Fall Mini-Scenes

Among the sprawling conversations L. and I had, there was a bit of fierce debate about the number of times she has joined me in the country. My memory was two, both with Fatty. Hers was three, the first time without him. The blog was surprisingly unhelpful in this regard, at least in part because if there was a first visit sans Fat T. there was no photographic evidence of it. So I really meant to take at least one good photo of L. while she was around. The perfect time to do so would have been when we took a lovely fall walk. Unfortunately I took literally two photographs, both of which were totally not working in terms of focus or composition, and I'm simply not going to post them. The point is that I SWEAR L. was in fact around for this weekend. God. And if I'm lying I'm the person who makes up a friend to eat cheese and tacos with. I am not that person but I can only hope you understand that to be true.

While no photos of L. or me are available, we did see some pretty things on our walk.

UGH. HOW DARE YOU BE SO PRETTY?! At one point we were walking kind of in rhythm, and the sound of our feet sloughing through the fallen leaves was so loud that we could barely carry on a conversation because of the racket. Nature can be quiet, but not always!

Country Cheese Plate

About two weekends back I once again made my way to the country, this time with my cat, Zul, in tow. I must say I always feel a mix of accomplishment and guilt any time I manage to trick him into a false security and hustle him into his carrying case without his first hiding underneath the bed and my grabbing repeatedly for him at an odd angle. The day I drove up was such a day of accomplishment and guilt. Cat knows how to wail, but I do understand. Cats in general are not big carrying case fans, and Zul has a particularly good reason not to associate the case, or driving, with anything good. Well, in any case, we arrived safely. I then went on a grocery run to get the necessaries for the dinner I planned on cooking for myself and L. I had suggested that L. and Fat T. drive on over from Brooklyn to join me, but it was rather last minute and I didn't entirely think that they'd be able to. And in one sense I was right, as Fat T. did not come. But that just meant quality girl talk with L. without worrying about boring Fatty. After my shopping run I gathered my gear and went back out to the field to read. I've taken a break from the young adult fiction series I've been reading to start Margaret Atwood's newest book, the third in the Oryx and Crake series. It wasn't quite strapless dress weather anymore, but with a few layers and the sun staying mainly in place, it was still lovely. L. eventually joined me, but not before arriving without my noticing. I had texted her to tell her to come to the field upon her arrival, but her trickster phone did not allow her to see that message so there was a moment's gap between her arrival to the house and her arrival to the field. In any case. A lovely time was had in the field. We debated the merits of haunted houses (she, pro. Me, con) and generally enjoyed the slightly brisk, but still good day. Eventually we made it back to the house and got to snacking. L. had brought a few cheeses with her, as well as a baguette. Delicious cheeses. The names of which I'll need to ask her about. There was an Idiazabal that we both thought wasn't quite as nutty as some we'd had, a particularly nice goat with an ash component, and the third cheese's name entirely escapes me. I also had a bit of truffle paté to contribute. I started a fire and we sat by it while eating cheese. L. remains one of my favorite people and it's always nice to get to spend some quality time with her.

The Glory of a Good Field

The last two weekends I've driven up to the country. I keep thinking fall is over, but perhaps it hasn't even begun? I guess I see these photographs of Autumn in Vermont or wherever and I expect all the leaves to turn at exactly the same time. My own country experience certainly was highlighted by a number of beautiful trees, but also trees with no leaves whatsoever. Nature is not quite as tidy as I might like or assume, though it does mean that on multiple visits I was able to appreciate some golden and red and yellow leaves pretty much no matter where I looked. The first weekend was really warm. High 60s/low 70s warm. And sunny. This led me to really take advantage of the opportunity to walk and be outside without a jacket.

This is my friend the groundhog. Did you know groundhogs can climb trees? They can! I saw it! With my eyes!

So I generally haul myself out to this field with my picnic blanket (actually a cloth shower curtain but perfect as a picnic blanket), my camera, a book and maybe a soda and just sit there for as long as I can. The duration is sometimes determined by how long my Kindle lasts. Or how long the sun stays in full effect (it does get a little chilly if the sun is blocked by clouds). Getting hungry also has a detrimental impact on my ability to sit in a field for hours and hours. But on this particular day it was a perfect storm of bright sun, full belly and charged Kindle. I also lugged a tripod with me in order to prove to the world that I sit in pretty places and do very little. This was me deciding that running away from the self-timed camera would be a good idea.

