Baltic summer

I was not able to blog the Camp Wesley/Latvia/Lithuania trip in real time. Internet connections were rare and time for writing was even more rare. On a trip like this every moment holds wonder, the kind of wonder that you want to share. I have forgotten some of those moments now. But memories have a way of popping back up after awhile. The next few blogs will cover a few.

I love to go to the Baltics in the summer. The sun stays up almost all the time. Flower gardens are blooming. Fresh fruit stands are plentiful, with strawberries and cherries the most common fare. People seem to be celebrating the short period of sunshine and warmth that separates the cold, grey winters by getting outside, walking down the pedestrian streets or sitting with friends at open air cafes. Bouquets of fresh cut flowers are carried from friend to friend from vendors on almost every block. The colors and freshness of the flowers add to the natural beauty of those that carry them.

We in the west are reminded often by our doctors, magazine articles and news specials that walking is good for us. In the Baltics, walking is a necessary part of life. It is transportation, so they do it quickly. The southern U.S. mosey is not practical in a country in which most of the year features freezing temperatures. The people of the Baltics are a testament to the virtues of walking. In summer, when the bulky coats are left in the closets, the streets are full of beautiful lean, fit folks, wearing as little clothing as discretion allows, rejoicing in the freedom allowed by warmer temperatures.

So we were sitting at an open air cafe watching people and eating. It was a beautiful evening in Siauliai. The crowds strolled quickly up and down the street. Our waitress was a slender blonde woman with dimples. I could tell she liked me. But we kept it just between us.

There were pigeons in the brick paved street, oblivious to the traffic of the pedestrians around them. They began to waddle in their pigeon toed fashion towards our table. John Carl was sitting next to Anna. He apparently shifted in his chair as the pigeons approached, his foot scraping against Anna's leg.

That is when we learned something about Anna that we didn't know, the kind of thing you learn when you travel together. She is creeped out by pigeons.

A piercing shriek erupted from Anna, who panicked, thinking the pigeoens had come after her under the table. Her arms shot upward from her lap, catching the table on the way up. Having the advantage of adrenaline, her arm quickly raised the table off its legs, spilling drinks and food.

For a moment the street froze. The walkers stopped. The talkers went silent. Even the pigeons turned their little pigeon heads toward our tables.

It was as if we were E. F. Hutton, and we had just said something. Crazy Americans.

The moment passed quickly and the Baltic summer resumed. It is far too short to stop for long.

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