tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75290610346819768352024-03-12T20:52:26.200-07:00Pete's A ToadChef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-23263629547405160262014-05-27T16:40:00.000-07:002014-05-27T16:41:24.335-07:00I Am Sitting On My Porch, Smack Dab<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the middle of a thunderstorm. One of those god’s wrath, break of a billiard rack, the dog is under the couch beauties that separates the bag from the pipes and reminds you that MOTHER NATURE IS IN CHARGE, thank you very much. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Short of an Irene or a winter of ’98 ice storm on the damage scale but still pretty powerful. Which makes it ideal for sitting through. Somehow the word rumbling was born of a good thunderstorm. Crescendo from the Latin crescere to grow or increase. The third movement of Vivaldi’s Concerto in A Minor. Currently somewhere over Putney but headed this way, up Westminster West, up and over Hartley Hill, descending on our little hamlet, adding a couple of inches to the depth of the Saxtons River.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As quickly as it hits, it passes, headed north and east. The rain which at times was heavy starts to soften, reminding metal roofs of their purpose. The sky remains dark but the threatening nature of the storm has given way to the gentler soaking rain. Now the only question remaining is how long will it rain? Will we be lucky enough to have it around at bedtime? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A late afternoon early evening storm is what you want. The earth has started to cool and things are sort of settling in for the night. A storm during the heat of the day often gives way to a hot sun that sends the fallen rain back into the air in the form of a brutalizing asthmatic humidity. A heading-to-dark rainfall blankets and grays outside and mesmerizes here on the porch. A good rain is like a good campfire.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Probably should head for the kitchen, the pizza dough may be doubled. God is good, the eight ball has fallen into a woven leather pooltable pocket and yo dude you can come out from under there, every little thing gonna be all right.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you. Peace. Peter</span></div>
Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-14031186675832283662014-05-06T19:38:00.002-07:002014-05-06T19:38:33.144-07:00I'm Having A Hard TimeComing to terms with the difficulty this year's winter has had struggling with letting go. Just last week, I overheard a couple of cabins discussing the extremely high level of fever they've had to put up with for the last couple of months. I'm one matching set of white belt and pants away from a move south. So ready for summer I bought a hothouse tomato, slathered it in mayo and pretended I just got back Pete's Farmstand, Rt. 12, Just North of Walpole, NH. <br />
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It's been cool. As in temperature, not temperament. As in it's frickin' May and I'm still waiting for a forsythia to step up and be counted. As in I don't have to look too hard to spy with my little eye chunks of glacier clinging to roadside rockwalls. <br />
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Even the roads aren't sure what to make of it. Normally by now we're in the middle of mud season navigating roads all agoo. Oh, there are pockets of warmth-indicators looking to be recognized. The other day (let's call it Spring shall we?), I was out for a Spring-Has-Sprung ride up on Davidson Hill Road and found a couple of spots where, if I'd been in my car instead of on my bike I would have been up to my ball joints in it. But for the most part the ground is still solid. As in the tarp doesn't need to come off the Troy-Bilt quite yet.<br />
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Last night, I opened my bedroom window hoping for a breath of the freshness of Spring (like when your Mom hung a mobile of Irish Spring soap bars over your crib). (HaHaHa. You thought I wouldn't tell.) You know how comforting that woodstove-smoke smell is drifting over from the neighbors in January? It's a spit in the face from Mother Nature on the 5th of May.<br />
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Got to go for a run through the woods today. Running through the woods on a crisp Fall day with the musk of freshly fallen leaves rising crushed beneath my feet always brings up memories of my glory days. Wait. Right stimulus, wrong season. <br />
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I sure hope they're enjoying a nice lingering summer down Chile way.<br />
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Love you all. Peace. PeterChef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-47526597871792593102014-03-13T12:28:00.000-07:002014-03-13T13:12:48.356-07:00This Is Without A Doubt<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spring, one of my favorite times of the year. I love those moments when we transition between seasons and winter into spring can be so uplifting and revitalizing. It can also be muddy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ve started cracking my bedroom window at night to take advantage of the freshening air. You know my bedroom window. The one that overlooks the road leaving Saxtons River heading south? The one that overlooks that part of the road where trucks decide to shift as they leave Saxtons River heading south. Okay so there are not that many trucks leaving Saxtons River headed south but there are a lot of those whatta you call ‘ems? Oh yeah, 17 year old boys WHO THINK THEY’RE MARIO ANFRICKINDRETTI. I always wanted to be one of those guys but no matter how hard I tried I could not get my father’s 1979 Plymouth Valiant station wagon to perform the way Nelson Severance could get his Ford Falcon to go from zero to 60 mph in a gazillionth of a second. Ah 60 mph. Was not possible in a Plymouth Valiant unless you were coming down Rt. 125 from the top of Middlebury Gap in neutral.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Slope enthusiasts up at Killington have made the equivalent of a gazillion trips down the stairwell of the Empire State Building. Did you know that in 1945 when a plane ran into the Empire State Building, elevator operator Betty Lou Oliver survived a 75 story plunge? No one names their kid Betty Lou anymore but it was the most popular girls’ name in 1946. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The wicked diehard skiers are not ready to quit, hoping for one more weekend of fun. As we transition to warmer weather they start to trade pants for shorts, plant themselves in what is called corn and often end up covered with raspberries. The rest of us, refusing to live in the past, are looking towards warmer weather.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I look outside my living room window (you know my living room window- it’s right below my bedroom window) I have noticed folks getting back into jogging. As if trying to nudge spring into showing up sooner rather than later they run by in their underwear dodging the snowpack of yesterday which is now flowing down the road.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Which brings us to the whiteness of March skin. Vermont is not known as a state with a high percentage of people of color. This is not so much an issue of race and diversity as it is a situation in which we have acres of flesh that has spent the last 5 months under 5 layers of Merino. Acres of flesh now blindingly making its way up the road that leaves Saxtons River heading south.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think I’ll sit on my porch and watch life go by. It’s supposed to be in the mid to upper thirties. T shirt weather.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div>
Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-30089239392510075722013-09-21T17:11:00.000-07:002013-09-21T17:11:10.342-07:00When We Got Married<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My bride’s father gave us a cow. He was a dairy farmer and so his wedding gift to us was a cow. Technically a heifer, who for those who have never been near a dairy farm is a young female cow who has not been bred yet. Being young and female on a dairy farm is a whole lot better than being young and male. Which is basically the same as being young and dead. For other than his sperm the male cow on a dairy farm is about as worthless as tits on a boar. But that’s a whole other species and one needs to be careful not to overdo the animal husbandry topic.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I suppose being needed solely for your sperm is not all that bad a job. If you can get it. Most dairy farms only need one, sometimes two bulls on hand to do their thang. There’s not a whole lot of romancing that goes into getting a cow pregnant. It does not require a whole lot of intelligence either. I once saw a young stud humping a John Deere 3020 Tractor in hopes of impressing. If you happen to be born around the time the old grey bull is dying you’ve basically got the job. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">John Deere 3020, not sexy cow</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So it takes a while for a slot to open up. And Joe Farmer ain’t feeding you just to wait around for a shot at making it in the Bigs. So it’s off to Wisnowski’s Commission Sales to be sold to the butcher most willing to pay top dollar for your sorry ass. Probably not going to compete with Certified Angus coming out of the nation’s hinterlands but still reasonably good hamburg. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had visions of our heifer starting us on the road of Wang Lung in Pearl S Buck’s The Good Earth. Only without all the other crap he had to put up with. (Geesh Pearl, why can’t a guy just get rich and be happy?). We never named her but knew her by her assigned number, B82. (I still tear up when I think of that little red ear tag). My father-in-law was going to raise B82 as part of his herd but her offspring would be our offspring and before you know it we will have a whole herd of our own, and we can start our own farm and before you knew it we would own half the county and before you knew it I’d be in the State Senate and everyone would be my friend because I could get them jobs leaning on a shovel for the State and before you knew it we’d have a boat and before you knew it B82 walked into the manure pit and drowned.</span></div>
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Manure Pit with Walls. Unlike the one on our farm.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Today’s lesson?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If someone gives you a cow don’t name her.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was a hell of a lot easier saying goodbye to B82 than it would have been to Clover.</span></span><br />
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Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-18305564859675010882013-04-13T16:13:00.002-07:002013-04-13T16:13:49.385-07:00There Comes A Time.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In every parent’s life, somewhere between “Oh my god are all the bowel movements going to be that color?” and “Help I’ve fallen and can’t get up”, you're going to get one of those embarrassing questions you’d rather avoid. A time when a rotten floorboard allowing for a quick exit into the basement would be a good thing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Usually revolving around sex (did you ever) or drugs (did you ever), there is no easy way out and in my experience it is better to face these head-on and be honest. Are you nuts? It is much better to pretend you just lost your hearing and need to go to the mall for an auditory exam. Auditory, from the Latin auditorius, meaning a really large room filled with seventh graders and their homeroom teachers who can hear really well so don’t call Mrs Farnham The Old Bag unless you want detention for five days. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Just the other day (I think it was last Friday) I had to deal with the one question none of us who have been able to fake being a great dad up to now want to face. The question you would give the good Lord the remainder of your life as a priest in exchange for avoiding (ha ha I’m not Catholic and had my fingers crossed anyway). The question you would rather be sitting on the Group W bench with the mother-stabbers and the father-rapers than have to answer (ha ha I’m not Arlo Guthrie).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hey Dad, when you were my age did you like John Denver”? Well there it is. No matter which side of the Weber you stand on the smoke is headed your way. Better they hear it from you, rather than read about your love for Henry John Deutschendorf Jr (his real name I swear I am not making this up) in one of those love letters from Brenda What’s Her Name you thought you had hidden (ha ha ha) on the top shelf of your closet.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Why do you ask son”? In parenting parlance this is known as a subtle delaying tactic. This will allow you time to formulate an educated (ha ha ha) answer. Or maybe that floor joist will give way.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well I’ve been listening to his stuff lately and I kind of like his music. Is there something wrong with me”?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No son, there’s nothing wrong with you. Why experts (guys in white coats with bushy eyebrows) estimate that 10 percent of men like John Denver.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well what about you. You know when you were younger”?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well you have to remember son that was a time when men were not allowed to cry in public. Why even being seen coming out of Terms of Endearment with red eyes was an invitation to the entire JV football team to see if they could get your underwear up over your head (No Wooger I haven't forgotten). I can admit now that I like his music but back then you had to store your 8 tracks under your seat and only bring them out when you were trying to show how sensitive you were in order to impress Robin What’s Her Name on the way to the Root Beer Stand.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Thanks Dad, I feel better. Now about babies? Where do they come from”?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Go ask your Mom What’s Her Name.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yes Son, what now”? (For God’s sake it’s time for Law and Order)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s an 8 track”?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div>
Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-61728582106600161512013-03-25T16:33:00.000-07:002013-03-25T16:33:55.607-07:00Bikini Season is Coming<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got to go for a run today in downtown Saxtons River. You blink at the front (that would be east) end of Main Street where the “Back at 2:00 PM” sign has been hanging in the front window of Bob Thompson's real estate office since I've been a resident, and by the time your eyes are open you've driven through the front doors of what should be a Congregational Church but is now the Saxtons River Historical Society at the other end.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are too many dead end streets in Saxtons River. Literally. I kept running up what looked like promising jog-along-the-river roads only to have do an about face and retrace. Which should not be a problem other than (who’s with me on this?) I hate running back from whence I came. Oh and often at the end of dead end roads is a house and somewhere a line that marks the end of the dead end road and the beginning of the driveway. Yes that driveway. The one owned by a guy who owns a house at the end of a dead end road so no one will bother him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently I have crossed that dividing line because up on the porch shouting and gesticulating (from the Latin gesticulatus meaning get your gonads off my property) is a gentleman who looks like his mother may also be his sister. Shouting something that sounded like MMrphster fragginrassin muoofretrobulator. Weelaproppiginna gonads. Except he didn't say gonads. And he used some other words in there I can't share just in case anyone shares this with my mother. Now even if you haven’t had the chance to spend time around anyone who spends time with a big wad of Red Man Chewing Tobacco stuck between his cheek and gum you would know, now would be a good time to get back on the other side of that line. And I have (spent time developing listening skills with tobacco chewers), but more on that in a minute. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s time to leave. Except I’m about two miles into the first run after a winter of, how you say in your country, couch potatoing (See Dan Quayle’s Spelling for Dummies if you don’t think potatoing is a word). Tying the laces of my running shoes (about two miles ago) had me winded. Luckily down the hill is away from the set of Deliverance so I fall to safety. Literally. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One of my first real jobs other than babysitting and mowing lawns was in 9th grade when I went to work for the Champlain Construction Company and Mr. Bucky Danyow. Bucky loved chewing tobacco and a 5 pound wad of Red Man was a typical portion. If you were looking for him you simply followed the brown splats. He liked to say “The world is my spittoon” and people who knew him gave him about 6’ of personal space. Violate this at your own risk.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well it’s your first day on the job and wanting to make a good impression when the Boss says “Geddaframpoffathur” and gesticulates towards the tool room you run over and grab a rake and bring it back to the Boss. “Noddagaddmfimkin rake, geddaframpoffathur” Back to the tool room for the shovel. “Noddagaddmfimkin shovel, geddaframpoffathur” Back to the tool room or use the shovel to dig a hole big enough for a skinny 13 year old. I decide to throw myself at the mercy of the crew most of whom are peeing themselves after witnessing my first 2 minutes on the job. One kind older gentleman explains that Bucky wants me to get him a tamp. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh okay like I know what a tamp is. Here you can have this shovel, I’m going for a run.</span></div>
Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-44149581764392493692013-03-16T16:07:00.000-07:002013-03-17T05:51:15.923-07:00Fading to Spring<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I finally put my cross country skiis and poles away. End of the season. Except, if you never used your cross country skiis and poles then technically I don't think you can claim a season. But it sure did feel good walking by as they rested against the coat rack all winter. Getting stronger by being close. My abs tightened little by little just by passing the front door. Wicked bulging triceps simply by thinking about all that double poling I would be doing if it weren’t for the Bruins being on TV. It’s tough being an athlete.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Started on the twice a year cleaning. Knowing that you’re never going to get 100% of the dirt up does not justify not taking a stab at the first 99%. Or in the case of 329 Dorsch Hill Road, Putney, VT 05346 (in case anyone wanted to send me a “hope you get over this cleaning thing” card) the first 1%. When the recliner got moved, (yes I’m that serious) I realized the good folks from Pringles had started a chip factory under there. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Did you know there is a Pringles App? Except it is not available from the U.S. Itunes store. Go ahead, I’ll wait while you go check it out. They probably have started a campaign to promote better health through exercise. C’mon America, put down your handheld device, get up off the couch, grab a can of salt and go for a walk. Hahahahaha. OMG. LMAO. LOL. BFF. WTF. NASA. SCOOBIE-DOO.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Clean. I can’t even figure out how to reload the Swiffer Sweeper I found downstairs. The good folks from Swiffer have a very nice website with a video on how to do this. Which I should have watched before I spent the afternoon on my hands and knees with a Swiffer Sweeper wet mopping refill in each hand working the floor. Fake Spring smelling cleaning liquid on, fake Spring smelling cleaning liquid off. Try saying that 3 times fast with a mouthful of Pringles. Go ahead, try it. Now use the Swiffer Sweeper to clean up all the bits o’ chips you sprayed all over the place.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How about these words? Do they seem brighter? Jump off the page? I even cleaned my keyboard. Most people would just throw away their dirty old computer and get a new one. Not me. A box and a half of Q-tips has never been more wisely used. There are figuratively 100‘s of cleaning uses for the Q-tip. Literally there are 31. Go ahead, check it out. <a href="http://www.qtips.com/tip-jar/detail/114964/cleaning-tips"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">http://www.qtips.com/tip-jar/detail/114964/cleaning-tips</span></a>. It seems the good folks at Q-tips want us to use them for everything except for what we all use them. Making sure the passage through which our brains get fresh air stays unclogged. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileC5mOw9o-AVLYhcMm7NFVgkRKqgQ8s9agdY5BG5KDFMnahU4MCM1QGOD7IKZTnHRFr0f-s8BZPu8H9-5Ioi8x1QLAh4BWEq-4GwYgCEoCyg9rGVP7JMKMd5NkiQ2d-kgar5ed1P4RtFX/s1600/IMG_0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileC5mOw9o-AVLYhcMm7NFVgkRKqgQ8s9agdY5BG5KDFMnahU4MCM1QGOD7IKZTnHRFr0f-s8BZPu8H9-5Ioi8x1QLAh4BWEq-4GwYgCEoCyg9rGVP7JMKMd5NkiQ2d-kgar5ed1P4RtFX/s320/IMG_0009.jpg" width="305" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think I’m done for today. I’ll get the upstairs and bathroom tomorrow. Unless the Bruins are on. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now I’ve got to bring the golf clubs up from the cellar. Looking to take 2 points off my handicap this season. From the comfort of my recliner.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter.</span></div>
Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-81640605167022973642012-07-17T09:50:00.000-07:002012-07-17T09:50:15.345-07:00At Camp Bisco Nothing The Size Of A Quarter Fell On Our Heads But...<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s a haze that covers the festival grounds. This haze doesn’t settle from the sky but rises from the ground. Stirred by the feet of 40,000 wandering, shuffling souls. Dirt so fine a golf cart rolling at 2 mph can throw up a Pigpen cloud of dust that filters through your lungs, drifts upward and disappears like water vapor, absorbed only to return to earth piggybacking on raindrops that become mud before they even hit the ground. Some new form of precipitation coming soon to a weatherman near you. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Clean me” fingerpainted on the windshield of a ’98 Subaru with a note underneath “Why bother?”. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And heat. Mississippi Delta heat. The Ginzu knife couldn’t slice this air I’m trying to breathe heat. Most days women would kill for bigger boobs. Today is not one of those days. The only relief comes in the form of a wimp of a breeze not big enough to be shared by more than 4 or 5 people at a time. Teasing then moving along. Leaving in its wake heat and sweat so thick tattoos are running like an Al Stewart watercolor. White girls with skin perfectly-boiled Maine lobster red and perfectly-roasted Peking duck crispy. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like a student who although unassigned always returns to the same classroom seat, I continue to use the same port-a-potty (second on the left, third row from the gyro stand). It’s the one with the Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer can bobbing for dear life in a sea of yuck. As the festival-goers empty bladders the beer can makes its way to the surface only to fall each morning when the port-a potties get cleaned. Veterans know the best time to go to the bathroom is right after the septic pumpers have been to town. Toilet paper and clean seats last about as long as it takes a police dog to go on alert at a Phish show.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The people watching is as fascinating as ever and I overcook more than one order of French fries. Do you want ketchup with your neon purple fur-lined boots? Security tries valiantly to hold back swarms of desperate to get to the next show young’uns. Bred somewhere between Barney Fife and an over-zealous campus security weekend extra they feel a need to protect people from errant golf carts making their way to the stage with very important cargo. “You’ll cross this road when I say you’ll cross it. Thanks for understanding.” The septic pumpers seem to get the right of way and I’m ok with that rule. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best tee shirt so far? A tie between a guy with a really big head wearing a shirt with his own face on it and “You’re grammar suck’s”. Hey I think Jesus is buying a burrito. Jesus or Frank Zappa. Then I realize those 2 are dead and it’s probably a guy named Jack who works during the week at the co-op selling beans in bulk. Magic beans that will turn your eyes inside out and turn your girlfriend into a beanstalk. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of the people are very nice and it is fun to talk with folks and find out a little about anyone willing to share. The genuine ones make our day as vendors a little more bearable. Here are some folks I got a chance to talk with for awhile. I told them I was going to post their picture so “Hi guys!” </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrCbpHJEH0IhTDr_ASbkQps5W6o2ANsVw0p0MJetnS-x838NN5Cp_6TQWTVAK7uHVcRT7w6FvGVWSdqlYAvALZKG0SH9IFPNFN5i5cB9e7tmQgbQt9hoBIwa3TUQNt8VxZiFJO9O77uBJ/s1600/IMG_1855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrCbpHJEH0IhTDr_ASbkQps5W6o2ANsVw0p0MJetnS-x838NN5Cp_6TQWTVAK7uHVcRT7w6FvGVWSdqlYAvALZKG0SH9IFPNFN5i5cB9e7tmQgbQt9hoBIwa3TUQNt8VxZiFJO9O77uBJ/s320/IMG_1855.