Thursday, Abdullah and Yasin took me driving past Lake Abant and told me that weekend picnics are very common here. We had been discussing gender stereotypes and roles, and I joked about how much American men love to grill.
Consequently, Abdullah (like any good host) got it into his head that I must be taken to a picnic this weekend! He and his wife, Ayse (again with the "s" for which I have no symbol), picked me up at 12:15 and we headed out.
Sinan and Aylin also have a home near one of the mountain villages, so we had a traditional lunch there-- complete with tea, of course. I have not acquired all the names of all the foods yet, and it's the same for me with basic conversation. Listening well was my order of the day.
Their porch gave onto the neighbor's field, and a trio of sheep (one a ram with horns encircling his ears) nibbled grass by the fence and occasionally bellowed at Eray if he approached the border too closely. He is very shy, having spent all yesterday hiding his face in his hands whenever I looked in his direction, but the adults joked about how these ovine neighbors were really his good friends.
So, when the six of us including Aylin's father (all of these colleagues are from Bolu province, and this house was actually quite near Aylin's father's summer home) began our afternoon walk, the sheep determined to join us. Five minutes after their clanging neck-bells alerted us to our presence, a few of us had found slender branches to switch at them and encourage their return home. Eray, of course, was experiencing the the pleasure and terror of proximity with mammals both furry and biting.
The nine of us continued up the road toward the pond that was our goal, stopping on the way to pick blackberries or nibble thistles.
About ten or twelve minutes in, Aylin's father became seriously worried that the sheep's owner would be looking for them and get angry. He took one of the sticks and began prodding them back toward their field. The sound of the bells began to recede.
The next thing we knew, the bells were clanging again, and those rebellious sheep were cantering up the hill like a bad version of "The Brementown Musicians". We decided their wrath might be more fierce than that of their owner. Eray was in heaven. I hardly heard him string together a sentence yesterday, but today his outpouring words nearly always trembled with laughter.
We got to the pond, and I stood, hands on hips, admiring the surroundings. The sky was clear, and the green and wheat-colored fields ran straight up to the wooded foothills. A number of homes and a small mosque sat on one side of the pond.
Breathing the air deeply, I suddenly experienced a great force ramming into my hindquarters. Yes! I turned to see the horned ram backing up for another go and barely stepped out of the way of the second sneak attack! Everyone began to laugh, and between breaths Abdullah said, "Do they have many of these animals where you come from?"
"In Walla Walla? Yes, but we don't take them on walks with us!"
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