrival to final landing each way, including a couple layovers and customs processing (much more organized & civil on the Argentine end, I must say). I don’t like to fly, but I used my coping skills, which included reading this fascinating book about a year in the life of a beekeeper, and I made it there and back again with no panic attacks and only one episode of dissolving into tears on the trip home. It’s a win.

Missing the Bees

The trees back home had saved a few leftovers for us, but we had missed the feast of color provided during our absence. Some bright yellow leaves on the pawpaw sapling, lingering red coals from the blaze of the burning bush, and everywhere else the scattered orange and brown of a 1970’s floral sofa. After greeting kids and dog, we hurried out back to check on the hives, which apparently won someone a bet. We do love our bees and there’s no shame in that!

We are going into the colder months with 5(!) queenright hives. We were still putting out sugar syrup for them in the warm afternoons, but I think we’re well and truly done with that now that there’s been more than one hard frost. The past couple days have had a different chill to the air. Rather than clumps of bees hanging out on their porches, basking in the few hours of direct sunlight, I’ve been met by a single guard bee at the entrance who ducks quickly back inside after noting my presence.

It was thrilling to travel such a long distance, to sample life in another country, to admire its culture, to navigate a city of 16 million people, and to fly from Spring back to Autumn in 24 hours. Whether due to crystalizing introversion, the continuing aftershocks of 2020, the responsibilities of this present stage of life, or the depth of the roots we’ve planted in this small suburb of a small city, I was and am very glad to be back home. I was looking out at a city full of nightlife, amazed and grateful, but wishing I were curled up on the scuffed-up second-hand sofa in our living room, with the dog at on my feet and a mug of tea in hand.

Turns out my favorite place to escape is the garden in my backyard. And that in addition to the kids, we really miss the bees when we’re away. I can live with that; there are worse things to be than a homebody. Though I can only speak for myself; our son will likely move away after graduation, and Phillip will be thrilled to go wherever on the globe his employer sends him. There are other places I would love to visit someday, but this northern climate asks me to spend the current season bringing out the blankets & sweaters, turning on the kettle & the crockpot, and preparing home & hive for the winter.

Have you travelled to the opposite hemisphere? Do you consider yourself more of a homebody or an adventurer? If you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, what is in bloom & growing where you are? If in the North, have you had frost or even snow yet? If you could pick any place to travel, and money were no object, where would you go?

—Erin, in Michigan