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My Best Customers So Far</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s interesting and everyone knows the odds of never seeing these people again are pretty good but it is fun to get to know people this way. Sort of like speed-dating without any consequences. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The music for the most part is god-awful. We used to get the same sound when we failed to properly connect our stereo speakers. I sincerely believe if you can play one really low bass note over and over and over and over again you can be a band. Actually you only have to play the note once and then sit back and let your computer take over. This can’t be what our parents heard when Elvis and Chubby sent them scurrying to their bomb shelters. That was music. With lyrics that dripped with meaning. Sha bittly boo wah wah wah!</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a break yesterday I got to go to the store to pick up replacement supplies. 120 bags of ice. Can I ride in back on the way home? We went to a store named BJ’s. Really. Who names their store BJ’s? How many times have kids had to ask their father why he snickers every time he goes in the place? And I swear I’m not making it up when I say the first thing I saw when we went in the store was a mechandising display of kneepads. Okay I’m making that up.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we drag home to hot showers and screened windows with fans and get ready for Gathering of the Vibes. Where I do believe, me and the music will get along nicely thank you very much.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-90683551370526597292012-07-04T13:35:00.000-07:002012-07-04T13:35:32.144-07:00Stopping by a Rest Area with a Rest Area for your Dog<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Falling asleep and waking to the slow realization you are lying in a field of dog poops. It comes to you gradually because everyone of us thinks someone else is responsible for the off-odored air. Then it occurs to us we are resting in a sacred dog poop battlefield. Like a platoon of enlisted men trying to navigate their way out of a minefield we slowly make our way through dry and dusty almost decayed-back-to-soil past a pile of still-steaming my owner was a Great Dane the size of Denmark and ending up on pavement. 128 degrees hot but at least not smelly, pavement.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">We’ve stopped because our driver is exhausted from 6 days of music festival food selling. Six days with maybe 2 hours of sleep in any 24 hour period. So we wait wondering if we are here forever or not. Forever would be hard because none of us has more than one pair of clean socks left and the tan lines we are all so proud of are really 6 days of hot Lower Peninsula Michigan dirt. Dirt so fine and dusty you could grow a 2 foot carrot in it. Not really, I think the carrot would probably say “too dang hot, I’m staying inside this seed shell where it’s air-conditioned.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Forever would be hard because we stink. Not just stink. Stink that stanks. Stanky stink. The dog poops would probably have left if we didn’t. We’ve been camping with and selling food to a gazillion kids whose only purpose over the past 6 days was to get really stinky. They got the good stinky we got the bad. My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus. Well whether or not I love Jesus will have to wait for another day but I’m here to tell you there is stink. He who is without stink shall inherit something righteous. That ain’t going to be me. I stink.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Tried on day 5 to shave and shower. The shower had a mile long line so I settled for a shave. Next time I’d like to try it with a sharp razor, hot water and not sharing a bathroom built for 6 if there was a 3:2 ratio of guys going No.1 to guys taking a good healthy No.2. Wait, that would mean there was only room for 5 people. Well I’m counting the guy at the sink shaving (which would be me) with 25 guys watching. Shaving with a dull razor in front of 25 guys is like trying to start peeing in front of 25 guys. (It really is an organ with a mind of its‘ own). And it’s not like you can decide half through to say to hell with it and walk out. This horror movie has to be completed. Because let’s face it walking around with a half shaved face is really weird. Lock ‘em up weird. So I finish and make my way back to HQ dripping blood but relatively free of facial hair.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">HQ is a combination of food trailer-concession stand-tent grove. Surrounded by a fence that after 3 days suddenly has a multitude of bras hanging from its’ chain-links. Shed as just one more layer of unneeded keep your body overheated clothing. The first to go when the temperature gets to the point at which even bacteria aren’t feeling frisky. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Saw my first painted boobie the evening of Day 2. I sort of wish I hadn’t. Things had started moving south for this woman and it wasn’t pretty. And it makes it hard for a guy who hands out burritos for a living. Maintaining eye contact is tough enough when there is a woman standing in front of you. It becomes a workout when she is not wearing anything over her upper body other than a thin layer of Benjamin Moore. A conversation between the brain and the eyes grows heated until one or the other wins out. You don’t want to get caught copping a look. I was good though, kept my eyes right where any decent gentleman keeps them. On the bug crawling across the tent ceiling.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The morning of day 6 is fun. It’s time to pack up and get the hell out. It’s the final morning and you see 50 year old men walking across the festival grounds heads down totally dejected because they have come to the realization they just spent the last week not getting laid. 4000 women, most all of whom have enough drugs flowing through their bodies they couldn’t name the third planet from the sun and you didn’t get any. Or the dazed look of the twenty-sumpin’s who did get lucky and now are wondering if it is okay to just drive away while what’s her name is in the Sunoco bathroom. What is her name anyway? Man I should have paid closer attention when that was being discussed. Yeah, it’s time to go home.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Or at least to a rest area somewhere between Rothbury, Michigan and the Green Mountain State. A rest area where we could walk our dog if we had one.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Love you all. Peace. Peter </span> </span></span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-41592638269290931672012-07-04T13:17:00.000-07:002012-07-04T13:17:07.028-07:00Where in the World is Rothbury, MichiganThis week found us at Electric Forest Music Festival. Electric music as in it's not really music or it was at one point and I just fed it through a weird machine and this is what came out and you are on such a great combination of drugs you think it is wonderful and oh wow did you see the size of that moth and does this neon orange tutu make me look fat and all I have is a dollar can I have a burrito.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTKwEEcoLEeA5Wucj8ZVaVYtWus58HXZrtkBOW9wq0KJqCb20wRVSO82ZIVSoyiUOVWPa5a3Q-kImeRwVRU5xsQNv4AS-8wU1Bq8e6MpDwMN1JjR9mwL8UTjkcFw_UDbIm07T-po6MAqe/s1600/IMG_1799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTKwEEcoLEeA5Wucj8ZVaVYtWus58HXZrtkBOW9wq0KJqCb20wRVSO82ZIVSoyiUOVWPa5a3Q-kImeRwVRU5xsQNv4AS-8wU1Bq8e6MpDwMN1JjR9mwL8UTjkcFw_UDbIm07T-po6MAqe/s320/IMG_1799.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Main Stage</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's always best before the crowds get there because you get to walk around and check things out without the multitudes. It was very dusty, so dusty we had to wear bandanas when we held up the bank.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD5op-VC9s2oIcCwwloD0UC3m9fR5t19kxSpVPDo_FkV97gGqmm6perYWKrTl1cgW0bHpO6hqyi9BqWoini_11-U1m_SFeUyaznmVeV47tU0fbpZoeYvNkCZt0qPJLJtG6cRkRfxbFI0f/s1600/IMG_1820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD5op-VC9s2oIcCwwloD0UC3m9fR5t19kxSpVPDo_FkV97gGqmm6perYWKrTl1cgW0bHpO6hqyi9BqWoini_11-U1m_SFeUyaznmVeV47tU0fbpZoeYvNkCZt0qPJLJtG6cRkRfxbFI0f/s320/IMG_1820.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Monica, Amanda, Dea and Sydney!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a lot of hanging around when we first got there. For some reason we raced across New York and Ohio which are very big states as measured from right to left, only to arrive 2 days before we had to. Luckily it was only 96 degrees during the day and there was no shade.