And this is what I usually look like. One could say it's a reenactment, except I was really reading. To the right you'll see my glass bottle of Cheerwine. I've been reading a fair amount lately, a mix of high and low. Though I think on this particular day it was more low.

Just good old fashioned lovely times.

Delaware Beach and Camp Times

This summer flew by. Between my two biggest excursions to North Carolina and Lake Champlain, I certainly can't say that I didn't get my fair share of swimming done, but somehow I struggled to find a weekend to dedicate to my annual Delaware beach camping adventure. In previous years I've gone in the early summer and then again in the latter part of the season. This year I wasn't sure I was going to go at all. I've gained some new responsibilities at work and they were making me feel slightly less capable of taking vacation days...but I made it happen. I arrived on the Wednesday before Labor Day and quickly set up my tent. Rain was also in the forecast, so I set up a tarp so I could still enjoy at least a little time sitting outside. After setting the site up I did as I often do and went to Fin's for happy hour and oysters. Unfortunately I forgot to bring my camera so you'll just have to trust me when I say that I had a dozen oysters and steamed shrimp and enjoyed a Troeg's beer while making friends with an older woman who has a hair cutting license in three states.

The next day it was beach times. I brought a beer with me. I also brought Let's Pretend This Never Happened, which is a pretty good read if you're interested in a funny woman with a wacky childhood recounting her various anxieties and triumphs.

The water was really perfect that first day. The waves weren't crashing as much as lolling and I was able to comfortably float without fear of being smashed to the ocean's floor. So the campground is about a mile away from an access point for the beach. This access point is about 2 miles away from the primary beach area for the park, which features a giant parking lot,  large bath house, concession stand and life guards. Generally speaking the section of beach that you can walk to from the campground is far less crowded. The area by the beach house is always pretty chock full of bodies and umbrellas, while this more remote spot certainly isn't going to give you a sense of being totally alone but does give you a little more space between people. This was very much the case on that Wednesday, when it was pretty much me with my set up and then a young couple a couple hundred yards away from me on one side and a lady with her two sons on the other. It wasn't quite as solitary or remote as the beaches of Eleuthera, but it was still nice. Oh and there was an Amish couple playing baseball because of course. I have many thoughts about the Amish/Mennonite folks also camping but I'll perhaps share that in my next post.

After a day at the beach it was time to seek out a meal. I decided to return to the Surfing Crab and debated whether I was going to go the soft shell or hard shell crab route. In the end I decided that I was up to a solitary round of crab cracking and ordered half a dozen medium crabs. In the past I've been seated, or have seated myself, in the dining room to the left when you first walk into the space, which has long picnic tables that are perfect for large parties. This time, however, I went to the room that actually had seats with backs. I was, as is often the case, the only person by myself and the majority of the other tables were older couples on what seemed like double or triple dates. In one instance three couples came in together and quickly the men sat at one table while the women sat at another. I guess that makes sense? As a woman who sometimes finds the conversation of men more interesting than those of women (not always of course), I always hate that breakdown, but maybe after you're married for 30 years you just don't feel like hanging out in a coed group anymore?

I also ordered fries. This was a generous basket of very hot and crispy fries. I enjoyed them but didn't make that much of a dent, as my real focus was on the crabs.

This crab was a dictator in life, and a high five enthusiast in death. I made it through four crabs but couldn't quite bring myself to eat the last two. Service was good and fast. I could have perhaps done without my waiter touching my shoulder in a way that I felt was a little pitying or presumptuous. Or maybe I was just being overly sensitive. I didn't see him touching anyone else's shoulders. So it is a funny thing, my simultaneous desire to want to talk about how it actually is a little bit of a bummer to do things I like by myself and my annoyance if anyone other than me assumes that I am bummed. I had a fine time on this evening. The crabs were good. I had a book. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do. Yes, I would have liked to have a little company, but not having a companion didn't immediately make the meal (or any other aspect of the trip) suddenly sad. And yet I felt like those shoulder touches were somehow supposed to buck me up. Or it was all in my head. Hard to tell really.

