Rocks in the Dryer

Rockywold Deephaven Camps : Year 2

I am a bit behind in chronicling the events of our summer.  It's so rainy here today seems like no better time.  This was our second year at Rockywold Deephaven Camps, our newly found favorite place on earth.  Accommodation, acclimation and dining hall table placement are grounded in "seniority" at RDC, with two years under our belt, can't quite say we've yet earned it, extended families have been camping there for literal generations.  We'll get there.  This year was not as jaw dropping as our inaugural visit, in that it wasn't all new.  This year, it was easier to get in the groove. It was a year to appreciate, anticipate and reacquaint instead of flat out discovery. 

(last years accounts can be found here, here and here)

Don't get me wrong, the second time around was just as delectably sweet.   Maybe it was better, meeting up with "old" friends was incredibly welcoming and I didn't have to spend so much gawking at the ice house, I could get on with other camp activities.

As predicted the first two days were rainy.  Rainy, Rainy, Rainy.  Luckily, as expected, there were strapping young men delivering firewood to our cabin daily (as life should be), and plenty of hours to teach the boys to play, love and embrace card and board games.  We made the most of it and moved on to welcome sunny skies for the remainder of our week at camp.  Here is a little peek at the week, in no particular order:

As any good camper would, we waved tearful goodbyes to our friends and were eager to get back before we even left. ahhhhhhhhhhh.

Not What I Ordered

This is the weather forecast for our upcoming vacation:

Not quite what I had in mind.  What is it that makes a good vacation? Location, Location, Location or weather?  We could veer off course a bit and head to Vegas:

Holy moly look at those sunny skies. 

Big D has already started his downward spiral into rained out vacation depression.  He's making big statements like:  We are NEVER vacationing in the US AGAIN!!  I think the better way to deal is to take more vacations a year.  Dude only takes one week off each year and for many years, that week has been all rain.  I am feeling for the man, but think we need to spread it out a bit - vacation a bit more so that a week of rain is not the end of the world.  Oh well, Rainy old Rockywold, here we come!

That was NOT my Vacation

Since the birth of my children I have learned to look at what used to be a vacation as more of a business trip. The scenery changes, the work load does not.  I was fortunate enough to spend two weeks on the cape, but it didn't seem much like a vacation. Am I really this big of a brat?!

The house we rented was simply beautiful.  The weather was next to perfect.  The company of family and friends was plentiful and pleasurable. What was the craziest part?  I took little to no photos.  This is very odd behavior for me and I don't quite know how to explain or justify it, other than the fact that it did feel more like a business trip.  Big Daddy only joined us for the weekends, so that added to the business trip feeling.  I didn't pack enough clothes, so the amount of laundry I did also made it feel like home away from home and not in a vacation-y way.  The house was lovely, so I did an inordinate amount of cleaning trying to keep it as nice as we found it.

We rented the house from a family who lives on the cape year round and have decided to go RV-ing for a year.  They are homeschooling their kids and visiting all the national monuments, big citys and parks.  What envy I feel.  They rented their home, as stated on their blog, not only to help cover costs of the trip but to also remove the option to bail out of their plan.  If their home is rented, they can't call it quits and go home.  Love it.

I am sorry I didn't take photos of the house - it was a simply stunning, custom built, perfectly appointed arts and crafts bungalow.  Drat.  I took the boys to Race Point, twice and again, took no photos.  Dang it.  We went to Provincetown twice, no documentation.  Spent time in Wellfleet, went to the Chartroom, ate at lobster shacks - you name it we did it and not one shred of proof....

I took this one photo at White Crest Beach in Wellfleet part of the Cape Cod National Sea Shore:

It was my first visit there and was stunning to say the least.  I obviously didn't read the fine print on this beach where the website says:

White Crest

A beautiful beach with towering sand dune cliffs. The waters at White Crest Beach (also called Four Mile Beach and Surfer's Beach) are rougher, making it ideal for the surfers who often flock here. Hang gliders are allowed before 9am and after 5pm. Facilities include restrooms, a concession stand, and lifeguards. Parking fees are $15 per day at the large lot. Please note that White Crest is not the greatest place to bring young children, senior citizens, or the disabled, as a steep dune path with no staircase leads down to the beach. How to get there: Take Cahoon Hollw Road off Route 6 in Wellfleet. At end, take a right on Ocean View Drive and follow to end

That would have been good to know since I took 2 children and 2 senior citizens.  The children LOVED running up and down the cliff, my 6 year old sprinted up and down nothing short of 15 times (he's a blur in the above photo).  My father didn't much care for the hike back up, sinking up to his knees under the weight of coolers, chairs and umbrellas...... but we all survived and might just even go back.