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIbPNglk_w8tl06rc9dwyUozK4nLtDU6gZiqUa7Gu7huIFKQf8OAn3_qG-K-_AfYmGxRI0CK_7m32lU6mZznosUEwjWHteicK5MvOtj5blVE__zKBcO7OYqvn8iDUNeWEsJR7Adlj1lsT/s1600/IMG_1790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIbPNglk_w8tl06rc9dwyUozK4nLtDU6gZiqUa7Gu7huIFKQf8OAn3_qG-K-_AfYmGxRI0CK_7m32lU6mZznosUEwjWHteicK5MvOtj5blVE__zKBcO7OYqvn8iDUNeWEsJR7Adlj1lsT/s320/IMG_1790.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yes sir Bob it's a glamorous life being on the road selling burritos</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We finally found an oak tree to lie under but acorns the size of quarters kept falling on our heads.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The folks running the show had duded everything up in pretty good fashion. A lot of work went into making the forest electric.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qF6QMd_JgVriibXmk_tCgV_8TvdJgVUfATwSSQESHPkopc7GyUQITdoP7K38rlAmgBZ2AIXr17dfkI-17ejRG6I8_DuhmftioDfngBUAl140wO1ck314xUL_KL3lK7tTdXn-fjT1avnp/s1600/IMG_1831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qF6QMd_JgVriibXmk_tCgV_8TvdJgVUfATwSSQESHPkopc7GyUQITdoP7K38rlAmgBZ2AIXr17dfkI-17ejRG6I8_DuhmftioDfngBUAl140wO1ck314xUL_KL3lK7tTdXn-fjT1avnp/s320/IMG_1831.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh I'm sorry was that your tent?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-91029779703008772702012-06-19T07:11:00.000-07:002012-06-19T07:11:11.144-07:00Down and BackIn one weekend we headed to Clearwater's Hudson River Revival Music and Environmental Festival. Down the turnpike for Croton-On-Hudson for a 2 day spell of selling our fair fare. The crowd was much different than the past festivals. Much older and mellower. Except for their causes. People stumbling over each other to promote one thing or another. Probably really nice people but there was an awful lot of pretentiousness floating around. We were surrounded by do-gooders trying to out do-good the do-gooders next to them.<br />
"I'm against nuclear power."<br />
"Yeah well I'm really really really against nuclear power."<br />
"Yeah well I triple dog dare you to sign my anti-fracking petition."<br />
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The venue was gorgeous. The Hudson is definitely in that group of mighty rivers flowing down to the sea. To stand on her banks is to easily imagine what it must have been like hundreds of years ago. Before there were nuclear power plants. And do-gooders.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next to us was a space called Story Grove where they told stories about evil executives dropping nuclear power plants on little kids' heads. They had a dragon soaring overhead that was pretty cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcUP1ZLGHFS-odTmPmfPRdjf3un-KtrMVk7KUxJF_7REvOUi9HCjzjnIxlZ2nJ61ql6BSTA_Ias3zRJJcffEUvxh6Bb7VUPxyx6TjEE55Tl96ipHZEx0G4nJatiM8JIbcuss4j-yQoQJk/s1600/IMG_1739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcUP1ZLGHFS-odTmPmfPRdjf3un-KtrMVk7KUxJF_7REvOUi9HCjzjnIxlZ2nJ61ql6BSTA_Ias3zRJJcffEUvxh6Bb7VUPxyx6TjEE55Tl96ipHZEx0G4nJatiM8JIbcuss4j-yQoQJk/s320/IMG_1739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pretty Cool Dragon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over us we had a mulberry tree that kept dropping mulberries the size of quarters on our heads and landing in our coffee cups exploding coffee everywhere. It blocked our sign and lowered our "visibility quotient" (I just made that up, pretty good 'eh?). Donald wanted to cut down the tree but I convinced him that it probably wasn't the right crowd for that sort of thing. So many hugs, so few trees.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">People watching is the thing to do at these festivals. I must say the hippie population has not aged well. There were a whole lot of tree-hugging, dirt-worshipping, co-existing pasty white toes twisting out of Birkenstocks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We get a week or so off and then head for Michigan and the Electric Forest Festival where we will hear music from bands such as Girl Talk, Ghostland Observatory, Datsik and 12th Planet. Who are these guys? Man, I'm not aging well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love you all. Peace. Peter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
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</div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-91545429688468083372012-06-12T22:01:00.000-07:002012-06-12T22:01:02.777-07:00Post Bonnaroo<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is raining. After 6 days of fairly nice weather it is raining. It is Monday morning after Bonaroo and the heavens have let loose over Manchester, Tennessee. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We did a good amount of packing up late last night but everyone is so exhausted after 2 weeks on the road that we quit to get some sleep. After all-night music coming at us from three stages, a night of silence meant an absolutely wonderful sleep. Awake now and refreshed but it is raining.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The team, the crew, the guys and gals have been a joy to work with, maintaining wonderful senses of humor despite 18 hour days of dealing with grease and heat and impatient customers of varying degrees of sobriety and sanity. Those of you who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So we wait. Until the antsy kicks in and we decide to slog it out of here. To the nearest hotel with hot showers, sharp razors and a laundry machine big enough to fit several tons of socks, a couple of tents and me. Climb right in and take a spin on the wild side. Tumble dry and roll on. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The list of the first thing I’m going to do when I get home has grown from sleep in my own bed to wolf down a big-ass juicy cheeseburger to drink a couple of cold beers and back to sleep in my own bed. Maybe watch a Red Sox game. Read a newspaper. Do a crossword puzzle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The road home is long. The rain makes the driving hard and slow. Everyone is sick of eating gas station food but no one wants to take the time to sit down for a real meal. So we subsist on the jerky food group, the honey roasted peanut food group and the diesel fumes food group. Try forming that into a frickin‘ pyramid that will satisfy the nutritionists. Those amongst us who are health conscious drink orange juice.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The road home is long. I like Bruce Springsteen. I really do. When Born To Run came out I was hooked. Screamed and swayed when The Boss and Clarence dueted. But I draw the line at the Sirius E Street radio station that plays Bruce 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The alternative is non-stop Jimmy Buffet. Or non-stop Howard Stern. Or non-stop reggae. So we got 20 hours of Bruce. I’m sure there’s a Geneva convention against this. We get a break from Bruce by going into a gas station to get some honey roasted peanuts. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is raining. And There’s A Darkness On The Edge of Town. But we are making progress. The familiarity of the New York Thruway make it seem almost like home. We pass Kingston and realize how funny it is that we will be back here in three days to provide food for a folk festival. Then we realize it is not funny at all. And the trip odometer passes 4000 miles. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We pull into the yard to disband for several days of alone. It is raining. But it is Vermont rain and feels wonderful.</span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-1138952574263407842012-05-28T20:00:00.000-07:002012-05-28T20:00:41.424-07:00Day Two. On Route to WakarusaClosing in on Arkansas one state at a time. We left a little rubber on roads in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Missouri before settling in St. Louis for the night.<br />
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An early morning wake-up call because we wanted to get to Restaurant Depot and stock up up on food and equipment. Well what do you know it looks as if the folks at Restaurant Depot get Memorial Day off. Well that throws a bit of a kink in things but we quickly adapt.<br />
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Here's the initial gang of young thangs ready to hit the road first thing. Just waiting for the Donald to finish his bagel.<br />
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Monica on the left. Isn't she pretty? Sasha in the middle. Isn't she pretty? Shawn on the right. Yes Shawn you're pretty too.</div>
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After a good solid hour in the car the young thangs were very tired.</div>
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Sasha and Monica still pretty. Shawn? Not a good look.</div>
