McAllen

Imagine being so fearful for your life and the lives of your loved ones that you leave all that you've ever known to travel hundreds of thousands of miles by foot and hitchhiking to go a place you've never been to without a cent to your name and without even knowing the language.  Imagine doing this with your toddlers.  Imagine doing this with your aging parents.  The idea seems foreign and beyond belief, and yet many people are doing this on a daily basis.

"Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." - Hebrews 13:2

This summer, I, alongside much of the nation, was appalled at what we were seeing on the news about parents and children being separated and detained upon arrival to the US. In this first-world country, how is anything as horribly inhumane even imaginable. My dear, take-action friends, Mollie and Rachel, decided to do something. They decided to take action and visit McAllen, Texas, one of the epicenters of immigration into the US. I was in awe of their tales, so when the opportunity came to accompany Rachel to McAllen, I jumped at it.

I will tell you what I understand, what has been pieced together from what others know. People, primarily young families from  Central America, are traveling by foot, and whatever means possible to get to the border in McAllen (and many other legal border crossings). People crossing in these legal places are immediately taken to a detention center where they are “processed” by ICE. ICE will sometimes reject immigrants, turning them away immediately, sometimes sending them to a long-term detention center, or sending them on through. Some of the people coming into the country are given ankle bracelets, but sometimes the government runs out, or for whatever reason, some people are not given one.

In order for ICE to allow a person into the US at the border, that person must have a sponsor in the United States (typically a family member), who answers the phone when ICE calls and agrees to purchase a bus ticket for the refugee. Then, ICE, who has a working relationship with the Catholic Respite Center, will alert CRC as to how many people can be expected that day. Those people are put on a bus to go the ten miles into town where a volunteer meets them at the bus station and walks them to the Center.

Once inside the Center, people are given a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup, water and tortillas. They are given the opportunity to shower and to see a nurse if necessary. A clothes room helps people to obtain a change of clothes, then, they wait. Several paid staff and interns work with each family to call the sponsor and arrange bus tickets. Each family is given an envelope with their bus itinerary clearly stated and a sign that says “Please help me, I do not speak English.” Then, when it is time for their bus (which may not be for a day or two), they are given a bag of snacks and they are escorted back to the bus station by a volunteer. Here, they depart to whatever corner of the US they are headed to.

The Catholic Respite Center is doing this for three and four hundred people A DAY. While it is an amazingly well-oiled machine, operating in an organized chaos sort of fashion, it is not set up for this influx of people. Nor is it a facility with beds or cots, so people that are staying there for twenty-four hours or more are sleeping in blue plastic chairs or on mats on the floor.

That’s what I understand of the process, but now, I want to tell you about my experience there, a touching experience I hope to repeat. My emotions before the trip varied from pure excitement to anxious worry. I trust Rachel with my whole heart, and although I knew really very little when I said “yes” to the trip, I knew all would be okay. That’s not what I was anxious about. It was more the worry of would I fail, or would I make a situation worse? I speak no Spanish, will I be in the way? What if I unknowingly make one of the refugees feel uncomfortable or unwelcome?

On Saturday, we walked into the Center, thankfully following Rachel who had been there before. No where did we sign in, nor make our presence known. Megan, a regular volunteer, showed us where the washer and dryers were in the shower trailer out back. Several times on the first day, I could be found in that small closet washing, drying and folding clean towels. It was while in this small closet, I had one of my first interactions with a refugee. A young girl of six or seven, had just gotten out of the shower. I expected her to be apprehensive or even fearful of people as I can only imagine I would have been had I been through what she had been through, and yet, she looked at me with one of the brightest, widest smiles I have ever seen and waved to me. What sweet, precious innocence. 

There were times we swept and mopped throughout our stay, because when there are that many people coming and going in a rather small space, well, it gets dirty. We made ham and cheese sandwiches until the fridge was completely stuffed with them, well over 200, but we did this each day.

I worked with some local middle school students in need of volunteer hours to work to stuff snack bags with bottles of water, crackers, pretzels, goldfish and granola bars. Some of the group helped to ladle soup and serve it for lunch. I must admit that I was eager to work, and truly interact with the refugees, but all of this needed to be done and my time was yet to come.

Saturday afternoon, I ended up in the clothes closet, and it was this work, that for some reason, I enjoyed the most. A couple of refugees would come into the room, about the size of a small bedroom, and here a volunteer would equip them with essential clothing items. Sure, knowing Spanish would have been helpful, but I could easily tell their sizes by looking at them, and their pleasure or sometimes displeasure at my choices based on their facial reactions. Each person got a shirt, underwear and socks. If their pants were in bad shape, they also got a pair of pants.