With that little chunk of summer behind us we are packing for the real vacation, and happy it's been raining for days - must mean clear skies ahead!

 

 

Bicycle Co-Op

I have an old hand-me-down bike that has served me rather well over the years.  The problem was, it was not much of a pleasure to ride.  It was used by me on a begrudgingly, as need basis only.  The seat hurt my seat to say the least and the classic "lean to the handle bar" position has never been pleasant on my aching back.

Would a new bike help?  I had to wonder.  My New England summers offer many glorious biking occasions that I long to take advantage of, in a more pleasurable way.  In my own town, for instance, I enjoying walking to do my errands, but how dreamy to bike and do the same.  My little men are always more interested if it's a bike trip.

I started looking at bikes, the sit-straight-up-beach-comber bikes that Martha's Vineyard tourist brochures are iconic for is what I had in mind.  Most I found were far too expensive for my budget or desire.  All I had found left me with an undeniable "not a chance".

Then I went to Target.  Oh my.  There it was, the perfect-for-me-bike at a much better price (and I know much less quality but 'tis not really part of my "need"), still I was having a hard time justifying the splurge.

Talked to my friend Kerrie who was about to go on vacation and found out how much bike rental would be on the Vineyard for a week - guess what - it was exactly 1/2 the cost of buying the Target bike.  Our master minds decided to buy the bike together and each of us (luckily with no travel overlap) would take it on our summer excursions.  Genius!

Could you die?  Vintage inspired, white walls and all.  When I peddled down our street the first time my 8-year old claimed: "You look like an old-timey lady mommy".  "Great", I responded, "That is just what I am going for".  I can only hope his minds eye was seeing Gidget or That Girl and not the old mean lady from the Wizard of Oz.

My bicycle sharing friend has enjoyed a week of peddling around Martha's Vineyard already and told me how she decorated it for the 4th of July.  She sent me this photo:

I can see how the Inn behind her is decked out in all of it's glory, the bike I am not so sure is living up to it's potential.  I rather had something more like this in mind:

Se la vie, next year I'll make sure I get the bike for the 4th! 

We did add the sassy Nantucket Bike Basket - it removes easily, and has a handle for your hydrangea picking needs or farmers market shopping, oh the joy!

Aside from the huge spring loaded seat and white wall tires I think I might just like the handlebars the most with their gushy, handstiched-esque, leather-esque details.  Coulda fooled me, they feel like the real deal.

Did you want to see the basket again?

Brimfield Antique Show : Brimfield MA 5/10-15

 

It's Brimfield time baby!  Browse my archives and you will quickly find I am a Brimfield junkie (snarky play on words).  Don't let the name scare you.  The Brimfield Antique Show is a whole lotta everything.  Antiques?  Yes.  Flea Market?  Yes.  Junk?  Yes.  Fried Dough?  Yes.  Miles and miles of vintage splendor?  Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.  It's everything my heart desires and more.

I've been going to Brimfield religiously for about 11 years now and have learned a lot along the way.  My first visit there was mind-blowing and a bit disappointing at the same time.  Much of it seemed more "Flea Market" than Antique Show to me and that was not what I anticipated.  After going for so many years I have now gotten much of it sorted out.  I have my favorite parking spots, favorite times to attend and of course favorite vendors and favorite fields.

Brimfield is huge to say the least, though that shouldn't detract you if you are a newbie.  You can only do what you can do and rest assured there will be another.  Brimfield happens 3 times a year.  I go to all three, but to each his own.

This years dates are May 10-15, July 12-17 and Sept 6-11. 

For the may show I'll go Thursday, spend the night and leave Friday afternoon.  From Boston you absolutely can do a turn around day trip.  It's truly only about a 50 minute drive from The Hub.  I find that spending the night just makes the whole experience so much more fabulous - I do hate to be rushed.  Departing traffic can be out of this world.  Brimfield is on a bit of a peninsula for lack of a better term.  There is one way in and one way out.  No chance of an alternate route and too many times I have been in a mad sweat, cell phone in hand trying to find someone to pick up my kids.  If you don't need to rush back it's great to just commit to stay late.  The place starts to clear out around 3:00.  Most vendors sleep in their booths so there really is no closing time.  The twilight can be quite calm and charming.

Accommodations are tricky.  If you don't have something booked already, good luck.  My Brimfield companion and I are staying in our favorite flea bag hotel.  It's disgusting, but does the trick.