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Traveling through the midwest is strange. They have billboards all along the highway. The advertisers are very concerned about where I am spending my days after death. Thus we passed things like "Hell is an awful place to spend eternity because you made some poor choices." And "do you know how you are spending the afterlife? Jesus does". And what I think is a little shot at the Jews, "Jesus IsReal". </div>
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At the other end of the wackometer spectrum are billboards advertising adult stores and fireworks. There must be more adult stores and fireworks shops per person in Indiana than any other state in the union. I suppose this cvombination makes sense. If the adult toys don't do it for her you set off a couple of Roman candles. Oh baby baby. You big cowboy stud. I think I felt the earth move. Let the church say, "Amen".</div>
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The Donald is great. We get to Restaurant Depot. It's Memorial Day. We know they are closed. There is not a car in the parking lot. No answer when we call. And yet he walks around peering in windows. As if there is an entire crew inside waiting to open if someone happens to show up. So we decide to head to St Louis and hit stores tomorrow. We get to meet up with the crew that is on route from a festival in Illinois headed for Wakarusa. Hugs all around.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NlI3pcrr0fTmEhTJu2pHTDoKfRL_Ja0BGOdK7hNW-wY6KJI52gdgP5RHYltJQb6P7A88sM6XOE3ZCOJ57VOhwF_BRFeDY03OA4PuRYZBDRqgoG89kJKyI56jvPENOjeLcMpdRHVLUYB4/s1600/IMG_1555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NlI3pcrr0fTmEhTJu2pHTDoKfRL_Ja0BGOdK7hNW-wY6KJI52gdgP5RHYltJQb6P7A88sM6XOE3ZCOJ57VOhwF_BRFeDY03OA4PuRYZBDRqgoG89kJKyI56jvPENOjeLcMpdRHVLUYB4/s320/IMG_1555.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Gang of Young Thangs gets bigger.</div>
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Dinner tonight at a Mexican restaurant and then to bed. Early try tomorrow at the St. Louis division of Restaurant Depot.</div>
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I'd like to introduce clockwise starting on the left: Scott, Sarah, Maddy, Sasha (you've already met), Orion and Dave.</div>
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We should be arriving on sight tomorrow afternoon. No more Mexican restaurants. No more hotel rooms with hot showers and toilets with doors on them. No more internet. Plenty of great food, music and fun people to watch. Amen.</div>
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Love you all. Peace. Peter</div>
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<br />Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-71302779633453346362012-05-28T02:35:00.002-07:002012-05-28T02:35:39.765-07:00Summer '12 Adventure BeginsI left Middlebury yesterday with my friend and landlord Donald, owner of a ragtag enterprise called Crescent Foods. He travels to music festivals during the summer making burritos, quesadillas and other vegetarian fare for mostly very stoned young hippie wannabees. The thing that's great from a food entrepeneur's point of view is that very stoned translates into a lot of hunger and a complete loss of what a $20 bill is worth. "$12 for a small flour tortilla, a piece of cheddar and 4 leaves of spinach? No problem. And you'll melt the cheese? Oh wow man, cool."<br />
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Right now we're in Ashland, Ohio. Traveling with Donald and three young thangs named Sasha, Sean and Monica. The young thangs sit in the back seat of the pick-up and chatter constantly. Mostly all at the same time. Donald doesn't want to listen so he turns up the all Bruce Springsteen, all the time radio station. The young thangs can't hear each other so they start talking louder...so Donald turns up the radio..."What did you say?" I said, I WAS BORN IN THE USA!"<br />
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It's about 5:00 AM in Ashland. By the way, Ashland was named by its early German settlers from the word ashelaxelschaftekberg which roughly translates as "because the wagon wheel broke and we don't feel like going any further". Donald wants to be on the road by 5:30 at the latest so I won't dilly dally. Hope to see you in Arkansas at Wakarusa. Wakarusa. It will be interesting to discover where that name came from.<br />
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Love you all. Peace. PeterChef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-38459505496024499792011-10-02T09:13:00.000-07:002011-10-02T09:13:29.594-07:00Four Days at Tunbridge Worlds Fair<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We recently spent 4 days at the Tunbridge Worlds Fair working for Crescent Foods selling very un-fair fare. Nothing fried. No animal parts shaped into giant tubes and cooked in great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts. No sugar spun into tufts of pink clouds on a stick. All vegetarian burritos, quesadillas and tortilla wraps. My god we were out of place. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Deciding what to eat at the fair and when is an art form that can only be perfected with practice. Fair food should be attacked in the same systematic way a good lover approaches sex. I look at popcorn kind of like getting to first base. You can still move around, checking out all your options without having to make a serious commitment to any one (type of food). Which makes fried dough the oral sex of the fair. Things are definitely heading in the right direction but it’s not too late to head to the parking lot satisfied. Taken to a logical conclusion this of course makes Italian sausage and peppers the big O. Which I suppose makes maple cotton candy akin to a good post-coitus smoke.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are quite a few overweight people in Vermont and I think most of them spent a day or more at Tunbridge. Nothing like a September chill in the air to get people thinking about an extra layer of warmth. I was lucky enough at one point to look up from my tortilla wrapping position and be greeted by the backside of a fairly large woman with a serious case of plumber’s butt wearing a bright red thong that stretched from one end of the Gobi desert, up and through Mongolia and ended somewhere in the foothills of the Himalayas. Not a pretty sight but not unlike witnessing a good trainwreck I found myself constantly checking to see if she and her family had moved on.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We did get to see quite a few people walking around wearing camouflage. Which doesn’t say a whole lot for the people who design camouflage.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And if I might offer the following bit of advice. Only buy stuff you won’t take home with you. Like rides, fair food and fortunes from Zelda the gypsy.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No giant inflatable hammers.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No goldfish in baggies.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No oversized foam cowboy hats.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No balloons that have been twisted to look like poodles with challenged colons.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No belt buckles the size of a Prius.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ve got to go. Somewhere out there is a clown riding a unicycle while twisting long skinny balloons into poodles that you can wear on your head. I think I might see what will happen if I jam a stick in his spokes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-30839200873097000652011-09-11T14:29:00.000-07:002011-09-11T14:29:16.476-07:00After LanakilaThe best time of the day is 6:00 AM. Coffee is made and there is time to sit on Main House porch and listen to Brook running after a full night of heavy rain. The boys of Lanakila still sleep. Brook runs down past Health House, Woodcraft and Exploring. Running with the spirit. The spirit that provides the faith that Lanakila will be here in another 90 years.<br />
<br />
There will be at least one counselor (a direct descendent of Doug Pilcher) who will have two bowls of cereal and two pitchers of milk served to him in bed.<br />
<br />
There will be a bugler. It may not be Hans or Fraser but someone will blow reveille. Probably really badly. Mostly likely not recognizable as reveille, but boys and young men will still get up. Some will brush their teeth, some will not. All will coming charging to breakfast.<br />
<br />
During the first week of camp at least one Brooksider will miss his Dad but will be quickly and firmly and lovingly made to feel part of a community by someone with a heart as big as Angus Davidson's.<br />
<br />