And then it was a new day. The water was a little rougher and I was reading a new book, also good: Beautiful Ruins. This day was definitely more packed as far as folks, which made sense given the fact it was now a Friday on Labor Day weekend.

I worried after hearing stories all summer about these massive dolphin deaths in the Atlantic that I wouldn't see any on this trip. Luckily that wasn't the case. One of the positive things of being on a beach with other people, some of whom are children, is that I could focus on reading my book with the knowledge that if there were dolphins to be sighted, the parents would call out to their kids loudly enough for me to to into zoom photo action. As always, it was neater really to actually just watch their fins skim the water's surface than to try and photograph it. Really neat. Though I still haven't seen another one jump out of the water like I did quite a few years back.

Looking toward the main beach/bath house area.

Road Trip Lunch c/o Penn Alps

What is it about certain places? How do they manage to lodge themselves into our minds as meaningful, as beautiful, as timeless? And how often can those places ever measure up to whatever strange hold they've had on a person's brain? I ask these questions because when I started planning my drive to Columbus in order to celebrate Cuz K.'s engagement I did not struggle very much in making the counterintuitive decision to drive south before west and north. This is not the first time that I have driven to Ohio and made a stop at Penn Alps. The first was pretty much three years ago. I drove to Ohio on the way to go down to Tennessee to be with my parents for became my mother's second and last extended stay in a hospital. That was the drive that began a reality that ended with my mother's death less than a month later. When I was driving there and while I was actually eating and walking around Penn Alps and its rather remote Grantsville, MD location, however, it was not entirely apparent that that was the circumstance. I haven't actually re-read what I wrote about the last visit. I know that I was generally reflecting on the same ideas of place and time and nostalgia. And that I was non-plussed by the change to the entrance and to the gift shop, both of which were expanded and made slightly less quirky and more in line with the 'tourists stop here and we sell them things' vibe that I don't totally love. The funny thing is that as I knew I was going to stop at Penn Alps, I also started thinking about another location that I'd been to a few times in my youth that strangely stuck with me in terms of shaping some element of something that I care about. It seems. Hancock, Maryland is a second example of a place where I never spent much time, but that I visited a few different times throughout some formative time in my life.

I took no photographic evidence of my last minute decision to peel off the highway and drive down Hancock's main strip. I hadn't actually been sure that the place in my memories was Hancock, but when I saw the roof of and sign of the orchard/farm market literally just off the highway, I was pretty sure it was a place I had been. I don't know when. As a four year old. As an eight year old. As a nine year old. As a 12 year old. I simply don't know if I've been to that town three times or ten. At least three, that is for sure. In any case. It was a surreal thing driving down Hancock's Main Street and having at first a moment of feeling like I was totally mistaken. If it wasn't that apple/farm building market thing, then what town was it? I was driving the same route that my mother would often take when we drove to Ohio, but I had never remembered any of the roads. It's a strange thing to see things you've already seen but not entirely on purpose or realizing you are about to do so. Hancock is like that. I remember the market. I remembered a diner that I kept thinking was going to be just a little bit farther, and then I started to think that it didn't exist, and then it suddenly appeared and was exactly as I thought it would be. I remembered a General/Discount store with some weird mix of cheap toys and groceries and asundry things. The kind of place where there really is dust on some of the merchandise. I remembered going entirely through the town and turning right and going who knows how far to a place to park in order to then hike a while to get to a cabin with my parents that was along the Appalachian Trail.

So this town is just a location I somehow saw a number of times up until the time I was about 13. It is 17 years later and I am still drawn to it. And why? It's just a pretty small town with no huge anything that I could tell. Just strangely fragmented memories of being there. Being struck by the small town-ness of it. Struck by perhaps the run-down-ness of some of the people I saw. I don't know and I've just gone on a considerable tangent when my main point is that I revisited an entirely different place that I totally associate with driving trips with my mother for the first time since she died. That may not be my main point, but it certainly is part of the fabric of the situation.

