Duncan's Art

Much to the frustration of my friend and colleague Stephen, my MacBook is suffering from issues with its AirPort card, and so I have been divorced from it for the time being.  The camping follow-up, which is about our trip to Old Sturbridge Village will have to wait until my computer stops being a pig because it has all the photos.  In the meantime (one of Duncan's new phrases...now I understand why), here are some pictures of Duncan's art work at the end of the "school" year.

Rest assured that Old Sturbridge Village photos will be plentiful, but I'm sure you'll enjoy these more.

Into the Woods, Into the Woods

Our second camping trip landed us in Wells State Park, MA. A relatively small camp ground, it is essentially two large loops, each with one restroom/shower facility. The campsites are spacious and far enough from each other for comfort. In those two ways, it outperformed Takghanic State Park. Wells also boasts a beaver pond for boating and a small beach for swimming. We didn't have time to hike the trails in search of the beaver dam, but we would have liked to. We were not so keen on the restroom and shower facilities, which could use updating...and about three more daily cleanings. Another concerns was bears, which don't worry me so much in general, having survived a bear on my campsite before. Being a mother bear myself, however, adds a new perspective. In my mind, bears and children don't mix. In the end, the warnings on the Reserve America website were not repeated by the park rangers so we suspected it had been some time since the last bear sighting. And of course...there were fierce, persistent mosquitoes who would not be controlled. It was a fine place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Duncan attacked camping with a gusto equal to that he showed during our last trip. He loved the camp chairs, the fire, the propane stove, the tent, the air mattress, the s'mores, and his own "room" in the tent, complete with his backpack of books and toys. More than anything, he loved the flashlights. He wanted them on, all day, all the time. We tried giving him his own flashlight, but he kept liking someone else's torch better and trading. He loved everything so much, in fact, that he was reluctant to succumb to the powers of sleep. After our trouble last time, we decided that a three year old boy cannot be expected to go to sleep at 7:30 in daylight, in a tent, in the woods. We thought we were clever this time. We kept him up until around 8:30, yet he bested us again, staying awake until around 10, both nights.

Our camping trip ended abruptly, like a jump into a cold lake on an April morning, except it was July, and the wetness was less pleasant. Duncan woke at 4 a.m. on our second morning and said he needed to pee. Jamie got up with him and discovered Duncan had completely soaked through his pull-up. It was hard to tell if his bedding was wet since everything in the tent was damp. Jamie cleaned him up and took him out to finish his business. And that was when the rain started.

Duncan went back to sleep, but Jamie did not. Duncan and I woke up around 7 a.m. to pouring rain. We waited a while to see if the rain would abate. It did not. We left in search of a diner, where we all ate too much fried food and reluctantly returned to our campsite to begin the obstacle course of breaking camp in the rain. Luckily, because of the bear threat, our food, everything related to cooking, and all our toiletries were already in the car. We sprinted with our clothes and bedding to the car and threw the tent and all things wet into the car-top carrier. Duncan whined in his car seat about being alone. After the fastest break down in history, we hauled our posteriors home without even one potty break.

The ensuing days were, of course, consumed by laundry, tent drying in the yard in the small amount of sunshine we had that week, and sleeping bags strewn across our office. Despite our wet departure, we remain confirmed campers. With the hope that Duncan can last for at least three consecutive nights next summer (dare I wish for four?), we are already talking about Acadia National Park, Cape Cod, and Rhode Island. Maybe by then, someone will sell blackout curtains for tents.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

It has been a difficult week for produce. We were out a few nights, and there were several things we didn't get to cook when this week's share was ready. I thought a lot about my friends Courtney and Matt, who just started their CSA share, and were already overwhelmed with their bounty. They indulged in one of America's rapidly dwindling arts; "putting things by." In a fit of canning madness, they pickled cucumbers, and then rutabagas, and then kohlrabi.  And then realized they hadn't used distilled water and spent many of the following days wondering if they would contract botulism.