Dogs belonging to no one and everyone, will wander into and be shooed out of the dining room. The dining room with the piano played by someone who knows the power of music to lift hearts towards the heavens. Probably someone whose Grandfather was prepped for chapel by Robbie Pennoyer.<br />
<br />
There will be a chef who will not prepare enough grilled cheese sandwiches. And a group of Bridgers who are terrible dishwashers but incredible rat-tailers.<br />
<br />
Jenn Grossman's mist will hover over Lake Morey's surface and I will sit on Main House porch with a cup of coffee and listen.<br />
<br />
Boys and young men will return next year and Brook will still run down past Health House, Woodcraft and Exploring.Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-26722993167262984572011-09-05T15:24:00.000-07:002011-09-05T15:24:44.823-07:00Me, Irene, Tula and the iRobot Roomba<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I left camp as Hurricane Irene was making her way up the East Coast not really sure of direction or where landing would be. Both me and Irene. We both lit about the same time, me back in Middlebury for a short while and she, briefly but very efficiently as hurricanes go in Stockbridge, Rochester, Gaysville and numerous other communities. Reeking of devastation and vandalizing our notion of final resting spot; what will become for those of us close to her as “our hurricane”, left behind a lot of mud in the wrong places, dead cows and substations of power grossly downstream. But there was the unintended heroic consequence that pointed out why places like Stockbridge, Rochester, Gaysville and others are called communities.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Knock knock.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who’s there?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think Irene.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think Irene who?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think Irene the lottery, my home isn’t upside down.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So after a couple of days at my sister’s house in Cornwall and a hurricane extended trip to New York, New York (the city so confused they had to name it twice) to move daughter Grady from Brooklyn to her new life as a student at NYU I find myself with 4 or 5 days of not a whole lot to do other than drink beer, watch the Lake Dunmore shoreline slide back into position and keep an eye on Tula. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tula is Ashley’s dog and is the heir to the Miss Bindergarten fortune. I have been tasked as a dogsitter which in this instance is not that taxing a task. Food twice a day, a walk every morning which she could do in her sleep and throwing a tennis ball into the lake. Throwing the ball is the hardest part of the job because throwing it too far results in a look of yeah right. “Woof woof” (trans: “There’s a good strong wind blowing into shore, let’s let that take care of things shall we?”)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is no internet access (something which has jumped ahead of access to healthcare on my list of great job benefits) and no TV. But who cares. I’ve got me an iRobot named Roomba. More precisely Roomba the Model 400 vacuum cleaning robot. This little bad boy “Cleans routinely...so I don’t have to.” And is quite mesmerizing as he bumps his way around the room like a severely drunk dancer at a very white wedding. (What is about the culture in which I matured that names bad things like hurricanes for women and assigns maleness to modern life-altering wonders?) Better than any Jim Carey movie, I watch endlessly, trying in vain to figure out the algorithm that guides Roomba. Yo stupid! Lift your feet outta the way. Tula at least is smart enough to leave the room when Roomba fires up. Out of the room and up on a bed. “Woof, woof, woof” (trans: “Call me when you learn how to climb bedspreads.”)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Knock knock.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who’s there?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Irobot.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Irobot who?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Irobot out to pick up the tennis ball because the wind changed direction. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So it’s 4 or 5 days after Irene and Tula, Roomba and I await the arrival of another storm due to deposit up to 4 inches of rain. The Cherokee have a saying that roughly translates as “don’t piss off Mother Nature”. Actually I made that up. What do I know of the Cherokee. But it seems like something a culture with more sense than ours would say. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So we wait. Woof, woof, woof, woof. (trans: Roomba! Get your ass out of that corner and bring Peter another beer.)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-27368712557112230692011-08-18T15:03:00.000-07:002011-08-18T15:03:05.678-07:00Well Now What?<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well the summer of 2011 has rounded the bend. Over in Middlebury they are post-Field Days to be followed quickly by back-to-school shopping. The Tweed River Music Festival has come and gone (without me) and the last camper left yesterday around 1:00 PM (without me).</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It has been a summer that turned out much differently than I had envisioned. Plans of learning to play the guitar (2 new chords-that’s it), running every day (once around the lake) and making a gazillion grilled cheese sandwiches (accomplished that one) were squashed by work.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My romantic life was on hold. Basically a summer of celibacy. My laundry getting mixed up and delivered to one of the female counselors’ cabins by mistake was as close as I got to love.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Showering after work tonight and I’m down to one bar of Ivory the size of a dime. Enough for one armpit which means I have to stand sideways when ever I converse with anyone so’s not to offend. So I figure I can put a little adventure in my life, a little change, a little shake-me-up and take care of Mr. B.O. at the same time. I’m going soap shopping!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m going soap shopping and after 30 plus years of loyalty I’m planning on coming home with something different than Ivory. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First stop is aisle 9 at Kinney’s Drug Store. Aisle 9. Hosiery, Cosmetics, Implements (huh?), Facial Essentials, Shower and Bath and Skin Care. This is not going to be as easy as I had hoped but I remain determined. Mantra: change is good, change is good. No it’s not. Change is scary, can’t I just get my Ivory and go home?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently there have been several changes in the soap world in the past 30 years. Who knew cucumber, lemon verbena, shea butter, exfoliation and micro beads were an essential part of being clean. There may be a panic attack in my future. And nothing against the Irish but I’ve known a few and they haven’t got a lock on freshness.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh this is interesting. Down on the bottom shelf all in a row. Boraxo, Lava and Kirk’s Castile. This is the section for people who don’t mind scrubbing off an arm in the name of cleanliness. I think I might have gone too far and work my way back up. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My final answer Regis? Zest. I’ve heard of it. Serious questions about the Ocean Energy and the Scent Caps System that promises to release long lasting clean scents. But it’s right next to the Ivory so I don’t feel as though I’ve strayed too far. Take a deep breath and head quickly to the cash register. And we’re done. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That was actually liberating. Almost exhilarating. But exhausting. I’ll say goodnight. I’ve got to get to bed so I can wake up and take a shower. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-31107305582903661052011-08-01T14:41:00.000-07:002011-08-01T14:41:49.324-07:00So today I got out of the kitchenand got to go for a hike with Don MacIntosh and a group of eight year olds. The tripping department is wonderful about putting these hikes, canoe trips and overnights together and once and awhile you can tag along. After about a 20 minute ride, oh wait a minute...Everett put on your seatbelt...we made it to the trailhead for the Wright Mountain Trail. The hike includes a sidetrail to the Devil's Den caves where we won't get to go in but we can look in because four people have gone in and not come out and they never found their bodies. Ooh, like I'm really scared.<br />
<br />