In any case. I got to Penn Alps around 1 after hitting just terrible traffic on 95 south. I went directly to the hostess stand (past the still weird-to-me cashier plaza) to get a table. I was seated in an area I'm not sure I'd been to before. Though there is an especially cobwebbed part of my mind that feels like the answer is yes, and there was hot chocolate with whipped cream involved. But I could be wrong. In any case, I knew that my meal the last time hadn't been a runaway success so I tried to choose more carefully this time around. I went with a sweet tea that totally won. And enjoyed taking a look at the place mat - or should I say place map? With its nicely illustrated landmarks and routes as well as a pretty interesting slogan...the photographic evidence of which is only on my phone. Oh man it was funny, perhaps in part because of its spacing. It went:

Come once & see what we 

have yet, still

That shit is deep. 

More thinking led to a far better choice in meal. Though I don't usually order Reubens (in large part because the sandwich reminds me of my ex-boyfriend's eating tendencies), this seemed like the place to get even more over something that is so far in the past as to be the kind of thing that shouldn't influence my eating habits. It wasn't the thickest of sandwiches, but the country style bread (I requested non-rye b/c that is just the truth of my preferences) really did add something to the mix. And what I believe was truly homemade sauerkraut was absolutely not your standard stuff. It was deep and dark in taste and not crunchy, which to me suggests it really did ferment and pick up a lot of flavor before landing in my sandwich. I really don't know enough about corned beef to say how it ranked, but I will say it was thicker than some of the Reuben sandwiches I've seen in my time. I also ordered a side of mashed potatoes and gravy even though the sandwich came with homemade potato chips that I shamefully ignored. The potatoes had some nice lumps that suggested being made not out of a box. And I liked the gravy regardless of its providence. Providence? Provenance?

And then it was time to take a stroll through Spruce Forest. I, again, somehow found myself too shy to actually go into any of the workshops. Honestly I think as a kid I never did go inside. I just loved all the little cottages and the idea of creation happening within.

In this instance even if I wanted to go in I couldn't "due to a weekend workshop in feather carving." Because THAT IS A THING THAT HAPPENS!!!!!!!

Then I went to the bridge/Casselman River to sit for a moment. The ground was a little wet so I didn't really do what I thought I might, which was take off my shoes and put my feet in the river. This was in part due to the squishy-ness of the ground and one part the fact that there didn't seem like there was a really perfect place to get in there. Also, I'm not sure if there are rules against putting your feet in a river right by a crafts village and don't want to be banned.

Yup. I haven't read what I wrote, but I have looked at the photographs. It's kind of terrible. It demonstrates an entire lack of creativity. I keep getting stuck wanting to capture the same exact view or a very similar one, which doesn't capture any more of the feeling or thoughts that I may have been trying to capture. How can you capture the feeling of just being a kid being slightly interested, slightly mesmerized and slightly bored by a place?

In the end I basically took the same exact photographs that I took the last time, only fewer of them. After my meal and stroll I continued heading west. For a while I was on a pretty solitary/small road, which provided me many a beautiful vista of the hills and mountains around me. I am still not entirely sure what the mountains would have been, but my car definitely enjoyed the challenge of driving up and down a few of them. Also: coal propaganda is the worst.

Frittata, Walkabout and Catan

The next morning I was very excited to make a frittata for CPM and R. I beat about eight eggs with a bit of half and half, sauteed mushrooms and green peppers, and then put the eggs in a big skillet before adding the mushrooms, peppers, goat brie, tomatoes and smoked salmon. The result was quite delightful in my humble opinion.

After breakfast we took a bit of a woods and field walk.

Brutus was pleased about it.

This is just pretty.

Obligatory 'I have friends sometimes' shot.

We then played two additional games of Catan before CPM and R. headed out. I was quite happy to have the company and get to spend some time with them all. I am such a sucker for simply sitting around, reading books, playing games and cooking for people. It's basically all I want to do, and that is why I often think the best option for me would be to run a B&B somewhere wonderful. Of course I have also realized that most B&Bs don't actually make money so there's that small problem, but a girl can dream can't she? Yes. Yes she can.

Dog love.

Country Evening Starters

After our sandwiches we spent the rest of the day enjoying the wonderful weather and scenery with a walk. Or maybe that was in the morning before the shopping? In any case the remainder of our day was predominantly spent reading. I was reading an Anita Shreve's All He Ever Wanted, which is a book that I wouldn't necessarily recommend but that I didn't hate either. CPM made some serious progress in the last available book in the Song of Ice and Fire series (ie: Game of Thrones). I really need to re-read that last book to remember many of the details that have, at this point, been momentarily forgotten. We were also waiting for R. to show up and join us. I put out a cheese plate in the expectation of his arrival so that the cheese would be ready for consumption, and once he did turn up we popped a second bottle of Prosecco and retired to the outside for conversation, cheese, grapes and prettiness.

