smelly cows and racing pigs dominate pumpkin festival
Seegraben Pumpkins with Darius and Nazy
Here in Santa Barbara, we focused on the Pumpkin Patch at the show grounds. The Patch featured pumpkins, rides, cotton candy and lots of bouncy things. Tiger was not enthralled by the cotton candy …
“I don’t think that he believes that it’s candy,” I thought as Nazy and Melika demonstrated the (sticky) fun. Tiger demurred.
“I want to drive the cars,” Tiger proclaimed as he saw two battery powered cars, children sized, making circles around course.
We purchased a book of ride ‘tickets’ and waited in line. When it was his turn..
“I don’t want to,” Tiger proclaimed.
We traded our ride tickets for a giant pumpkin. (But not quite as giant as the one in Seegraben.)
At the pumpkin patch with Arrow, Melika, Tiger and Nazy
Another of the traditional Swiss ways to welcome autumn was the annual cattle trek: the weekend that (and I’m not making this up) the cows came home…
“You want to drive to the countryside to watch flower bedecked cows marching from the mountains into a village?” I asked incredulously.
”Precisely.” Nazy retorted. “It’s tradition.”
“I wonder how the cows got up the mountains?” I thought before recalling our visit to St. Moritz with Melika:
It was spring and the mountains in the Engadin Valley around St. Moritz were mostly snow-free. After perusing the (expensive) shops in the city, Melika, Nazy and I decided to ‘see the mountains’. We found a cable railway that would take us to the summit with only a few stops along the way. There was, it turned out, a small catch.
“We are so lucky!” I exclaimed as we dashed to the train. “We have the whole train to ourselves and we bought our tickets just before it leaves. No waiting, no crowds!”
“Hrmpf.” Nazy replied as I tried to hurry them along.
“We don’t want to miss this good fortune.”
We dashed into the car just before the doors closed and the train began its slow ascent.
“Yuck!” Nazy shouted. Appropriately.
The entire train was devoid of chairs. There were hand holds along the sides and fitting for chairs and seats. But, most notably, the car smelled like an organic fertilizer factory on a hot afternoon.
Moving into action stunningly fast, I attempted to open the windows as the train began a slow trek up the mountain.
“We are sooo lucky,” Nazy noted as she repeated my words, while I struggled with the window.
“What is that?” Melika wailed.
I got a window open and turned to see Nazy and Melika with scarfs covering their noses.
“Do you have one for me?” I asked.
“For you?” Nazy asked. “For you?”
“Well..”
“This was a Hermes scarf, Dan.” Nazy explained. “I’ll have to throw it away.”
“You could take it to the cleaners.”
“Take it to the cleaners? Do you think I’m going to put this back in my purse? For your information, there was Hermes shop in the village. Dan.” Nazy concluded.
We later discovered that we got on the train that was used to bring the cows up the mountains for the summer.
“That explains why it smelled like it had been used to transport frightened and crowded ruminants with digestive problems,” I thought.
People in ‘the know’ (i.e. everyone but us) delayed their trip until the cars on the parallel track departed. After all the cows had been deposited on the mountains, the offensive rail cars would be steam cleaned and the chairs would be reinstalled.
“So that’s how the Swiss make the mountain glens so picturesque,” I thought.
For last week's letter, click here
Another Cows photo