A Beach BBQ with Beans and Corn, Near the Benagil Caves, Portugal

Let me tell you what fresh hell I’m in. The Husband has found a farmer friend. Some context:

The Husband fancies himself a farmer. Mind you the only soil he ever tilled was when he was a young boy being used as slave labor on his dad’s tractor. No matter where we are, even at a black tie event with champagne and caviar flowing, I will hear from across the room,

Yeah, the milo didn’t come in well but we got $6 per bushel for the wheat

I’ll run to him and see someone opposite him mouthing “Save me!”  It happens so often that my mom now calls him Milo. 

Here we are on a bus off the southern coast of Portugal and I hear, “What’s the conversion from hectare to acre…”.   I turn to see The Husband querying Kate and she’s listening intently!

She’s a farmer! A real farmer with an advanced degree in agriculture and she’s even written a book, Crops, People, Money and You. The Husband just won the friendship lottery.

I couldn’t possibly be more bored with the two of them. Kate says of The Husband,

He’s the soybeans to my corn.

I’m not complaining. He’s finally found someone to talk to about no-till farming and I’m here for it. 

Today we rested up from two days of golf and took a catamaran to the Caves of Benagil. We got off the boat and into a dinghy to go into Portugal’s version of the Blue Grotto. Then we took the catamaran to a private beach for a barbecue which included sardines, chicken and an unnamed sausage-like meat. Mostly yummy.