Even in the clothes room, there were heartbreaking moments. Like when we had to cut someone’s pants to help her get them over her ankle bracelet, or find short socks to fit underneath the horrid device. Or when we realized that absolutely no one had shoelaces because ICE had confiscated them to prevent them from running away. Or when we noticed the women and girls had used small pieces of the metallic emergency blankets from the detention center to tie up their hair. Or when I helped a pregnant woman to find shoes to fit around her tired, swollen feet. Or even those moments when sadness overwhelmed me, and I realized that the only thing these people had was the family around them and the clothes on their back.

But the moments I relished were the smiles, that universal language. I loved the smiles of the adults when I chose the “perfecto” top. The laughter when I held up a clothing item that was obviously way too large. The passing out of hair bands to women and girls who were thrilled for this simple, tiny bit of femininity. I even enjoyed the picky teenagers who, with a smirk on their faces, turned down choice after choice of clothing options. I took children one at a time into the “shoe closet” where we would dig for shoes of the right size, then they’d put their well-traveled foot up on my knee as I fitted the new shoes, tying them up and being rewarded with beautiful white smiles framed by sun kissed skin. My favorite moment came when a young girl, of two or three, was upset, fussing with tears streaming down her face, and all it took to change her expression to a toothy grin was a sparkly bow for her hair. 

I spent many of my hours in the clothes closet sorting new items and outfitting people. We also spent hours in the supply closet sorting new donation items and making hygiene kits.

We also spent hours outside of the center, shopping for items. McAllen was having a cold spell when we arrived, and so we went to search for items rarely needed here like hats and gloves. Even though we bought well over 100 of each, I’m guessing that as I write this, those have already been distributed to chilly migrants, including the young girl whom I helped put gloves on. Her awe with them was mesmerizing and joyful, as she has probably never experienced chill nor the need for such an item. She was unsure of how to get them on, and kept getting multiple fingers into the same spot. Once they adorned her hands, she giggled as she clapped her hands back and forth, amazed by the nuance of a pink and white stripped glove.

There were lots of volunteers who came and went over our time there, volunteers of all ages. There were young ones there in need of hours for classes and regular volunteers who thankfully knew how things should go and helped to guide us. I don’t know how the regular volunteers do this work, day after day. I was so emotionally and physically exhausted each evening, and yet, their large hearts continuously poured out daily: coordinating dinners, cleaning the bathrooms, arranging donations, and being surrounded by heartbreaking tales daily. But some of the people we enjoyed the most were the nuns. These lovely, humble, generous, funny older women were an absolute delight to be around. Their lives have been devoted to service of all kinds, including acting as a nurse in prison, high school drama teachers, immigration lawyers, and everything in between. On Sunday, I wore my “In Pursuit of Happiness” shirt, and so even after Sister Nancy learned my name, she called me “happiness.” There was the Sister who talked of protests at the border and her dislike of the current administration. There was Sister Pat, who well into her 70s, continuously stepped into the tall trash can to pack down the garbage and who joked with the young volunteer coordinator about how he looked familiar after she explained that she had worked in a prison in Key West.

Some of the other people that I worked side by side with, whom I assumed were volunteers, were in fact immigrants who had been at the Center for an extended period of time, and showing their gratitude jumped right in to help in any way that they could.

Each day, whether at lunch or in the evenings, we struggled to leave. It wasn’t because someone was pulling on us nor that a coordinator had asked us to stay, but simply because we felt our work was unfinished. No one likes to leave a project undone, and looking at the dozens upon dozens of people that remained in the Center each evening, it was hard to simply walk out. I can only imagine the true exhaustion of the volunteers that are there day in and day out. Their job is truly never complete. There were lulls, and slower times, but there was always someone in need, and always someone new arriving. The work they are doing, the good deeds and generosity being shared continuously is never ending.

Today, in our final hours at the Respite Center, I walked a group to the bus station. I waited in line with a young mother, holding her bag for her as she cradled her year old son. He was sick, and no doubt at the point beyond exhaustion, yet as his eyes closed, he would not let the pink rubber ball slip from his hands, trying with every fiber of his being to stay awake and ensure the new toy stayed in his possession. Sleep finally did win, and I placed the ball into his mother’s red bag, a reusable grocery bag, something smaller than my carry-on for this weekend away. My eyes filled with tears realizing the horrors, the treachery, and the many miles that this young mother, in fact all of these families went through to get their children to this country.