So what is Brimfield like really?  It's so hard to tell from the low budget website.  Here is a primer:

Here is  a little map of where I avoid some traffic, score good parking and take advantage of the best port-a-potties at brimmy:

On this map - every place you see a little black arrow - that is a "field".  Don't let the scale of this map mislead you.  Each field (black arrow) has it's own name and is operated independently.  They each have their own flavor.  Some charge admittance, some pride themselves in a certain theme.  For example.  Here is a  detailed map of just one of the little arrows from the overall map above:

This is "Heart O the Mart" each tiny little rectangle is a vendor.......and this is one field of over 20 total.  Each field is the size of a football field or bigger and PACKED with individual vendors.  It can be overwhelming to say the least. 

Here's a little list of what you may need to know:

Pack for the weather (it can be cold and rainy and hot searing sun) - come prepared for drastic changes in weather.

You need wheels.  Take a wagon, a luggage rack a wheelie cart (this is what I have & LOVE IT).  There is NO WAY to survive without one, if you intend to acquire anything.  Vendors will let you pay and pick up.  You can pay for a larger or heavy item then return with your car after the show and pick it up.  Most booths can be driven to after the show clears out. 

Bring cash!  I set a pre-show budget and bring that much with me.  I have rarely, probably never, spent as much as I have allotted.

Never pay the price marked - unless you want to.  Sometimes I feel like bargaining, sometimes not.  Most vendors will come down a little - especially if you are getting a few things.

I don't pack lunch - there is too much stuff to lug already, go ahead and indulge in the food vendors some are actually quite good!  Most all of the food vendors are in one field smack in the middle of the show.

Don't walk away from something you like.  You WON'T make it back to that field and booth again.  I have learned this the hard way.  Shopping at Brimmy is NOT like shopping at the mall.  You can't go back and even if you could, chances are what you want won't be there.

Don't expect (even if staying overnight) to see the whole thing.  There are many fields I have never been to and, like I mentioned I have been going for over 10 years.  It's too big to do the whole thing.

Think about what you need beforehand and measure!  If you need a painting make sure to measure where it's going to go.  If you need a bookshelf measure the space!  I have a note book that always goes with me that has the measurement of every wall, nook and cranny in my house - YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU MAY FIND!

On that note - I rarely find what I am looking for - go with an open mind to find what you didn't know you wanted!

Don't be sad if you buy nothing, this happened to me often in the beginning - it's just a rookie thing.

Go with friends who you don't need to babysit.  I go with people who can be independent.  You are going to get separated and you'll eventually meet back up (maybe only upon leaving) that is what cell phones are for.  There is no time to waste.  

 

Lots of people ask to go to Brimfield with me and to that flattering request I say this:

1.) I drive my pickup brimfield truck and can't waste precious space on humans.

2.) I'll be there Thurs & Fri come on down!  Hope to see you there! You have my cell # right?

3.)  I did a great blog post that shows you the best place to park & the best place to pee! 

 

Finally, I am sad I don't have many good photos of brimmy.  Many vendors don't allow photos and while I always take my camera I am usually a bit too preoccupied to use it.

here's a couple from my last visit to peak your interest:  Not your style?  Don't fret this is one vendor in preverbial 1000's.

 

I found this great FLICKR photostream from DesignBoston of all Brimfield photos and finds. If this doesn't make you wanna go......Two weeks and counting - I can hardly stand it!

Souvenir Shopping in Newport

I've had the true pleasure of spending a good many weekends in Newport, RI over the past fall and winter.  There is no doubt that Newport is one of my favorite places on earth.  I spent a good part of my post-college youth living there and it goes without saying that the place is a part of me.  I love Newport!  The grown-up me is having a fine time re-defining who I can be when I am there, how I can go more often and how I can share the glory that is and can only be Newport, with my family.

After my last visit in late February, I did a little souvenir shopping on-line:

Then on a sunny Friday I dashed down, certain I had found the place to call home.  If the pinnacles of real estate are truly "Location, Location, Location" then this little gem gets two big check marks and one big "yeah, no".  It was heart breaking.

One thing I have firmly decided upon, if I am ever so lucky, privileged and blessed to no longer be "second-home-less",  my second will be in Newport.  That is part of the battle isn't it?  Deciding where.  Now I just have to rob a bank and find the right house.  Not easy tricks. Newport is such a special, historical place. A big part of so much of what I love about it (and yearn to own) is the history.  A house built after 1900 is considered (by me) new construction.  I prefer the homes built in the 1700's to most of what is available.

