Last weekend was lovely. So wonderful that I need to write it down. Pamela arrived Saturday afternoon (as she often does.) In the evening we went to a castle, (in the smallest little village of Holdenstadt,) for "Shakespeare and the Music of his Age." We were looking forward to the renaissance music... and didn't think that it would have... text. There was a wonderful actor though, reciting five minutes snipits from assorted plays and poems by the Bard. In German. Three or four of them I was familiar with enough to follow along, but the others... I was pretty much at sea. Even so, I appreciated the actor's performance, and it truly enhanced the music (at some point,) and at other points broke up what would have been the monotony of it; It was only two intsruments, (a Gamba and a... Lute -with hormone problem. It's neck had grown to four feet long!) There's only so much you can do with a Gamba and a Lute.

Still more wonderful was the next day, when we went to have a walk in the Heath. (The Heather, the moors, or Der Heide.) It was a late summer here, and the whole heath was still in bloom. (See a picture of it here.) We saw a good number of mushrooms growing and ended up in the woods looking for something eatable. We first found a huge, slightly mushy "Maronen", and then some perfect, large Stein Pilze. (In English? You want me to look this up? OK, it's Bay Boletus and then Boletus.) We also found a pretty little killer, (the red with white spots! It's was a real looker. See it Here.)

We at length left off our search and sat on a fat log overlooking the heath in the streaming sunlight. It was a perfect moment of peace, quietude, and the beauty of nature. Oh, and I got the cutest picture there of our prize Boletus on the log. (Care to Have a look?) At length we knew that we had to head back, as there were still other things we wanted to get done that day. The first of them was stopping at a cozy country café. We first poked our noses into the Glass blowers on the farm, which wasn't all that nice or interesting. But upstairs was a small museum.

I was expecting it to be of blown glass objects, but it was the old traditional things of the farm. Kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, weaving, reaping, farming and washing artifacts were there. The wooden cradle was touching: The old lady explained that it's over a hundred years old, and that she her self had occupied it as a baby. Later each of her children was in it. Still later, each of her grandchildren. There was a similar story to go with the baptising gown, the perambulator, and other things. All in all, it was much better than a glass museum could have been.

We at last got into the little bistro-café on the farm, which is also run by the family. It was... pretty packed. The whole converted barn of 22 tables, as well as the ten tables outside. And this is a farm, outside of a small little village. It wasn't until I saw the cakes that I understood why they all came there. The cakes were fantastic. Rich, creamy, and heavenly good. Decently priced too. I had a Dutch Cherry Cake, and Pamela had a Cappuccino-whipping-cream creation. We both felt so stuffed afterwards! And they were SO good! The last thing we did on this farm was go to the Fish-House, and buy a smoked trout to eat... in the evening.

But before we got home, we still stopped and went into the Corn Maze. It's a simple enough concept; Plant a medium sized field of corn, Not especially high quality, just good enough to feed pigs with. After three or four months, when it's a whole head taller than a grown man, mow a path twisting through it... along with a number of dead ends. All it needs now is a STRONGLY locked and anchored box with a sign that says "Suggested donation: 2 Euros." So we walked amid the corn, and found our way out before too long.

Back at home, we still felt partly full from our cream, but had a pile of food in front of us. I think we ate... nearly half of it. But the Trout didn't even get unwrapped. It's in my fridge now, awaiting next weekend. We carefully looked up everything about Boletus mushrooms on the internet until firmly convinced that what we had was eatable. (Would you like one more Picture of them?) Once we'd cooked and eaten... it was sadly time for Pamela to leave. (Her five hour drive back to Köln to work on Monday morning.) And in feel, that was the end of my weekend. (Though I had the washing of dishes to savour in the evening, remembering the dear time we had together making them dirty.)

Good weather, nice places, excellent food... and my fiancee's hand in mine. What more can one ask for? (Answer: All those things more often than just Saturday and Sunday!)