I don’t know how or why I was so lucky that my spirit was born into a loving family, in a safe environment with abounding opportunities around me, but I hope that I will forever be grateful. And I hope that I can share that message with my students, and the generations that will follow me. Maybe one day, with thoughtful, bright, grateful, humble people leading our world, people will no longer go through these hardships.

How can you help? In so many ways! Of course the problem is a deep-rooted, systemic one that is in great need of change, so be an activist and speak up for those that may not have a voice. Perhaps one day, we can live in a world with no borders, or at least in a country that has a direct, manageable path to citizenship. The Catholic Respite Center could certainly use your donations! Financial donations are crucial, but so are the so many other things they pass out on a daily basis (remember 300-400 people daily). Things we noticed were in great need were: deodorant, shoelaces, belts, hats, gloves, jackets, men’s and women’s underwear, and clothes for young children. Used clothes are a wonderful donation, but please no tank tops, dresses, skirts or pajamas. Remember that the items these people are receiving are their only items, so they should be practical. You can ship the items there on your own, or through Amazon. And you can go and volunteer! They need people for all sorts of jobs, and as long as you are willing to jump right in, you’ll be helping!

Donate to the Catholic Respite Center

The Humanitarian Respite Center

1721 Beaumont Ave

McAllen, TX 78501

But mostly what you can do is love. Love freely. Love those that are different from you. Love those that come from different places than you do. Love your neighbor, and welcome him with open arms, remembering we are all God’s children, and we are all immigrants.

Road Tripping Fun

The drive to the North was long, but once we crossed the Mason-Dixon Line, things were really very close, so we haven’t really spent more than a couple hours at a time in the car. But our next couple of days consist of a number of hours on the road as we reach toward the farthest point, and begin to head south.

First off, let me update you on our car games.  Idaho and Hawaii were the two license plates that hid from us the longest.  Happy to arrive at our hotel in Connecticut after several traffic-filled hours, we were thrilled to see that the person who parked next to us in our hotel was from Idaho, and boy was he thrilled to tell us about his journey across the country.  Then, in the parking lot where we left Betty while out whale-watching in Cape Cod, we finally saw it: blue jeep with that rainbow license plate helped us to complete our game long before our journey was over.

As for the cow game, well, let's just say that the Northeast has been settled for a very long time.  As such, there are lots of large cities.  But, with that, also means that generations of people have come here, and left this earth from here.  What does that mean for our cow game?  Frankly that there are a lot more graveyards in the Northeast than there are cows!  Thankfully, we weren't counting negatives, otherwise, Jessica and I both would have been making up for cows for weeks to come!

No, these guys did not count in our game!

After leaving Burlington, we had a short drive to our first road-trip adventure of the day.  The Ben and Jerry's factory tour is in Waterbury.  We have a hard time passing up ice cream, much less an ice cream factory!  I rarely buy Ben and Jerry's, but now that I know more about the company, I plan on keeping my freezer stocked with their wide variety of amazing flavors.  Ben and Jerry were buddies, and in the 70s, they decided they wanted to make ice cream.  As it turns out, though, Ben had very few taste buds.  So, they kept adding chunks to their ice cream until he could taste it.  That's why they have some of the chunkiest ice cream!

Ben and Jerry are very ethically-minded, and care about the ingredients in their products, making sure that the ice cream is made of fair-trade chocolate and well-taken care of cows.  They are involved in political movements such as racial justice, global warming, LGBT equality and poverty.  I was very impressed with the facility and the company!

What happens to those flavors that just didn't make it?  Well, obviously, they end up in the flavor graveyard.  Over thirty flavors just didn't make it.  Some, lived long lives where popularity just began to break down, while others just weren't appreciated at all.  Whatever the reason, we could tell that the people working here really enjoyed their job.  Someone had fun coming up with all the rhymes that went on the tombstones.  You can see more on their website:
https://www.benjerry.com/flavors/flavor-graveyard

Just up the road a few miles in Stowe is the Von Trapp Family Lodge.  Yes, those Von Trapps!  And yes, we belted the soundtrack on our way there.  When Maria and the Captain escaped Austria with their children, they traveled the world singing.  At some point they happened upon Vermont and found it reminiscent of their homeland.  They purchased some land and built a home here.  For years, they invited their friends and family to come and visit them.  Eventually, they built the lodge so they could house even more guests.  Visitors come in the summer for lovely views and in the winter for skiing.  On the property are the graves of Von Trapps, and although we saw the graves, they were behind a locked gate and the markings were small.  So, while I saw Maria's grave, I don't honestly know which one it is.