For example, I want this one:

I used to live up the block from it and it haunts me still.  It is not, and I feel certain, will never be for sale.   I learn from my vast research, this one and many others I covet:

(This one was three doors down from me at one time.....)

(I walked past this one daily, to get home.....)

(my very first home in newport, next door to the right....)

- are owned by the Doris Duke foundation and rented. It's no wonder now why they are so unique, quintessential, perfect and fabulous!  So I will continue saving my pennies and keeping my eyes and ears open.  If I dream it, will it come?  I like to think so.  In the mean time, I intend to spend a good deal of the coming months years shopping and searching for the utterly perfect souvenir!

 

 

Destination Newport :: It goes on and on and on

If you don't know much or anything about Newport, RI,  you'll need to come up to speed.  Newport is a truly unique place there is no doubt and has long been a true love of my life.  Newport is an island, part of the the great state of Rhode Island and is steeped in history much unlike any other place in this country.

Rich beyond compare in the American colonial and revolutionary history,  rich in tradition of world class sailing (watch this video, makes me want to get in my car and head straight back),  Newport was THE vacation stomping ground of the wealthiest of all humans during the gilded age.  All of this and more, more, more are what make Newport, Newport. 

People from all around the world flock to Newport (a notorious party town as it has been since the late 1800's.) in the summer months to party their faces off and plenty of other more respectable things.    In my early twenties I did the same, though, I didn't leave on Labor Day,  I stayed.  I can say without doubt that my 3 years there were of the happiest, funnest, car-est free-est days I could have wished for.

Ironically, I had forgotten too much of it until this weekend. I think I have been to preoccupied to miss it.  The ladies that escorted me to Newport really knew little of my previous life there.  I think it is safe to say I regressed a bit when we crossed the bridge. We had wonderful dinners, hours of dancing, and more encounters with old friends than I could have ever dreamed.  It felt a bit like an episode of "This is your Life" - I was simply blown away.

The core group of us staying at Vanderbilt Hall....

were met (by surprise to me) by more friends at dinner.  To aid in the surprise the guests arrived in "costume"....

I now know they were attempting to look like Lindsay Lohan and January Jones .... All I know is when they walked in to the restaurant I said to my other dinner companions; "Hold on friends, the trans*vest*ites (pardon the *'s I don't want to be search-able by that word) are in the house ... who knew it was a gaggle of my BFF's.   Not sure what happened to them between the above photo and the below, but Newport can do that to you...

It is safe to admit that I had about 16 too many of these...

 

                                   ...to capture the rest of the evening events, though I tried.  Sadly everything else is far too blurry to share.

We were invited to late night events (a very common occurrence in Newport since the establishments close at 1 am) that included one ocean-worthy vessel and one stripper pole (not at the same location).  I can safely say that I did not anticipate the first words I would utter the morning after my 40th birthday would be:  "Wow, my arm is really sore from pole dancing"  or "Gracious, I hope I can pole dance like that when I am 70!"

Whatever the case, no, the weekend did not turn out at all as I planned.  I could have never have dreamt it would be as it were.  Wonderful encounters, divine locations, bountiful friends, joyful celebrations and lasting hang overs memories . . .

In parting, if I were to make a mix tape pod cast for my homies as a party favor, it would have to include this track, our theme song.  The rhythm and lyric sum it up rather nicely . . . and it played 'on and on and on' for the duration of our journey.  Is it so lame that our 2nd graders are the ones who first introduced us to it, and such is how we knew all the words and could "rock dis club" like it was dy - no - mite?

 

 

 

Destination Newport :: Vanderbilt Hall

I reported last week that I was turning 40 over the weekend.  The deal has gone down, it's official.  The troupe of ladies did in fact whisk me away for a surprise get-a-way.  I seriously had no idea where we were going.  I speculated NYC, I speculated wrong.

Friday at precisely 12:30 in the afternoon we crossed the Newport bridge (ahhhhhhhhhhh)

       photo credit:  Creative.ly

-and headed straight for Vanderbilt Hall.  I'll tell you now that I intend to fully entertain you all with the tomfoolery and nonsense that occurred all weekend.  Today, however I intended to do nothing but gush about Vanderbilt Hall.  If you need to go away, if you need to celebrate, if you have any need at all, take care of it at Vanderbilt Hall.  This place is undeniably divine.

Even if you are familiar with Newport, Vanderbilt Hall is very new.  New as in new ownership and completely refurbished.  New as an old Vanderbilt family (scandalous) mansion can be.  You really need to know the history to start to enjoy.  Vanderbilt Hall was built to be the summer home of Mr. Vanderbilt's mistress so that she was close at hand while he summered in Newport at his summer house...

