Inundation

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At home in the sweltering Midwest, 104 degrees broke all records for the day we officially released ourselves from our tea-sipping parents. Most fireworks have been cancelled and the golden-crisp grass is begging for respite, much like those fables I was told as a child about “sinners” in an “eternal hell” longing for a drop of water. I love being home. Love. It. But I also love being anywhere but. The bratwurst and cheese curds have to me thinking about the fresh foods of Chile. Right now it’s artichoke season, along with squashes and zapallos and dark leafy greens.

In a few weeks I”ll be back in Santiago. I’ll pick up a classic bottle of Carmenere to go with a spicy lentil stew that will wash away the August rain for just a bit. But, I will try as always to be rooted where I am in each moment. I will soak up the sun and drink down the Wisconsin brews as the farmers pray for rain. Beat-up black boots, layered clothing and southern hemisphere friends will be right where I left them when I disembark next.

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