I think this was an aged gouda, a cow's milk triple cream and then I forget what the last cheese was, but it was nutty in a good way.

Cayuga Lake and Surrounding Environs

The next morning I happily awoke to the sound of the lake's waters gently slapping up against the shores.There were many things that the Lake Champlain and Cayuga Lake experiences shared, which included families with long-held ties and traditions to each respective place; gossip about the other families who also owned houses around them for generations (but weren't actually family); a general population of folks who are not afraid of getting wet, diving or otherwise involving themselves in a body of water that certainly is host to myriad fish (and occasionally snakes); herons; ducks; the sound of boats coming to life and swooshing away, etc. But the S.'s lake house was perhaps slightly closer to the water so the sound of it in the morning was more striking than at Champlain. I also think I wouldn't be wrong to say that Cayuga Lake isn't as wide, nor long, as Champlain, which somehow made the view from shore slightly different. In any case, it was a beautiful morning.

There were clouds, but I don't think they wanted to really hurt us.

Birds flew.

Flowers unfurled.

Breakfast was prepared most masterfully by A.S.'s father and most gratefully consumed by all in attendance.

I believe I was the first into the water on this particular day. I woke up so much earlier than everyone else that I had already enjoyed my breakfast and gotten into my suit while others were still digging in. I BC was kind enough to take a break from the book she was reading to provide some proof that I did indeed swim during this week of lake life.

No hands or feet! Or...I mean I was kind of floating without treading water? Is the point? I love floating.

A.S. likes jumping.

As do others. I never was much into jumping, but I do like a shallow dive from time to time.

I missed getting an action shot of A. going into the water, but this reaction shot is pretty good I thought.

I think she called this the hammer? Something different than the traditional cannon ball for sure.

Triumph.

Before some of the ladies went with a round of planking on the raft, we played a few dozen rounds of four square on the raft, which is not without it's challenges, let me just tell you.

Tubing in progress by A.S.'s neighbors. They swung by and asked if she (and I imagine by extension us) would like to tube, but I guess historically the guy is quite the aggressive boat driver and really and truly goes out of his way to try to get folks to fall off. A.S. declined and so did the rest of us.

Then there was an excursion to a winery. It was good and I'll have to remember the name of the place so I can tell you to consider buying their dry riesling.Anyela's!

It was on a different lake about an hour north and west near a town that has a name that is spelled entirely different than how it is pronounced.

A.S. and her parents stayed behind and were going to have dinner while we were gone, so we ended up at Hill Top Diner, which also has a bowling alley attached to it because, of course it does. B.C. and J. went hog wild with their combined and shared order of: a bowl of macaroni and cheese, a bowl of potato salad, a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy and the fried appetizer combo. It was frankly miraculous how much they ordered and how good a job they generally did on finishing it all.

I was drawn to the roasted turkey sandwich, which I guess usually comes pre-drenched in gravy. I opted for gravy on the side along with mashed potatoes. I then pretty much ignored the bread and ate the turkey after dipping it in the gravy/potatoes.

Seriously, diner gravy and potatoes, which I know are totally not fancy and basically just sodium, are still one of my all time comfort foods. A million years ago in Wheaton Plaza, my mother and I would go to Hot Shoppes (anyone? anyone?) (also the Hot Shoppes in Wheaton Plaza was not a drive in as the link I've included might make you imagine) and they also had some pretty magic potatoes and gravy to consider in their buffet line.And their roast beef sliced right in front of you? Memories. Nothing like going to a 1960s-style buffet in a mall with your mother and about nine million senior citizens. Good times, they were.

With more of their meal displayed.

And that was the night. The drive back was uneventful except for getting stuck in ungodly traffic outside a drive-thru for a bit of time, and the copious fireworks that were still being lit along the river. Actually that second thing, all the fireworks leaping out of the night sky as we zoomed south was truly a lovely sight to behold.