That's out of the way, where do I begin.  There is a spa in basement (putting it mildly).  It is where my journey began.  An incredible skin altering facial and a massage that literally made me cry.  Tears of gratitude and joy gushed from my soul when the masseur finished her magic.  I was overcome, there is no doubt.  It was sinking in, all that my dear friends had planned and organized, how much time they had spent, effort put forth.  They were showering care and affection onto me in a way I haven't felt in a very long time, if ever.  I was being nurtured and it was so foreign-ly magical.

We lay by the pool in our fluffy robes and it is only 3:00 pm on Friday, check in time. I know you can see the whole hotel in much of it's glory on the website.  I do urge you to click away.  Even knowing the site must exist I couldn't help myself from over-photographing at the time. 

We had 2 adjoining mini-suites.  Rooms 314 & 315 for your future booking needs.  Good gracious.

I am not sure it is possible that any guest at Vanderbilt Hall could feel more as if the room, each item, accessory, fabrication and FLOR carpet tile was chosen exclusively for them.  This place has my name soul written all over it.  It was almost too much to take.

The room was filled with books, novels, art books, travel books, big beautiful books. If you read and poke around the website you will find that to the proprietor, Vanderbilt Hall is his vacation home and you are his personal house guest.  This theme, this goal of his is real.  He achieves it.  It does not feel like a hotel, not even a boutique one.  It feels like a home, someone's super fabulous home and I didn't want to leave it.

I could keep going - but you can see it all on the website - bathroom (nicest bathroom floor I have ever slept on in Newport - wink wink), kitchenette - all so divine.  Gushy robes, even slippers!  Top it off?  If you must.  Turn down service brings a little stuffed animal, who just so happens to be stuffed with a hot water bottle and snuggles it down into your bed.  Yummy chocolates are left at the bed side.

That is just the room, and not all of it I assure you.  The staff and all of the common space is just as spectacular.

I was most taken by the art.  All early 20th century American illustration.  It's colorful, unexpected, thoughtful (again like all of this place).  I learned by watching the video on the website that the art is the personal collection of Peter De Savary, the hotel's owner.  A collector he is.  As you tour the hotel you can see a fabulous original work followed by it's commercial use somewhere else in the hotel.  This one is my favorite.

This illustration called "Memories - At the Beach" from 1928 was the work of Julian De Miskey (1898-1976) this piece was the New Yorker Magazine cover, August 4, 1928.  The orignal hangs in the main lobby.

So would you believe that Peter De Savary was in residence while we were there?  Go figure he knew it was my birthday.  He, his wife and puppy dog, Monty (name sake of the restaurant) were in the house and trolling around in their robes on the weekend mornings as well.  Ahhhhhh the company I so enjoy to keep . . .  I asked Mr. De Savary to get Monty to sit on his little needle point chaise lounge in the lobby so I could take a photo.  They both obliged and my damn flash wouldn't wouldn't fire.  Shots without the flash were too blurry . . you can see him here, though not on his bed.

Saturday morning I regret to admit we slept through breakfast that was served here:  The Conservatory.

Sunday we made a valiant effort to get up. Breakfast was served here:  Monty's. Yeah us, it was divine.

Could there possibly be anymore fabulous upholstery in one single room on the planet?  I think not.  When you finish with your meal but don't want to leave, just roll over here and lounge by the fire . .

Goodness me, there is so much more.  The staff was so wonderful, nice and accommodating.  They even kept giving me birthday gifts.  So much, in fact, I didn't even have the urge to steal things from the room!  I will continue to post more about my love affair with Vanderbilt Hall and of course the rest of the lurid details of my 72 hours in residence. 

My parting image will be this one of a magazine cover framed in one of the many hallways.  The original painting was also on site -  I loved the appropriateness of this one with text: 

"Hell or Heaven after Forty", I guess I am due to find out.   Maximum per post word count has been hit.  More to come!

 

On the Road to 40 :: Destination Unknown

I am turning 40 on Saturday, not much I can do about that now is there? I'm not very sure how this happened since I still feel very 31.  If it weren't for the skin around my eyes exploiting all my secrets I might just be able to pass . . . .well for a wee bit younger.

A particular posse of BFF's is taking me somewhere to mark this monumental passage of time.  Destination unknown.  For a while there was a nark in the group who was leaking details to me.  At that point I knew we were headed to NYC and I was getting all sorts of juicy details.  The spoiler has been expelled from the group.  Expelled from knowing details and I am now in the dark.  They either switched the trip, or are just trying to make me think they did.  Yesterday I was told to pack a bathing suit by one, another told me to pack for weather comparable to our own.  They've asked about the validity of my passport and all sorts of other things to throw me off the scent . . .

