Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The Story of Port

Tonight the weather is a bit cooler, and I had been praying a bit and thinking about some friends in the UK. It kind of put me in a mood for some good port. I went to the old desk we have and rummaged around in it and found the half empty bottle. I believe the last time it was opened was last year, probably around the same time.


Every autumn, when the weather begins to change and snow threatens, I remember our introduction to port, and those who introduced us.


Lauralea and I were in London meeting with the brothers and sisters from the London Mennonite Center. We were there to encourage and help them with a large community/church project they were undertaking.


After a day of painting and working in a community space where the church met, we headed to the center where we were staying to get washed up. That night we were invited to the home of one of the church elders, Fred and Helen Yocum's, for supper.


If memory serves it was a cool overcast night, and Lauralea and I caught the Northern Line to get over to the Woodgreen tube station before 6pm. We arrived at the station and as we took the stairs to street level, the cool moist air was a shock to the system. The walk to their home was 8 or 10 blocks away and I recall we enjoyed it. The evening was already dark and you could see inside the attached homes, families arriving from work and getting the tables set with things to eat.


Presently we arrived and were warmly welcomed into their home. And as with all our hosts during our visit to the UK, we were offered a bit of wine or cordial or cider when we arrived. Since we were closer to Rome than our homeland, we adopted the phrase "When in Rome..." That seemed to serve us well during our stay, and we gratefully accepted.


Supper was a wonderful mix of telling our stories and sharing our faith, along with the amazing stew that was served.  I recall the warmth of their table and the closeness we felt to them. There we were, relative strangers from across the world, and our hearts were united by Spirit.


Oh, and the desert. We were most definitely united by the desert. It was a simple purchased pound cake with a side of the most incredible awe inspiring, mouth watering vanilla Ice Cream it has ever been my pleasure to experience. And I say experience because indeed it was not simply a taste, but an experience in and of itself. From that day to this I have denied referring to any such locally purchased item as Ice Cream. This stuff is only Ice Chemicals. But I digress.


As supper began to draw to a close, around 10:30 or some such unbelievable time, we were invited into the front room to make ourselves more comfortable, which we did. It was at that time that we were introduced to the pleasures of Port. It was described to us as a fortified wine which originated in Portugal. Historically it was to be enjoyed after an evening meal. I thought the meal was history making enough, but this just topped it off nicely.


I enjoyed a glass and the conversation went on to matters of church structure and relationships within the church and community. It was such an encouragement to share that time with them, and the wonderful hospitality they gifted us with. We talked until late into the night.


I believe it was 12:00am when we crawled into Helen's old Morris Minor and she drove us over to the center where we were staying for the nights.


And now, whenever the autumn is changing into it's coldest part, I think about that port. And I go to the cupboard and pull it down and have a small glass of it. And whenever I drink a drop of Port, I think of that night and the fond memories of friends and fine food and the fellowship. And it's all good.

1 comment:

  1. Whenever I think of or hear the word "port" I think about my favourite medieval history professor who I had about 5 classes with in university. She always took her smaller 3 & 4th year classes to the Lazy Owl pub at the UofR for drinks after the last class of the semester. She bought the drinks. She always had port. I always had something non-achoholic (party-pooper).



    It was over a glass of port that I explained my frustration with the fact that the maximum grade possible on history paper in university was always 90%, never 100%. And it was that discussion that got me a 95% on my paper for her that year -- the highest mark she had ever given for a paper. So, here's to port and the happy feelings it brings!!

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