Graves of the Von Trapps

The family also has a brewery on the grounds.  We stopped by for some refreshments and sat at the bar.  An older gentleman sat next to me and began talking to the bartenders as if he knew them well.  My attention was piqued when I heard his accent.  Convinced he must be one of the Von Trapps (whether a child or grandchild), I casually struck up a conversation.  He could not have been nicer.  He was a petite man, probably near eighty who had just recently retired.  Once a professional skier in Austria, he moved to America in the 1970s and worked the ski slopes ever since.  He taught some lessons, but mostly helped to keep the slopes in working order.  But no, he was not a Von Trapp. 

The countryside on our journey east was beautiful: rolling hills, mountain peaks, dense forests and zero billboards.  It is remarkable what a difference no billboards makes.  It allows for the appreciation of the beauty of the the world around without distractions, and without Alexander Shunnarah.  Just one more reason to love New England!  I also loved seeing the small towns that seemed to magically transform during the summer.  The mountain stores with "ski" or "snow" in the title were all selling inflatable creatures and water toys.  In order to thrive in more than one season, these places have to be creative!

We crossed into Maine, my 42nd state, and moments later were greeted by Paul Bunyan and Babe.  I met them both years ago near the Redwood Forest, but even then, I feel like more of the stories told about these two had to do with the middle of the country.  But then again, if you are that large, it doesn't take you all that long to cross the country, right?

Jessica indulged my desire to drive a couple hours out of the way simply for a photo op and to say I had been there.  But, several years ago, my parents and I, when in Washington, visited the most western point of the continental United States, and well, when you're that close to the eastern most point, you should go!  Driving north, for the last time on this journey, we headed up to West Quoddy Park.  As we approached, our phones sent us messages saying we were in the airspace of another country.  Although we never crossed the border, we could see it.  There is a light house at the point that marks this, the most eastern point, and I am glad we went, despite the out-of-the-way drive.

From here, our long journey home truly began as we were finally heading south, although there were still lots of stops along the way.  We drive down Highway 1 (yes, there is one on the east coast as well) on what I assumed would be the coast of Maine.  I was so excited for this drive as I assumed it would be similar to my drive down the Oregon Coast.  However, it wasn't.  Have you ever really looked at a map of Maine?  The coast is full of islands and peninsulas, that driving along the actual coast is nearly impossible.  At one point early in our journey, we saw lupines blooming near the coast with lovely homes in the background.  Had I known that we wouldn't be bombarded with that beauty all day, I would have stopped for a photograph.  Don't get me wrong, the drive is very pleasant, and every now and then, there are glimpses of the coast and harbor towns, but for the most part, you still have to travel east to get to the coast.

We passed one or two signs that had "Passamaquoddy" in the title like a auto mechanic and a real estate agent.  Does that name ring a bell to anyone else?  As a kid, I loved watching Pete's Dragon.  The one where the little boy, Pete, has a friendly dragon named Elliott who helps him out when he's in trouble.  As a young adult, my parents and I were talking about the movie, one that we hadn't watched for years, and discussing where it took place.  My father, who sometimes struggles remembering things he just recently heard, shouted out "Passamaquoddy" without a moment's delay.  The original movie was set in Maine, although it was filmed in California.  And while there is no town by that name, it is the name of an Indian tribe from the area.

Several people had told us to make sure we indulged in blueberries while in Maine.  So, when we drove past this:

I quickly did a U-turn.  Yes, that building is a giant blueberry.  Built by the family who owns the blueberry farm just down the road and makes just about everything you could ever imagine out of blueberries.  The inside of the shop was blue and purple, not only because of being inside a giant blueberry, but because everything on the shelves from jams to aprons to pottery to puzzles to books all had to do with the tiny fruit.  And the fragrance of the store matched!  The tiny bakery displayed scones, muffins, pies, cookies and truffles with a central connection, and we couldn't help but treat ourselves to a few pastries!  We did not take the time to play putt-putt with the blueberry golf balls on the mini-golf-course in the parking lot, but it was still well worth the stop.

Sure, we get tired of being in the car sometimes, but if we weren't road-tripping, we would miss out on so much.  It is often these, the odd little entities that we will remember the most, and certainly that make the best stories.