So, I don't know where I am going. Don't know what I'm gonna do, but this I know it true;  I'll be celebrating in the hands of many capable women who know how to celebrate a birthday, who know how to honor a friend.  There are about a million things we could do, a million places we could go, quite frankly anything at all is fine and dandy with me.  {I do hope they know that if I truly have to squeeze into a bathing suit that a quick stop for an emergency wax is in order . . .}  I also know I won't be at the hockey rink, I won't be dropping people at random 1.5 hour birthday parties, I won't be making mac & cheese.  That right there is nearly all the celebration I need, the rest . . . .icing.

Next time we meet friends I assume I'll have a story to tell . . . but in the mean time, wish me luck!

 

Salt

I planned to do a simple post today.  I ran out of salt this weekend and thought I might let you know what salt I use and why I love it so.  It's not your ordinary salt.  My journey in preparing for this post, however, has been robust to say the least.  Salt, who knew.

My husband and I were married in Italy and spent a few weeks there before and after our wedding.  Of the many magical things to discover in Italy, daily use of sea salt at table salt was one of them.  I came home addicted.  The food I loved in Italy was the simplest.  Basic, fresh, fresh, fresh, quality, crisp, flavorful ingredients.  There was one salad in Florence in particular (I ate this salad 11 years ago and I still think about it)  Fresh arugula, shaved parm, fresh lemon juice, olive oil and sea salt.  OMG.  That is the Italian food I like - the kind you can only get in Italy in summer.  Fresh, fresh, fresh. Fresh simplicity that can not be imported.  It can not be duplicated.  Tho' I do continue to try.

It took a decent amount of time for me to find THE sea salt I like.  They are all so incredibly different, I assure you I have tried them all.  For 10 solid years I have been faithfully using Maldon Sea Salt.  It is not easy to come by and not only will I not allow myself to run out - but I will drive extra miles, take extra time and pay extra money to keep myself well stocked in Maldon Sea Salt.  [it sells at William & Sonoma for $10.50 if you are in a pinch - unavoidable pun - or many places on line for much less]

There are no salt shakers in our house or on our tables.   We have salt cellars (any little pot or vessel will do).  My aunt has always been worried dust gathers in the salt cellars . . . silly concerns.  Keep a little in take a little out.  You take a pinch and crush it in your fingers and sprinkle over your food. Yum. Morton table salt tastes so disgusting to me now I only have some as back up for craft projects or recipes that require.

So that was it - I just wanted to let you know.  If you don't use sea salt, Maldon Sea Salt, you need to try.  It's the best darn salt in the world and will forever change how you taste and flavor your food.

Then I found my self on the Maldon Sea Salt website - reading watching videos, learning, clicking and exploring and quite frankly I feel like booking flights and going to their facility for a tour.  I thought I had some nifty little secret here, come to find out . .  well, chefs around the world love Maldon Sea Salt.  Me and my palate.  I learned so much about salt and now I might just consider myself a salt connoisseur.  I love Salt!

Stay tuned as I am conjuring up the holiday gift giving idea of the year - guess the theme . . . details to come!

Need a little more salt info . . .

Salt Traditions

wedding/salt tradition

salt over the shoulder

Salts Restaurant Cambridge

Church Island, Squam Lake

I didn't get the chance to finish telling you all about Rockywold Deephaven Camps [RDC], the location of our family vacation this year.  Other things have gotten in the way.  This morning I was laying in bed enjoying a few moments of serenity before the house woke and the rush to dress, eat, meet the bus came barreling in.  I was laying there thinking about Church Island on Squam Lake.

Church Island is home to Chocorua Chapel and it is where Squam Lake summer residents, RDC guests included,  go a 'meetin on Sundays.   95% of the RDC guests have been there before, actually 100% of the 95% have been going at least 15 years.  Being new, is a bit rare.  Clearly everyone there knows the drill and things aren't really announced and communicated.  You are just supposed to know.

We arrived to RDC late Saturday afternoon, just in time to unpack and have dinner.   Sunday morning I heard talk in the dining hall of people going to church.  I wanted to go, but none of my people would join me and quite frankly, I didn't know how to do it.  Was I allowed?  There was no information, nothing formal, no annoucement.  I didn't know the drill and I was foolishly uncomfortable with that.

We watched church goers head off to Church Island, home of the Chocorua Chapel...

