The almost two-hour cycle ride to Lindenhoff farm has become a routine to which I seemed to have quickly grown accustom to and in fact, look forward to each week. I prepare for the day; pack a lunch, fill my thermos with water and jump on my trusty two wheeled companion ready for the day ahead. There is no distance, no windows, no doors or metal separating me from Mother Nature’s moods. The wind whips through me, testing my legs, cool breeze nipping at my hands and my lungs fill with crisp fresh air as I ride along through the countryside. The landscape is dotted with farms, Friesian cattle enjoy lunch and bask in the sun, flocks of sheep graze the emerald green lawns alongside horses and goats, the glory and majesty of nature slowly reveals
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The path runs along a canal on one side, a ditch, train tracks and beyond that farmland on the other. As I steadily pedal along, I’m out run by massive cargo ships named Libra and Coby, carrying cars, boats and shipping containers filled with goods. I finally arrive at the farm and head straight through the market towards the cheese shop. I’m greeted by a familiar face, Max, the Kaasmeester (cheese master) for Lindenhoff and his curly haired colleague. We shake hands, exchange smiles and we talk about, what else, cheese. As he hands me a piece of cheese and a glass of paired white wine to taste he tells me that ‘Each cheese has a story. “This one” he points to the Testun al Barolo, a wheel of pale white cheese coated with pressed Nebbiolo grapes, “was produced by accident. During World War II, when the Germans occupied Italy, the cheese was hidden in Barolo wine barrels not to be discovered. After some time, the cheese was rediscovered and the winery flavor proved to be a surprising and delicious success. The ‘accident’ resulted in a cheese with a rich aroma of wine and tones of fermented fruit.” “It’s a delicious accident.” I say, he smiles and nods in agreement. He goes on to tell the tale of a cheese aged in caves, another covered in volcanic ash, to one spread with a little soot recovered …show more content…
Yes. That’s it. I pay and cautiously pack my bicycle saddlebags ready for the journey home. The weight of the haul has proven to be a burning challenge. Professional cyclists zip past me like spears soaring through the air as I tirelessly make my way on the unforgiving Kanaaldijk West. There is no denying the “constant engagement one has when cycling” someone once told me. “you’re constantly aware and continually making decisions.” There is an undeniable, albeit perhaps an unconscious, relationship between the Dutch cyclist and Mother Nature. A constant reminder of our dependence and relationship to her. As Chief Si’ahl (Seattle), chief of the Duwamish Native American Tribe explains, “Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things
The path runs along a canal on one side, a ditch, train tracks and beyond that farmland on the other. As I steadily pedal along, I’m out run by massive cargo ships named Libra and Coby, carrying cars, boats and shipping containers filled with goods. I finally arrive at the farm and head straight through the market towards the cheese shop. I’m greeted by a familiar face, Max, the Kaasmeester (cheese master) for Lindenhoff and his curly haired colleague. We shake hands, exchange smiles and we talk about, what else, cheese. As he hands me a piece of cheese and a glass of paired white wine to taste he tells me that ‘Each cheese has a story. “This one” he points to the Testun al Barolo, a wheel of pale white cheese coated with pressed Nebbiolo grapes, “was produced by accident. During World War II, when the Germans occupied Italy, the cheese was hidden in Barolo wine barrels not to be discovered. After some time, the cheese was rediscovered and the winery flavor proved to be a surprising and delicious success. The ‘accident’ resulted in a cheese with a rich aroma of wine and tones of fermented fruit.” “It’s a delicious accident.” I say, he smiles and nods in agreement. He goes on to tell the tale of a cheese aged in caves, another covered in volcanic ash, to one spread with a little soot recovered …show more content…
Yes. That’s it. I pay and cautiously pack my bicycle saddlebags ready for the journey home. The weight of the haul has proven to be a burning challenge. Professional cyclists zip past me like spears soaring through the air as I tirelessly make my way on the unforgiving Kanaaldijk West. There is no denying the “constant engagement one has when cycling” someone once told me. “you’re constantly aware and continually making decisions.” There is an undeniable, albeit perhaps an unconscious, relationship between the Dutch cyclist and Mother Nature. A constant reminder of our dependence and relationship to her. As Chief Si’ahl (Seattle), chief of the Duwamish Native American Tribe explains, “Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things