It's a recent fad (and a good one at that) to choose a word for the incoming year. Mine is courage. I read this verse: "Be strong and courageous because God is with you." God is asking someone to lead his nation into the Promised Land.
I'm not as important as Joshua was, but courage is a good quality in uncertain times. Who knows what a New Year brings? Only God. W and I read Deuteronomy 9 together: a warning to be courageous and trust God in new territory.
I light the candles on the table and think about courage. It's not the absence of fear. Rather, it's moving forward in spite of our doubts, fears, or anxiety. I want to stay close enough to God to receive his strength and insights. That's the only way to keep advance or grow in the future.
Thursday, December 30, 2021
Somehow the mail program duplicates our monthly e-news. Everyone gets two copies, one on top of the other. I shrug it off after a few sighs of frustration. Nothing works perfectly time after time.
It's a rough night: I sleep 8pm-12; 4am-5:30. Not long enough for deep body rest. I consider staying home. Nope - I'll regret it if I don't go. We fill the water bladders in our backpacks, haul on our hiking clothes, and out the door we go. The dogs are waiting already in the car.
We're trying new trail. We start early, going up and then up some more.
One of our regulars brings her niece, who is from Jakarta. The city is at sea level. It's hard to hike when your lungs aren't used to the elevation.
We are over a mile high by the time we summit and start back down. So our guest is gasping and feels dizzy at times. But she keeps going, aided by a few pauses, water, and a stale Coffee Crisp chocolate bar from W's supply. The rest of us are more acclimated. I try to keep my heart rate under 160 but during some climbs it's at 165 or more.
This is a varied walk: the stone drive edges a valley as we start to climb. The path turns to dirt with ferns, pines, coffee plants, and palms alongside. Since it's rained, much of the dirt is either deep mud or slick clay. We stab our walking stick into the ground to pull ourselves up or control the descent. As usual, there are a few wipe-outs when it's too slippery or steep.
In places, the trail is deeply rutted by mountain bikes and dirt (motor)bikes. As we look back, the city lies far below.
We traverse pine stands with tall meadows in their shadows. Once in a while we meet men cutting grass for livestock.
We walk through tea plantations, the young green leaves waving in the wind that blows over the hills.
Bonsai is the artistic miniaturization of weathered plants. These tea shrubs have been pruned semi-annually for decades. It's hard to replicate what nature does so well. Moss and lichens cover the older trunks, while new leaves shoot out the tops.
We zig-zag through the fields between wild pink impatiens and the pruned shrubs.
The contours of the tea follow the curves of the mountainsides.
Stone paving appears and disappears on the service roads. You scan the ground constantly not to turn your ankles.
It's overcast all day but doesn't rain. Where the paths are overgrown, we watch our feet for snakes. None spotted today.
See the heavy block of wood on left side of this simple gate? The bar prevents all-terrain vehicles from ripping up the roads between the fields. To open it, the gatekeeper releases a lever at the far end of the gate, the block pulls down, and the bar lifts. Simple genius.
The trail narrows through 8-10' tall grasses. As long as we keep moving, it seems like there is a trail. You wouldn't want to get turned around ... the slightly visible path might disappear.
Our destination is a waterfall. However, the trail disappears into a swift stream in the final hundred meters, and that can be slick even with bare feet. We agree to walk down to the waterfall during dry season instead.
There are wonderful seed heads and wildflowers. This star-pattered grass catches our attention.
It takes careful footwork to descend this crazy staircase. There's no way to come straight down. You go side to side and across and back without any particular rhythm. Some steps are 24" high; others are 6". Sometimes there are two 6-8" steps on one side and then a drop-off so you have to move across the staircase to get to the next level.
Every time we cross this rusted iron and bamboo-deck bridge, it has deteriorated a little more. Today there are gaps where the bamboo has rotted away or broken. One person crosses at a time: the bamboo latticework is both resilient and frail after a few years of use by people and motorcycles.
The Dutch built drainage and irrigation canals throughout the country 100 years ago. Those are still in use today. We navigate carefully not to fall into the water 3-8 feet below us.
There's a 20' sunflower growing on the other side. I'd pluck seeds if I could get close enough. The swift current is a worthy deterrent.
The path narrows at another riverside. The mud is ankle-deep in places where water leads from old irrigation pipes. We step through or to the side of the mud as best we can. Our feet are soaked as we reach the final village.
Melvi says, "What a great way to end the year. A good hike." Agreed.
The dogs run over the rough stone roads and slick trails. They bounce through dirty puddles and tear through the high grasses. Partway though, Gypsy jumps into the swift-moving river and everyone yells at him to get up on the trail. He scrambles back over the bank, nicely cooled off.
They are utterly filthy by the time we are done. Bailey is two-toned, dark to his chest and white above. That's certainly taken care of his Christmas Eve grooming. He'll get a bath as soon as we're home. The other dogs run around until the dirt drops off them.