I was envious and sorrowful to know that we wouldn't be around for another Sunday.  I had missed my one and only chance.  Later that afternoon we set off on a lake adventure and I was insistent that we visit Church Island.  I needed to torture myself by seeing exactly what we missed.

The docks, leading to woodland paths, are plentiful to accomodate the community.  It is an island after all, and all vistitors arrive by boat. The misinsters are all visitors too.  One different each week, of varying denominations, visiting from around New England.  Most stay at lake side inns, if not in private homes, and are transported to the island by the chapel's own boat:

When you arrive on land you are greeted by two things, this:

and this:

After this lovely greeting and facing the reality of "continuously since 1903" you walk down a lovely, long and winding wooded path that crosses the island:

  'til you make it here:

which is your preparation for ending up here:

You may sit in a pew, they are more bountiful than I could capture, and look out upon this:

At this time you may find peace, silence and a lovely, introspective calm and serenity.  Or, if you are like me, you may scream inside your head: "WHY WHY WHY, why did it take me 39 years to find this place, WHY did I not come to church this morning, WHY am I not one of the lucky people who have been coming here all of my life, WHY WHY WHY????".  

There is an old pulpit that is carved from stone.  There is an old pump powered pipe organ kept in a shed with big doors that swing wide open, There is a curtained gazebo that is where the minister robes. There are carved chairs where the ministers sit.  There is magic.

On the walk back to our boat we stopped to read some of the plackards that line the path through the island.  There are probably 20 of them illustrating the history of the chapel and island.  Here are two I enjoyed most:  (click on photos to enlarge if you want to read the captions)

As big daddy and I exited this place and headed back to our little row boat we looked at each other with a timid shrug and said to each other: "next year".  It was the only way to calm the disappointment for having not attended that day.  Fine, we'll get on with our week, there IS always next year....

 

 

 

G'bye Summer

I am so behind on everything these days,  summer can do that I suppose.  I realized last night, as tomorrow is the first day of school, that I haven't had a day off this summer.  I don't even dare ask for a whole day really, how piggish, just a few consecutive hours to focus.  This has been the summer of mommy camp, and I may have finally exhasuted the last of my coping mechanisisms . . . . Ahhh here comes school, I could cry tears of true joy & relief. I am completely and utterly exhausted.

I did put my boys in camp for two weeks this summer but that was so I could commute into Boston for a traning program daily.  Said communte nearly sent me over the edge and while I was borderline suicidal the whole time it allowed me to realize how truly amazing it is to work from home.

Once that big yellow bus arrives tomorrow and I cry my face off that my baby is off to kindergarten, I may just be on my way to getting caught up.  I have an arsenal of beach reports to share, there is SO much more of Rockywold for me to blather on about and there is so, so much more:

I have entered the world of neuropshychologial evaluations, No child left behind laws, IEP's, diagnosis and a whole host of new worldedness that has my brain spinning of it's axis.  My cup seriously runneth over.

There is my Au Pair search (I like to call it Match.com for mommies) which will deliver it's fruit the first of October.  Please come October, please come swiftly!

We dashed out to Martha's Vineyard last weekend attempting to claim the last days of summer and catch a glimpse of the Obama's ....

One of our goals was realized.  The salty seas washed over us, the blazing sun baked our bodies and we came home short on rest, high on fun and perfectly ready to begin once again.

 

(photo of Norton Point Beach, Martha's Vineyard)

 

Rockywold Deephaven Camps: Lake Ice Tradition

I had barely begun, in the previous post, to express myself completely in regard to the lake ice tradition at Rockywold Deephaven Camps {RDC}.   The whole ice bit had me rather pre-occupied during my visit.  Perhaps too, I was over excited, come to find that the inordinate amount of photos I took of the subject are mostly blurry.  Luckily, I took many, so I should be able to get the point across.

As I mentioned, a group of hearty New Hampshire traditionalist die-hards harvest ice each winter at RDC. (I attended the informational slide show for guests so that I could learn more, more, more about the history of ice harvesting - that is entertainment RDC style).  Once harvested (ice is cut into cakes, do not call them blocks even though you may be tempted...) the ice cakes are stored in the two ice houses at RDC.  Ice is laid out in layers, covered generously and completely with sawdust and layered and layered - filling the ice house to the roof.

It is August now and the ice house is nearly empty, camp is only open for 3 more weeks.  At the beginning of the season the ice house would have been full.  The "ice guys" have to climb the ladder and begin taking ice cakes from the top layer, bent over and up in the ceiling rafters.  As the season progresses they make their way to the bottom layers.  What is the status of the cakes at the bottom?  Frozen solid, still their original size and shape.  They have been in that house covered with sawdust from January to this summer day in August and are perfectly preserved.  It simply doesn't seem possible

When the stored ice comes out of the ice house is it obviously covered with saw dust (see above) and needs to be rinsed.  This is the job responsibility of little campers each week.