Beautiful Burlington

Burlington, Vermont is a beautiful, idyllic, forward-thinking sort of place.  There are hints of Boulder and Portland, Oregon in this small city that sits aside Lake Champlain.  Lake Champlain is a sparkling lake full of sail boats that borders Vermont on one side, New York state on the other, and at the very top, the lake runs into Canada near Montreal.  While the lake is not nearly as big as the great lakes not to far away, it is over seven times as large as my "home lake" of Lake Martin.  And, the lake also has a claim to fame that only one other lake in the world can claim... there is a sea monster that lives in the lake.  His name is Champ and he is a close cousin of Nessie, in fact some believe that there is some sort of portal between the two lakes and that it is in fact the same monster that swims between the two places.

Perhaps that is Champ!

Burlington is where Bernie Sanders got his start in politics.  He was the mayor of the town for eight years and is credited with helping to make it the place it is today.  He created a pedestrian street in the center of town that helped to drum up tourism and keep people visiting the downtown part of Burlington.  I'm not positive what other parts of Burlington he's responsible for, but you can feel Bernie's ideals throughout the city.  There are no real chains within the city limits, so the restaurants and shops are unique and full of charm.  Recycling in the city is easy and well-supported.  In fact, many residents leave their recycling outside their door days ahead of time so that those in need can stop by to collect items and turn them in for a small reward.  Galleries are full of Vermont artists, and farmers' markets are a frequent occurrence.

In Burlington, we were thrilled to be welcomed by one of Jessica's childhood friends, Lesley.  Lesley works for Burton who makes snowboards.  She was brought out here from Colorado several years ago and has fallen in love with the area.  She was an incredible hostess and full of amazing facts about the area, so I loved learning from her.

One of our first stops was to have a Maple Creemee.  It's a Vermont specialty, and to the rest of us, it may just appear as soft serve, but it is a delicacy that the locals claim, and one that I certainly enjoyed.  I devoured my maple and blackberry swirl while we watched the sparkles dance on the lake.  For dinner, we ate at a hip restaurant on the water with stunning views of the sunset over the lake.

Lesley took us touring around the lake to several small islands on the lake.  Our first stop was an antique shop.  The two women who owned the old building had it stuffed full with treasures from another time.  There were vases, fancy old hats, broaches, furniture and a chipmunk.  Yes, a chipmunk.  We were standing near an entry way when we first saw the little creature, and almost screamed assuming that it was a pest that had snuck in.  But after speaking to the ladies, we learned that in fact, it was their pet, Baby.  In our short visit, Baby ran in and out many times, coming in to fill her cheeks with almonds and peaches before scurrying back out.  Apparently several years ago, she started making her home inside their store and kept returning.  She's gotten friendly enough that they feed her by hand and now several others are starting to call the place home as well.

Lesley told us that our next destination was a surprise, so we didn't know what to expect.  We arrived at some modest homes near the water in a swampy area that was dotted, in fact on just about every tree with brightly-colored bird houses.  As far as the eye could see and on just about any tree wide enough, a bold colored bird house with a red roof surrounded the marshes.  As the story goes, the two neighbors had big bug problems (remember, the swamp?).  They put up a couple bird houses for the tree swallows in the area and realized that the birds were making a difference on the bug population.  So, wanting to encourage even more birds to help with the problem, they began the endeavor of filling the area to welcome as many tree swallows as possible.  Now, there isn't a bug problem in the area!  And for reasons unknown to me, the area is also scattered with a few dinosaurs.  Perhaps, they, too, help to keep bugs away.

Lesley had learned about this place through an interesting website called Atlas Obscura.  Go ahead and check out all of the interesting and bizarre things in your little part of the world: https://www.atlasobscura.com/

Driving around on the small, green island, we saw a sign for a winery, and well, when you haven't had breakfast, wine sounds like a great start to the day.  Snow Farm Vineyard is the oldest commercial winery in Vermont and it started in 1996.  Yes, those dates are correct.  Turns out that although homes and cities in the area are much older, the sweet wines are a fairly new thing.  We got to sit outside on the deck and sample a multitude of different wines paired with a selection of cheese, salami and crackers.  I do love a small family vineyard, especially when they are creative with their labels, even if most of the wines are a bit sweet for my taste.

There is a causeway out into Lake Champlain that was once a train track from the main land to the islands.  Now, it is a bike and pedestrian path on a narrow strip of land that goes out two and a half miles into the water.  The day was hot, but being on the water meant amazing breezes were present to keep us cool as we walked the causeway dodging cyclists along the way.  There were sailboats galore enjoying the weekend sunshine that made droplets on the lake sparkle.  Mountains in the not-too-far-distance and shore lines that still had plenty of trees helps to make this a truly stunning lake.

Burlington was an absolute treat!  The scenery was lovely, our hostess was incredible, food was delicious, forward-thinking ideas were appreciated and pace of life was perfect!

