Step 8 comes in handy here:
We became willing to attempt to unconditionally love the ways of this culture so different from the one we were raised in, as we open ourselves to receive the unconditional love of our Higher Power.
Dear people,
Last Saturday, in our lovely warm field in the village of Grünwald, before we'd even opened our 2nd bloom, we four were gently cut and gathered by two Americans who'd just ridden out of the Perlach Forst on bicycles. They seemed to be very surprised that such beautiful flowers as we were there, for anyone to cut (for 80 cents a stem deposited in the metal box) and take away. It was our destiny to go with them, and quite a ride it was.
After we all worried a bit about us drying out during the ride, they bundled us into his backpack, zippered in, and we liked that: it gave us a great view of the road ahead as we left our field and went out into the world. Who knew it was so beautiful? Castles and waterways appeared as we rode along on the outskirts of Munich, passing through the amazing green and lush valley of the river Isar.
We fanned ourselves out over the top of his head, greeting people coming towards him (who seemed a bit startled by the sight). But there weren't many people out and about on the beautiful bicycle paths: perhaps it was the thunderstorm that was obviously building (we have seen many of these in our short life in the field). Or just that we were still many miles from Munich.
Just as we were getting thirsty, the rain began to fall, giving us all a very nice long drink. His backpack began to fill up with water through the opening in which we were bundled, which was just what we needed, but the strange electronic devices inside seemed to feel differently.
We were moved to the the back of her bike, where we rode laying down off the back of the rack for the rest of the journey. It was a different view, but still nice, and we got the full benefit of the rain for what seemed like hours.
We were leaned against the railing of a quiet bridge over the Isar Canal enjoying the beauty of dampening nature when seemingly out of the blue, not too far up, the river began to be filled with giant log rafts! Stuffed to the edges with people eating and drinking, playing instruments, and singing and dancing. They were the happiest and loudest people we gladioli had ever seen!
However, as they approached us, the music stopped and they began talking very intensely. They appeared to be bracing themselves, and some of them took off their footgear. The bridge was actually a small dam, and it quickly became apparent that the narrow opening the rafts had to fit through was actually a chute of some kind, itself lined with logs below the rushing water, and angled rather steeply!
Have I mentioned that the water was very high from all the rain? Yes, like Oregon in the early spring, she said. The first raft approached sedately and then suddenly shot down into the chute, water welling up a foot or two above the logs, and everyone was screaming, including my people at that point.
With happiness, it turned out! Nothing in our time in the flower field had prepared us for a sight like this. Humans are stranger than we ever thought.
My people seemed to be as surprised as were to come across this wild scene in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the pouring rain. Evidently they are as new to this place as we are.
After the excitement passed, the open bridge was a great place to enjoy the vertical flow of the water, but they seemed to think otherwise. He rode with an umbrella held above his head, and S put on a raincoat, and the journey continued.
A few more kilometers down the lovely path there appeared several big umbrellas with tables underneath them and we were leaned against a railing again, this time in the forest, while our traveling companions shook the rain off and had cups of hot liquid. There were others like them all doing the same, either with steins of beer, cups of coffee and tea, or even boxes of food. A short distance away, we heard the log rafts come and go, playing their (mostly American) music as they went.
No dogs, however, which I think was a blessing, as our position on the rack of the low folding bike (a Brompton I heard it called) definitely exposed us to the lifting of a canine leg or two.
When the rain lightened, J n S and we continued along the path, enjoying the puddles. They passed the rafts again several times, and the excitement was repeated, although this time without the pouring rain and the canopies covering up the people. Now we saw them all as they passed below our bridges. And it's true - they were exceedingly happy to be risking a full bath in the Isar!!
We crossed back to the other side of the canal right where all the rafts tied up and after some vigorous singing competitions, immediately began to be dissembled and loaded onto huge trucks. They loaded the happy people onto huge buses, as well. Some of them were so happy they lifted their skirts and peed in the forest, which we were somewhat surprised to see. But we politely looked the other way as we cycled along.
Then J n S walked their bikes up the ever-so-steep switchbacks that led up to Harlaching, a green and lovely neighborhood that borders the Isar. We heard them talking about finding an apartment here, and we agree, it would be nice. Evidently it would be a change for them, as they currently live in a place of tall buildings and no greenery. No fields for us, though, in either place: I suspect our new living arrangements will be less spacious than we're used to.
At the quiet and empty soccer stadium, we left the lovely green bike path and emerged into a world of concrete, cars, and more people than we've ever seen before. We spent a few more interludes leaned against a wall, first outside an Asian grocery store (S is looking for cheap bowls), and then outside a café (cake for J while S did something with yarn).
After entering a building and then a small cage that rose into the air (too small for our position on the bike, so we were carried upright, finally!) we were placed into our new homes: an empty bottle and a vase. Both have fine views of a very white room and more interesting ones of a street outside, as we are 4 floors above the soil, which is a bit sad for us. But there are no screens on the windows and the huge glass door is often open to the balcony, and we have been visited by various small insects who have brought us some news of the world.
Warm breezes blow through the apartment at all times, carrying all kinds of sounds. There is an opera singer next door, who practices delightfully at sensible hours, and a large, loud man across the narrow street who hangs over his balcony and hoots. At birds, we think. Cars and bicycles pass by. Other than that, the street is pretty quiet, considering the buildings are 7 stories tall and no breaks between them and are evidently filled with all kinds of people.
But enough of that. J has informed S that we survived 12 miles on the back of the bike, and so we proudly settle in, pillars of floral strength, it's true, and go about the business of opening our flowers for all to enjoy. It's a fine life.
Sincerely,
The Gladioli
at Hohenwaldeckstrasse
