Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Today I found...

East Bumfuck, VT.  It is just north of Victory before you get to Granby.  I went for a motorcycle ride out of camp in search of the point where Vermont, New Hampshire and Canada all come together.  Thought I would take the back way so as to see a part of Vermont I had never seen before.  Which is now that part of Vermont I hope to never see again.  The road from Rt 2 in North Concord that winds up and through Victory, East Bumfuck, Granby, Guildhall finally connecting with Rt. 102 turns out is gravel.  Which turns out to not be the best road surface for motorcycle tires that should have been changed about 2000 miles ago.  An interesting side note: Guildhall gets its name from the Abenaki word for “place you can’t nor would you want to get to from here”.

Guildhall Doublewide Trailer
I finally made it to the right neck of the woods but narrowing down what I thought would be a pretty big tourist draw (I mean we’re talking not just about the Northeast Kingdom, this is the actual Northeast Corner of Vermont) was a little more of a challenge than I had foreseen.  Almost crossed into Canada at Beecher Falls.  Headed up the New Hampshire side of the Connecticut looking for a place called Happy Corner, NH.  Sounded promising but nothing.  I finally tracked down a stone marker that indicated that an institution of no less importance than the United States Supreme Court Boundary Commission had determined that the spot I was looking for was 314 feet to the east at the low water point of the edge of the Connecticut River.
You thought I was kidding?

That’s it!  Get your toes wet and you’re in New Hampshire.
On the way home I had lunch in this quaint little restaurant named after the farmer who had a farm, EIEIO.  And on that farm he had some animal parts, EIEIO.  With a quarter pounder here...
Actually it was a great ride.  It’s always good to get out of camp for a little break.  I did see some signs of wildlife.

Unfortunately also signs that man is starting to encroach on this quaint corner of Vermont.

I did have a close call on the way home when I came around a corner and there were these slow children ahead playing teeter-totter in the road.

Luckily I had retained my muscle memory from playing the windmill hole at miniature golf so many times and sped under the port side just as she went up.  Another interesting side note:  Teetor-totter comes from the Greek.  Teetor meaning fat boy and totter meaning move closer to the fulcrum.  There you have it.
Next week I think will explore the path of 5 or 6 of Vermont’s fine micro-brewed beers as they make their way from fine hops and grains to my refrigerator and beyond.

Love you all.  Peace.  Peter

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The Summer of 2011

is quickly passing.  Although everyday at camp seems like 4 or 5 days I am realizing that the end of camp is about as close as the beginning.  So far it has been a great combination of long hours of work that is much harder than I imagined and an environment of wonderful people, love and caring and sharing and almost enough alone time.

The camp is truly a magical place that reminds me every day of what Hogwarts must be like.  Kids are allowed to escape and be themselves no matter if that means wearing your shorts pulled up almost to your boobies or breaking your arm because you jumped out of a swing that was going just a touch too high.  Counselors are encouraged to make fools of themselves which makes fitting in for me quite easy.  The other night I got to go on an after-dinner treasure hunt with the Brookside Unit which is the set of tents and cabins filled with 9 and 10 year olds.  It was explained to the boys that the point of the hunt was to get the unit to work as a unit and that we were going to walk as a team not run as a bunch of individuals after each clue was read and figured out.  It took about 3 clues for the counselors to figure out that while the ears of 9 and 10 year old boys hear walk, and their brains understand walk, and they know they are supposed to walk it is just impossible for the legs to not run as fast as possible (team? what team?) to the next clue.  Because, well there is no because, that's just the way it is.  Has been since 1922 when the camp started and will be in 2022 when the camp will be 100 but the boys of Brookside will still be 9 and 10.

We served 750 grilled cheese sandwiches yesterday with 25 gallons of homemade tomato soup.

Wednesday night is the final game of the summer baseball tournament and the kitchen is responsible for a hot dog and hamburger bbq.  It should be great fun and very tiring and we'll get up the next day and do it all over again.

4 Things I won't miss hearing.
1. What's for lunch today?  (What do you care kid you're not going anywhere.)
2. Do you have any apples?  Not the green ones, I like red.  (No kid, today's fruit are bananas.)
3. The upper dining room milk machine is empty.  (Try the one in the lower dining room kid.)
4. What's for lunch today? (You're the 217th person to ask me that today.  You win a set of hands around your wind pipe.  Just kidding, now get out of here kid.)

I had a day off today and had a great motorcycle ride over to Middlebury and back.  Got a haircut at Bud's where haircuts only cost $12 and only take 5 minutes.  When you have as little hair as I do there's little sense in getting fancy.  Got to see Erin (yea!) and have lunch at Mister Ups and catch up.

On the ride back I took the back roads over Bethel Mountain, through Randolph, up and over to East Randolph, up and over to Chelsea, up and over to Vershire, Ghost Green, South Corinth and finally to Bradford and Colatina's Pizza.  Where I now sit enjoying open mike night, Switchback beer, a 12" sausage and mushroom pizza, the Red Sox playing the Orioles and internet access.

The smell of fresh cut was so sweet coming down through some of the nicest hit 'em hard freshly paved curves I've been on in awhile.  My oh my.  Clover 'bout knocked me off my bike.

Well I best go.  The Sox are down 3-zip and I've got to figure out what to serve for lunch tomorrow.  And suggest that Jackson wear his shorts just a little lower.  A 10 year old boy's boobies need to breathe.