Bear and I were running errands in town when our friend Oma rang, letting us know that she had some chicken eggs ready for our incubator.

I love Oma. And Opa. They are the parents of my dear friend Ann, and the cutest Hungarian grandparents you ever did see. They’ve embraced us into their family and have done so much to make me feel loved and welcome in this new country of mine.

Their story is amazing, and someday I hope to share it with you. Survivors of the Hungarian Revolution, they both ended up in Australia where they met each other in a refugee camp, got married, and started a new life in a new country.

They are feisty and hilarious and wise. Full of the common sense wisdom that helps you survive wars and economic upheaval. Any time I have a question about gardening, animal husbandry, cooking, preserving, you name it, I can turn to Oma and Opa and know they’ll always steer me in the right direction.

They’re in their 80’s now but are still planting trees and butchering gigantic pigs and making their own prosciutto, hams, sausages, cheese, bread, and preserves. They raise animals and plant gardens and spoil their grandkids all while building a new house after theirs burned to the ground. They are incredibly generous. I don’t think I’ve ever left their house without a load of homemade preserves, bottles of Oma’s eye-popping home brew, seeds, seedlings, trees, or books.

And they give really good hugs. I love them.

So when Oma said she wanted us to stop by, we happily wrapped up our errands and headed over under a dark and stormy sky.

I like visiting their farm with its stunning views and flurry of projects. Especially on wild days like this one when we can watch storms rolling in from two directions.

I might find Oma cooing over her seedlings, speaking to them with a tenderness and affection usually reserved for babies, or plucking feathers from ducks destined for the roasting pan. Opa is often found in the frame of the new house, marking out plans and discussing steps with the builders. But whenever we show up, regardless of what they’re doing, they always stop for a cuppa and a chat.

We visited about the weather and the need for rain, swapped tales of our gardening endeavors and checked out the latest acquisitions for the house that Oma found at local auctions. We discussed the news and admired the massive hanks of seasoned prosciutto curing on the shelves Bear built for them a few months ago.

While Opa made coffee, we wandered over to the chicken run, stopping to admire flowering boughs and plump lemons ready for picking. Oma showed us her incubator full of eggs and picked out ten new ones for us. Carefully balancing my precious load,  I hustled up to put the eggs in the car before joining the others for a cuppa.

We feasted on homemade cake with two layers of icing and chewy coconut oat bars and visited some more as the skies grew ever darker. Suddenly the clouds broke up and the first huge drops fell. We gulped down the last of our coffee, hugged and waved farewell, and made a mad dash to the car just as the rain began to fall in sheets.

We drove home in a humdinger of a rain storm, beaming happily as we watched the sun-burned landscape get thoroughly soaked. It was still raining when we got home, steady and heavy, just what we needed to break the hold of the drought. It was a good day.

Who do you like to visit and share a cuppa with? xo