We find a table with chairs so we don't have to sit on the wood floor. That's probably a good thing after a vigorous walk. The total elevation was 40 storeys, not including valleys and hills between. (= almost 400 meters or 1200 feet.) We're hungry when we sit down.
It's an hour's drive back on winding mountain roads. We check emails and sort through business texts along the way. We're ready for a shower and quiet catch-up by 3:30.
Lunch at Sapulidi is delicious. On the way to our eating hut, we cross a wood-slat bridge lined with tree branches and old palm leaves.
Friday, the end of 2021
What a satisfying end to the year. Keelee and I trade "3 Things" we'd like to get done but I get to none of my to-dos today. Instead, I spend most of the day in the garden. Maintenance exhausts me. But design? It soothes my soul. Today's a design day outside. And deconstruction and paring down inside. A good balance.
In the early morning, I roll up a few Christmas garlands. I'd planned only to take down a few things and I'm in no hurry. Every time I walk through a room, one thing after another is stored in boxes. I leave the trees and outdoor garlands for another day (or two). The rest is gone.
Our neighbors moved and left behind pots filled with water, plants, and fish. I feed the fish over there a few times a week. The grass is growing in their yard, the foliage is beginning to cover the pots, and the vines have begun to take over the empty house.
I think, "Why not just feed the fish at our place?" I dip a net into the big pond and fill a pail with a few dozen guppies and platys. While I'm at it, I refill their main pond with water.
Meanwhile, W and PakG empty and haul some pots into our yard. The biggest (30"x30") goes into the garden by the teras. It holds at least 40 gallons of water, set beside the gardenia shrub that we trimmed on Tuesday.
We push aside the overgrown coleus to make room for the pot.
W puts bricks into the base to elevate the water lily to the surface.
The second water feature fits under the benjamina ficus near the green wall. During the rainy season, the fern fronds on the wall are 3-4' long.
We bought a calla lily the other day in Lembang and there was a little water lily floating in one of the ponds. I tuck the water lily into the base of the calla. Let's see how it grows.
We cut back the frangipani trees Tuesday. Now we can see the bromeliads sending out their red shoots.
Beside the porch stairs, the mosquito-repellent plants are also in flower. They're smelly as we brush past.
It's the last day of the year. How is that possible? We make calls and talk to loved ones. We take most of the day off work. The fireworks start at sundown. Everyone seems happy to leave the past year behind.
Bailey does his own inspection and approves.
The third pot is a smaller version of the first at 25 or 30 gallons. It sits between the citrus trees in the upper garden.
Upon closer inspection, the lemon tree has dozens of lemons. It's been blooming and fruiting all year. I've lost count of the lemons that have come and gone. I pluck off the wormy fruit and throw it on the compost pile.
The barrage of noise wakes us before midnight. The firecrackers have been crackling and popping since sundown - 6 p.m. - and continue to intensify until 12:30 a.m. Hanging out on the second-storey balcony, we can see the lights exploding in the sky across the city. (It's like 30 years ago at an American 4th of July party.)
January 1, 2022 SATURDAY - HAPPY NEW YEAR
After being up a few hours in the night, I sleep in until 7:00. The sun's long since come up. 
All is well - it's a new morning and a new calendar year.
I shake out and pack away the Christmas fabrics wrapped around the sofa pillows. In their place, I pin Bali sarongs. Just like that, the LR transitions from festive Christmas
... to candy colors.
We're on our way to a friend who avoids sweets but is a marvelous floral arranger. What to bring her? There's a lot of color in the yard, so we cut flowers for her and bring cookies for her family.
Her house is bright and cheerful. The table groans with foods and treats.
"These cakes are made with as few as 20 egg yolks or as many as 50, at which point the cake melts in your mouth," says DrH. This cake is rich and delicious, "but maybe only 30 yolks ..." Whew!
We open one food cover - it reminds me of a concert bandshell. Inside is a holiday egg yolk cake with multiple layers. Traditionally, the layers are individually baked, covered with foil and placed under a grill. Look how many layers! The plums between add a pinch of sweetness.
She and her daughter Alice know Indonesia's foods. They can also tell you exactly where in the city to buy the best versions.
Today DrH brings out her mother's antique Dutch china. The tea "taste better in good china" according to a mutual friend. It's always yummy and hospitable here.
When we get home, the sun has opened the new water lily and 3 more blooms are unfolding. We get a lot of Happy New Year messages and wishes and respond to as many as we can.
All day, the weather goes between high clouds and sunshine. W orders Vietnamese food for lunch and then it feels like nap time.
We try out our old solar fountains, which work for an hour or two in morning sun on the porch. In full sunshine, they bubble away, rippling the surface of the water.
Read more:
*Yours is the day, yours also the night; you established the luminaries and the sun. Psalm 74:16
*Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Romans 13:12-13
Moravian Prayer: Holy God, we stand in your light and love, sometimes unaware. Your goodness surrounds us; your love gives us strength. We are blessed more than we could hope or ask. You are amazing. Amen.
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