After about nine miles along a ridge, through forests, beside a lake, and in a pasture, I’m back at the modern house overlooking the village and distant valleys and the Glarus alps while sipping iced mountain water and feeling good as new after a long shower.
The dairy we passed by was closed after 10:30 A.M., but it was evident that it makes cheeses from the milk of cows and goats.
People are beginning to arrive from cities for quiet weekends.
If I can get the grill going, it’s kalbswurst, rot sauerkraut, oven roasted baby potatoes, and red wine from near the Rhone in the Valais.
But first: Most. (Hard apple cider.)