Woodstock

Woodstock, Vermont is nicknamed the prettiest small town in America, and well, it’s an absolutely fitting name. It’s a town with a population of about 3,000 full of charm, eclectic people and the warmth that comes with being in a small town. It probably would not have been on our radar unless we had had welcoming, generous hosts.

Our original plan of travel had been to go up the coast, including the coast of Maine, then come back through New Hampshire, Vermont and upstate New York. Several factors contributed to us changing plans and zigzagging a bit. First off, everything is really fairly close here, so a little zigzagging is just a few hours more. Second, Acadia had incredibly few campsites with availability for more than one night. Third, timing for the friends we wanted to see worked out better with a bit of a detour. 

I am so very fortunate to teach at such an amazing school where I am fortunate to be surrounded by a supportive community and involved parents. It’s a small community and everyone seems to truly put the kids first and foremost. Two years ago, I taught a student who’s family had just purchased a home in Woodstock. When I mentioned to the family that my friend and I were headed that direction this summer, they graciously offered to host us for a few days. Tabby, Adam and Grady were incredible hosts! Their home is not only beautiful, but it has some incredible history behind it. The original part of the house is from 1796, with an addition coming in the 1930s. At one point, it was used as a schoolhouse, so in the 1950s, a bombshelter was added for the safety of the pupils. I climbed in their one day, and it was pretty fascinating! We ducked in two large pipes to enter, and then it opened up into a large room with toilets, sinks and old pieces of wood, probably left from furniture that had been part of the shelter.

Arriving on the 4th of July, we jumped right into celebrations and festivities. Another former student, Caroline, and her parents, Jeremy and Christie, were visiting as well, so it was so fun to get to be reunited with kiddos and spend time with friends on the 4th. Tabby and Adam have made lots of friends in this small community where everybody seems to know everybody, so we were all invited to a celebration at someone’s house. The food, friendly people and lightening bugs were all perfect. And the fireworks show from town that we could see from our hilltop view was patriotic and a perfect way to enjoy the birthday of our country!

Over the next couple of days, we explored the beauty and charms of the small town. We went to the swimming hole with the kids. It’s basically a pond that is open for the public to enjoy during the summer, and especially during this heat wave. The Quechee Gorge was, as Grady said, “GORGEous.” A stunning drop down to a river that traveled over and through rocks. At the end, a large swimming area was created where the river widened. Lots of people were swimming, escaping the heat, so we waded amongst the rocks and in the refreshing water for a bit.

Wanting to see quintessential Vermont, we were seeking maple syrup and cheese. Sugarbush Farm has both! The small family farm has friendly animals for you to visit, fifteen cheeses to sample, and lots of information about syrup! Vermont is perfect for syrup, not only because many sugar maples grow here, but because the syrup comes out as the trees thaw after several months of winter. We in Alabama don’t have several months of winter for that to occur! As the trees thaw, the syrup comes out for several weeks, coming out of a tap on a tree much faster than I assumed. Most farmers have a system of tubes amongst the thousands of trees so they aren’t hauling buckets back and forth. What comes out is boiled down into syrup. Nothing is added, just the water is boiled off so the deliciousness is left behind. It takes a lot to boil down to syrup: 

There are four different grades of syrup. It has nothing to do with the tree or the boiling process, but rather at what time the syrup comes out of the tree. The earliest in the season is the lightest and it grows darker as the season continues. Syrup is a natural sweetener, and as such is fairly healthy. Of course, the syrup that most of us buy in our local store is corn starch. Be on the lookout and buy just the pure syrup instead - not only is it incredibly delicious, but it’s better for you, too!

We visited Simon Pearce, a well-known glass studio where we watched artists in blistering heat create incredible works of glass. Here we also had a delicious lunch while we watched people swim in the river. It was also nice to get to use the Simon Pearce glassware at lunch since our pocketbooks would not allow us to bring any of it home.

Billings Farm was another visit for us where we got to meet some Jersey cows and precious sheep. A working farm for a very long time, and one of the first in the area to focus on butter and cheese rather than milk, the farm offers an insight into history and farm life. It is attached to a National Park property with a mansion once owned by the Rockefeller family and land with lots of walking trails. We did not go in the mansion, but we wandered some of the well-kept trails through the woods.