Once thoroughly rinsed the ice is loaded into vintage wooden wheelbarrows ...

... and delivered to each cabin by strikingly handsome and charming eastern European housemen who also build a fire in your fireplace if in fact you burnt the one they built for you yesterday.  Each cabin is outfitted with a vintage icebox and they are size appropriate for the number of bedrooms each cabin has. Here is ours:

Others I saw were enormous.  All vintage, all pristine and all used daily.  The ice boxes were rather effective at keeping the contents cool.  The whole deal was such a pleasure, so much a part of the scene, integral to setting the tone.  When the ice guy arrives at your cabin he takes the little pick thing and chop hunks of ice and fill your cabin's ice box to the brim. 

Apparently about 15 years ago 3 small dorm size refrigerators were purchased and put in 3 of the cottages.  The management was thinking to replace the ice boxes over the years updating a few cabins at time.  The guests that year demanded the removal of the refrigerators.  Those refrigerators are apparently used in 3 staff apartments and there was no further mention of mending the ice tradition.

There simply is just something about that ice.

There are notices around camp to not consume the ice, though long term campers pride themselves on using camp ice in their beverages.  Squam Lake is known to be one of the cleanest lakes in the world, so if you love RDC then you love the ice, down to the very last drop.

Live from Rockywold Deephaven Camps

We're here and loving it - as if that is enough of a word.   The weather today is a bit cloudy and the men folk decided to climb Rattlesnake mountain.  I thought I would take the time to get the photos off my camera, to make room for more, edit what's been taken and perhaps share a sneak peek with you.  I am sorry to admit I left the *&%#@ camera/usb cord at home. . . . words will have to do.

Without my camera cord and the resulting photos - I am not sure how much I want to reveal.  I have found many obsessions hiding inside me that apparently needed to be realized.  Deep obsessions that have been uncovered here.  I, unknowingly am obsessed with ice.  That's right, Ice.  Not any ordinary ice, Rockywold Deephaven Camp ice and it is nothing short of amazing.

Take something as common place (and taken for granted) as ice and put a whole historical, traditional, tranquil, Yankee, green, natural, preservation spin on it that it becomes a center point, nah, a counter point . . . I not sure - but it becomes integral, the backbone of what it is that is going on here, what it is to be here. 

Ice is key.  My boys and I are about as into the ice as 3 rookie campers could be . . . this is why I am most bummed about my missing camera cord.  I have never taken so many pictures of ice, people with ice, washing ice, moving ice, natural ice, natural ice in August and I wanted to show it off right now!

I hunted around and found this for you to look at. Its the source of the very ice that my family is enjoying right now. The ice harvest preformed by a hearty crew in January of this year.  The ice was harvested from the lake at the shores of our camp - stored thoughtfully away (no electricity needed) and it is what we are currently using to keep our Bud Lights cool.  It is nothing short of amazing.  The daily ice ritual is high on my list of favorites about this place.  Little uniquities, traditions like this that simply could not be reproduced anywhere are earth are here en masse.  Subtle though they are, the result is striking. 

I can say this now, with conviction, one week is not enough.

Yo Yo Yo Boo Boo

Today is a big day.  After waiting one long year, today we return to Yogi Bear's Jellystone Campground.  My girlie girlfriend Miss Anna and I discovered Yogi's last year and nearly everyday since my boys have asked when we are going back.  I does make me chuckle a bit that of all we have done over the past year, all of it, Yogi's is what they remember the most fondly, it's what they have longed for most.

So we are off.  Packing for a camping trip is a bit more laborious than the normal weekender. I can hardly believe all of the possessions I have yanked from closets, shelves and cabinets in my home to prepare for our adventure.   I acknowledge that calling this "camping" is a bit of a stretch, we have again chosen to stay in a "deluxe cabin" . . . which really means we are just doing without for a few days.   

To add to the packing volume, this week is Christmas in July at Jellystone, can you hear the angels sing?  We have the task of decorating our cabin for the Christmas decorating contest, decorate we shall.  I have been dutifully collecting lots of appropriate decorations from the dump.  I suspect we'll be all lit up, Griswold style, and ready to go by sunset tonight.

So farewell friends, we are off to the woods, look forward to sharing all of the glorious details (and decorating contest winning trophy) when we return!