I am not ready to purchase pickling spices, jars, and distilled water so that I can boil glassware and preserve my produce there, and I have enough problems with anxiety without having to worry about botulism. I admire Matt and Courtney for doing it, but I'm just not ready. In a similar fit of madness, I engaged in another age-old pastime; filling the freezer with things I will probably never use in the future. I had two weeks' worth of chard, and it hadn't gone bad enough to justify throwing it into the compost. I also didn't want it mocking me each time I opened the refrigerator. I'm not yet ready to give up my battle with chard, but today was not to be the day I would find the perfect chard recipe. Instead, today was a good day for Blanche. At the suggestion of one of my high school friends, Susan, I decided that chard would best be used thrown into things like spaghetti sauce, where it might take a back seat to other flavors in the mix. I blanched it, chopped it fine, and threw it in the freezer. Presto, change-o. No chard in my line of vision; no chard in the compost.

While I was at it, I blanched last week's carrots, which were enough for a meal. I feel a little bit better about them. I know we'll eat them, but I have carrots from the store, two small bags of mini-carrots from the store, and this week's Chubby Bunny carrots; an extravagant abundance of carrots. I know that I can pitch a handful into a soup or stew this winter, or I can saute them, or I can probably mash them up for a cake or muffins. The possibilities are endless.

I'm thinking that my friend Blanche might be a good solution for the green beans and peas growing in my garden as well. They're ripening in small batches; there is not enough at any one time to make a meal, but I think they'll continue to produce for a while. Perhaps if I blanch them in small batches and keep adding them to container in the freezer, I can come up with a few meals' worth. I think it's worth a try.

With a great deal of sarcasm, Jamie echoed my feelings about the chard stash in the freezer: "...because I know I WANTED to be able to eat chard this winter." It may end up in the compost after all. And if, for some mad, crazy reason, you share our interest in food preservation, check out the website of the National Center for Home Food Preservation, which is a great resource for canning, pickling, dehydrating, freezing, and possibly even burying your food in the sand until you're ready for it. I will skip the sand and continue to fantasize about a small, chest freezer in the basement...mmmmm.

Play Date with Uncle Paul

On Father's Day, when we went to a Hudson Valley Renegades game, Duncan asked us if we could go to a game with Paul. We called Paul right away to see if he was game, and he loved the idea, so last Sunday, we met him at Dutchess Stadium. Jamie and I watched the baseball game.  Duncan and Paul ate hot dogs and ice cream, strolled around hugging strange creatures in costumes (Winnie the Pooh, Mickey Mouse, Rascal and Rookie Raccoon), posed for photos, stole each other's noses, and were very surprised at the bottom of the 8th when the game was nearly over. Both of them were clearly despondent when we walked back to the car. However, it turns out that the stadium is about an hour drive for us and 30 minutes for Paul so we hope to meet there more often in the future.

Always and Forever

"Mama, when I am a man, I will still love you."

A Walk in the Woods

When I was a child, I went to Bash Bish Falls a lot. My grandmother lived in Copake, New York, and she worked a hop, skip, and jump from Taconic State Park. There are even pictures of me as a toddler with both of my grandmothers at Bash Bish Falls. Since I have lived in Amenia, it has long been a favorite place to hike, to photograph, to hang out, and to contemplate life. Jamie took me there on the first of my birthdays we spent together, and we huddled in the snow and ice, maybe even drinking champagne if my memory serves me. It's possible I made that part up. 

I missed Bash Bish when we lived in Connecticut, and Kent Falls, in Kent, CT, just doesn't have the same appeal. Since we moved back, I guess we have been waiting for Duncan to be old enough to walk to the top because neither of us has felt up to carrying him.  We weren't sure if he would enjoy it, but we told him we were going on a hike, and he perked right up. He loved the idea. He loved that we were packing lunches to eat while we were walking. "This is hiking?" he asked as we headed up the trail.

He made it all the way up (it's only 3/4 mile, but it's uphill; well, obviously, it is, and he has little legs). We rested once on the walk up and once on the walk down. He got a little antsy on the way down and complained of being tired, but we were nearly there so he soldiered on. As we walked back into the parking lot, I exclaimed "You made it!"  He echoed "I MADE IT!" Duncan liked "hiking."  I had already decided that if he could walk the whole way, we could start taking some short hikes as a family. I'm surprised at how happy I am that we'll be able to add that activity back into our lives again.

Beauty in the Eye

Some days, even the compost is attractive.