Woodstock, first established in 1761, has all the charm of a town settled so long ago. The center of town is a park called “the green” with a one-way circle around it. Just off the green are homes dating back to the early 1800s, an old library, a beautiful church, the Inn and a handful of little shops. The shops range from galleries to bookstore to restaurants and a Vermont flannel store. The general store in town has everything one could ever need. There’s milk and apples along with lots of syrup, winter clothes, puzzles, kitchen gadgets and gardening tools. In town there is also a large chalkboard labeled “the Town Crier.” Apparently at one time, it was where people could post complaints and greviances about neighbors, but it is now where events are advertised.

One night, we went to the Inn for dinner. It is truly lovely! A huge fireplace with logs the size of tree trunks greets you. There’s a pool outback by the spa and a Paul Revere bell in the courtyard. There’s even a game room where games like pinball, Pac-Man and foosball can be played without a coin. We left Alabama spelled out on the giant magnetic scrabble board.

Tabby and Adam love to entertain, and they wanted a good reason to bring all of their friends in Woodstock together. They also wanted to show them how southerners had a good time. So, why not a proper crawfish boil? And man did they do it right! There was crawfish, potatoes, corn, onions, and Jeremy and Christie brought conecuh sausage to add to the pot as well. A huge crowd showed up and everybody had fun digging in! The food was delicious, but I think what I enjoyed most was the people we met. It was an incredibly eclectic group of people with a wide variety of skills and talents.

There was the movie producer who was incredibly humble, but loved talking about great films. He told us a bit about some of his latest, including one that sounds powerful and heartbreaking, but is a story that needs to be told. It’s about a school shooting. He told us of the emotions behind the scenes, especially of the big burly crew members wiping their eyes throughout the process. I look forward to sitting down with a box of tissues soon and watching And Then I Go, currently on Amazon.

We also thoroughly enjoyed talking to his well-spoken eleven-year-old daughter who just recently starred in a short film that should be coming out soon called Somewhere in July. She eloquently told us about her character, July, who was a typical kid in junior high dealing with bullying while her father became a transgender woman.

An older woman we spoke to at length had lived in the area her whole life as had many generations before her. She and her family had a maple farm as many do in the area. She is also the board president of a building known as the Academy. From 1848 - 1898 the academy was a private, liberal school where both boys and girls could go to school. One of the first private schools in the area to not be affiliated with a religious organization, the school drew a crowd from all over. The building was closed for a long time so even much of the same furniture remains and is set up as the classrooms once appeared.

There was a young couple we spent much of the evening with who also had a fascinating background. For years, he had taught fly-fishing in Wyoming, but recently decided to attend law school. So, he was in the area going to school and teaching fly-fishing on the side. She had been a stylist in New York City and was now doing her best to bring the spa at the Inn from a four star to a five star rating. The minute details it takes to make that change were intriguing.

As teachers, we really enjoyed a long conversation with a man who loved math. He loved math so much and wanted to make sure all students did that he has created an app that gives kids a combination of practice and tutoring. He’s working with states across the country, and said he had even been in Montgomery talking to law makers about getting the program in our public schools.

There was the lovely couple who started a pottery company a few years ago, and their beautiful work has become well-known around the country. Look for the creamy-white glaze that is the signature of Farmhouse Pottery.

And there was one man at the party whom I sadly did not get to meet before he left, but he had an incredible claim to fame. He was an older British gentleman with poise and charm who was the carriage driver for Prince Charles and Diana on their wedding day! 

Woodstock, Vermont was truly one of the prettiest small towns I’ve ever been to, but it was the people that made it so truly special! Not only spending time with the people I already know and love, but getting to meet new people and learn about careers and lifestyles outside of the one I feel so comfortable in. Woodstock was wonderful!

White Mountains

No, the mountains aren’t called the White Mountains because they’re covered in snow even in during the heatwave that is grasping the Northeast, but rather these mountains of New Hampshire are named such because of the granite faces that show periodically amongst them.

After being in a couple of cities, Jessica and I decided a few days camping out would be a great way to see part of New Hampshire. The White Mountains is a huge National Forest with lots of small campgrounds, but because of the 90+ degree weather, we opted for one of the few campsites in the park with showers! We stayed at a campground named after an early logger in the area, Jigger Johnson, but yes, during the summer months, his name reminded us way too much of the little red bugs. Our camp host was kind, gracious and helpful. He suggested a few hikes for us to try and let us borrow his trail book.

