The weekend away

As a child on snow days when we were stuck at home in front of the fire, my grandmother would bring out jigsaw puzzles, many of which had scenes of Swiss mountains and chalets. Never in my wildness dreams (and I was an imaginative child) did I think I would ever, ever be lucky enough to visit, much less become a resident or a citizen.
Amazingly when my housemate suggested that I go to the chalet in the Valais this weekend, I said no. I was planning to catch up on paperwork and do the miserable chores I had postponed. She asked a second time. I said no. And a third. On the fourth, the mantra of pleasure before work kicked in, thank God, and we were off.
This little village with its Heidi houses is wonderful. It’s walking through those jigsaw puzzles of my childhood without the jagged pieces. Not only do I look at the outside of the chalets, I get to go inside, sleep under the duvets. I am sure none of the houses in Heidi’s village had a satellite dish as in the photo, when the book was written, but I am sure it does now. Fortunately I do not have to drink warm goats’ milk like Heidi did, but we did have a fondue, perfect for a cold fall evening.
Peter and the goats are no where around, but there are beautiful black steers and cows. The two in the photo look like one steer with two rears. Sadly another photo of two steers kissing (well one licked and licked the other, didn’t come out.