Jessica and I love taking on challenges. We’ve climbed Snowdon in Wales, Ben Nevis in Scotland, LeConte in the Smokies, and Scott at Crater Lake. Mount Washington seemed like the next great challenge. Our camp host had said it was “the” hike and that he had done it several times. But then, I began reading the trail guide. Not only did their seem to be a large possibility of getting lost, but many of the descriptions included descriptions like slippery, cliff edges, and rocky scrambles. It also seemed like an incredibly long journey by usual standards, and Jessica and I know our timing is not up to usual standards. We take frequent breaks, snap lots of photos and carefully plant our feet, so we always round up when looking at the time suggested. The ranger at the welcome station had just looked at us at said, “it’s extremely strenuous.” When I mentioned to the camp host that we didn’t think we were up for it, he said he thought that was a good choice, especially with the heat.

Sure, a little disappointed, but realizing it was probably for the best, and that we had made a smart decision, we decided to climb another, much more reasonable peak in the park: Mount Chocorua. Packed with plenty of water and bug spray, we took off up the trail. Much of the hike was pleasant, among the trees and over roots and pine straw.  But as the path continued upward, the path became more and more rock. The top of the mountain, just above the tree line, was sheer rock. No, we didn’t have to truly rock climb, but there was certainly rock scramble involved. It is also harder to follow a trail that is only on rock. So, after a few wrong turns, we made it to the summit where we could see for miles in all directions. Although the sky wasn’t crystal clear, some of our other summits in our time together had been amongst only clouds with no views, so we certainly couldn’t complain about this view! Despite the high point, we were overrun with obnoxious bugs, making our plans of a relaxing lunch atop the mountain less than ideal. But a short ways down the mountain, the crowds were fewer as were the bugs! Our short legs struggle with down just as much as up, so it took us about as long to go down the mountain as it did to go up it. It was a great hike, though, and well worth the beautiful views! It also was a good reminder that we should not attempt Mount Washington (at least not on this trip!).

The next morning, we set off for a short trail around a lake that our host said would give us the best chances to see moose. At the start of the trail, we took off our shoes and waded through cool creeks before setting into buggy, marshy land. The trail was not really well maintained, so brush tickled our legs and ankles as we walked. The lake at the end of the trail was beautiful, and an absolutely perfect spot to spy moose, but alas, they were smarter than we were and hid from the midday heat. The trail was supposed to be a loop trail, but with no markings and paths through wild blueberries (yes, the kind that bear love), just wide enough for one foot at a time, we went back the same way we had traveled. I know my father, the, “never travel the same way twice” guy would have been disappointed, but safety seemed important.

Since we decided not to climb the peak of the world’s most unpredictable weather, we decided to go catch a glimpse of it. In fact, the lovely lady at the welcome center had told us we should, and enjoy a margarita in the process. Always ones to follow instructions, we went to the beautiful Omni Resort at Mount Washington. It is stark white with a bright red roof and large covered verandas looking straight at Mount Washington. Families played frisbee and bocci ball while we sat in comfy wicker chairs and enjoyed a margarita with a view. All the perks of a beautiful hotel with the price of a tent!

Driving through the National Forest was a treat in itself. The vistas were beautiful with green as far as the eye could see covering peak after peak and in between were shallow rivers. The rivers were full of round rocks of all sizes and few of the rivers looked deep, but on these blistering hot days, the river was the center of activity. Groups of people were fly fishing and in the few deeper spots, crowds gathered to cool off. My favorite though was a man who appeared to have a home on the river’s edge. Before noon on a Tuesday, he was in the very middle of the river, in his chair in ankle deep water with a beach umbrella blocking the sun and a refreshing drink in his hand. Not a bad way to beat the heat!

We spent a fair amount of time at our campsite in the White Mountains, resting up after several busy days of city life. We napped some, colored in coloring books, read, played cards, and were mesmerized by beautiful fires. Jessica coined it correctly when she said, “it smells like Christmas,” as we were surrounded by thick spruce trees. One night, we moved our chairs out into the deserted dead end circle of our campsite for a better view of the stars. We saw a handful of satellites and even four shooting stars! So magical! I can’t see a shooting star, though, without thinking of the stars from A Wrinkle in Time who were giving up their lives to fight evil in the world. Now when I see a shooting star, it’s a mix of hope, awe and sadness, thinking of the life those fictional characters were sacrificing.

New Hampshire has a moose on its license plate. I was really counting on seeing one of the majestic creatures, but I’m afraid that we saw incredibly little wildlife. There were a couple of frogs, some birds here and there, and the cutest squirrels, that I believe were full grown, but compared much closer to a chipmunk. That was it. Well, aside from the swarming creatures that plagued us; they didn’t mind the heat! The White Mountains were beautiful, and I’d love to see them at a different time of year, perhaps when the heat doesn’t suppress the wildlife nor the visitors!