We learned that before heading out on any hike it's important to get rid of any excess weight and check the trail map one last time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zzuOUco9kfE/TjcT8-G017I/AAAAAAAAALU/4ztC8lqs_jM/s1600/IMG_1139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zzuOUco9kfE/TjcT8-G017I/AAAAAAAAALU/4ztC8lqs_jM/s320/IMG_1139.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Trip Leader</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hiking with 8 and 9 year old boys at first seems like a nightmare. And it is. But you can learn a lot by being patient and just lending an ear. Did you know that the typical human swallows 12 spiders during their lifetime? While they are sleeping. And you probably know this too but if you hold a match to your butt and fart it will explode. Jason's brother did it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We stopped for gorp, water and a quick rest after about 10 minutes. No Wilem we are not almost there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DtFGscVCJLc/TjcTX7cP2II/AAAAAAAAAK0/Wkj3NlF0gbM/s1600/IMG_1122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DtFGscVCJLc/TjcTX7cP2II/AAAAAAAAAK0/Wkj3NlF0gbM/s320/IMG_1122.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The boys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm sorry you spilled your water, I bet you'll be more careful next time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cows fart with their eyes closed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">About half an hour later we stopped for lunch. (This is not going to be a long hike.) We had lunch at this great cabin with a wonderful view.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BgQDhWBSu5k/TjcTeHZkE2I/AAAAAAAAAK4/eN1GfKtucvU/s1600/IMG_1123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BgQDhWBSu5k/TjcTeHZkE2I/AAAAAAAAAK4/eN1GfKtucvU/s320/IMG_1123.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wonderful view</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vrsVlaF7zwk/TjcThfA0-kI/AAAAAAAAAK8/zlmb9uAJtPo/s1600/IMG_1127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vrsVlaF7zwk/TjcThfA0-kI/AAAAAAAAAK8/zlmb9uAJtPo/s320/IMG_1127.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cabin and the boys</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After lunch we had a wonderful time doing what is called rest period. I don't know at what age we stop this ritual but I for one would vote in favor of a mandatory 1 hour nap after lunch. It was actually a very nice time. The boys settled down, the clouds over head floated peacefully by and the breeze gently worked its way through the beech tree canopy. Until James farted. Which he did not do on purpose. Did so. Did not. Did so. Ten minutes of suppressed giggling and we're on our way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway. If Gandalf and Frodo and the smallest transformer fought against the spells of Voldemort it would be a tie. Would not. Would so. I think I sprained my ankle can someone carry me?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Heading down the trail towards the caves things started getting real quiet even though everyone knew there is no such thing as the devil and he wouldn't be hanging out in a bunch of not really scary caves in Vermont and what was that noise and maybe I should wait here to guard the water bottles. Did you know that if you fart in a cave it will echo for eternity? True.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't get any pictures of the caves. None of them came out for some reason. Ooooh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We made it down and back to camp for dinner which was. No. Yes, Mexican night. Well that will be good for my heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next week I'm signed up to go to Eagle's Bluff with a group of 11-12 year olds. I'm looking forward to being with a more mature group. I heard these guys can make armpit farts and one of them saw the nurse's boobies when she bent over to tie her shoe. Did not. Did so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-43376366703040738772011-07-27T15:24:00.000-07:002011-07-27T15:24:40.525-07:00Today I found...<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">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”.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqcZekorSseJRpcuym5dtk3KJDDGlbJbSMNKPIpu7h3rat9kzjWB560TRzIOe82Nm9N7q07Ao4fkuocfjk0R94Crq67Mx96IbrUJRiXfhVSA8YljeZyy1MP4zxyZTUYLWDxjanm2Po56r/s1600/IMG_1110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEqcZekorSseJRpcuym5dtk3KJDDGlbJbSMNKPIpu7h3rat9kzjWB560TRzIOe82Nm9N7q07Ao4fkuocfjk0R94Crq67Mx96IbrUJRiXfhVSA8YljeZyy1MP4zxyZTUYLWDxjanm2Po56r/s320/IMG_1110.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Guildhall Doublewide Trailer</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">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.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjA877F6I8rBCamWLNbPBWWx0ShMrINr2LVNaPjnhaBV2W3BUy3m48wp79sHiA3tGLhgb3f7qBOkMl_hzkfp9joA9W5QbXHYjFB_PfezU-HDNAnHiKejb1WgPmKovmHfJ30JDLHTFBe_GF/s1600/IMG_1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjA877F6I8rBCamWLNbPBWWx0ShMrINr2LVNaPjnhaBV2W3BUy3m48wp79sHiA3tGLhgb3f7qBOkMl_hzkfp9joA9W5QbXHYjFB_PfezU-HDNAnHiKejb1WgPmKovmHfJ30JDLHTFBe_GF/s320/IMG_1111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You thought I was kidding?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnPPDbVlR1OaLexqvhKjvO5IfFfWDiXLbJ3oITgfikGMX9M2kdsEmPYbCx766kwXh0ouszntWhHkIxwA2n6amOIWtijAmIK7yoqbBhwewihfvyyloUY1VP2Pw3trXXc6CSZGki9zUD80I/s1600/IMG_1112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnPPDbVlR1OaLexqvhKjvO5IfFfWDiXLbJ3oITgfikGMX9M2kdsEmPYbCx766kwXh0ouszntWhHkIxwA2n6amOIWtijAmIK7yoqbBhwewihfvyyloUY1VP2Pw3trXXc6CSZGki9zUD80I/s320/IMG_1112.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53knDVvTSizKv3VrPWwTyRl1-MjWdeV9TTQrq4jzh1IapeWBpO3R-sLoOrx54QrmMGRGZYRENrOuh65HY54ZUPSPOo1UUaypP6ASNdcRxay6xFZ_Wd7AlG6piVG-S6N8lXSMmnX1soBKM/s1600/IMG_1113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53knDVvTSizKv3VrPWwTyRl1-MjWdeV9TTQrq4jzh1IapeWBpO3R-sLoOrx54QrmMGRGZYRENrOuh65HY54ZUPSPOo1UUaypP6ASNdcRxay6xFZ_Wd7AlG6piVG-S6N8lXSMmnX1soBKM/s320/IMG_1113.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">That’s it! Get your toes wet and you’re in New Hampshire.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">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...</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">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.</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8yiTWRvRHF8IJvLUirE1CCYPotxbQciC4TMD4u7yYSp-O7uzN6hbm_evP-bNMmkacuXijCPWNmUDnYdbFD3-wpBV6Dlshm0TwrgYr-NNZGqeyaxbe8_XXSQmG99JRZbsCRdAs2fN8h9Z/s1600/IMG_1115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8yiTWRvRHF8IJvLUirE1CCYPotxbQciC4TMD4u7yYSp-O7uzN6hbm_evP-bNMmkacuXijCPWNmUDnYdbFD3-wpBV6Dlshm0TwrgYr-NNZGqeyaxbe8_XXSQmG99JRZbsCRdAs2fN8h9Z/s320/IMG_1115.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;">Unfortunately also signs that man is starting to encroach on this quaint corner of Vermont.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbMjU3Vv95lffGKi8UMgHvpe7mB88k78udIctP6ncxRCdVZwcpnZ7JWtH1czyRI0pjkC6cre39QgChO656A58JxuSvP7HAQc3rCimE6xgT2mMgFmUmin0DcC4DFtsdz2wlWjwDXWERtHb/s1600/IMG_1116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbMjU3Vv95lffGKi8UMgHvpe7mB88k78udIctP6ncxRCdVZwcpnZ7JWtH1czyRI0pjkC6cre39QgChO656A58JxuSvP7HAQc3rCimE6xgT2mMgFmUmin0DcC4DFtsdz2wlWjwDXWERtHb/s320/IMG_1116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">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.</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubrtMvhav60T54J7hNenTPx7uixUwllUQ-QfwBALrxO-cFFAGZmPA420H9CJrZpf2WdH9AIOjg1t24b0AwtbKEI8uFT6byYBIcg0JabY6M7oPuo-B64k-yu120AZYlAhZWQjqv-AhhIpJ/s1600/IMG_1117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubrtMvhav60T54J7hNenTPx7uixUwllUQ-QfwBALrxO-cFFAGZmPA420H9CJrZpf2WdH9AIOjg1t24b0AwtbKEI8uFT6byYBIcg0JabY6M7oPuo-B64k-yu120AZYlAhZWQjqv-AhhIpJ/s320/IMG_1117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;">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.<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</span></div><br />
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margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-2806476229989356152011-07-19T17:29:00.000-07:002011-07-19T17:29:48.532-07:00The Summer of 2011<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7330688390874384693" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;">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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
We served 750 grilled cheese sandwiches yesterday with 25 gallons of homemade tomato soup.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
4 Things I won't miss hearing.<br />
1. What's for lunch today? (What do you care kid you're not going anywhere.)<br />
2. Do you have any apples? Not the green ones, I like red. (No kid, today's fruit are bananas.)<br />
3. The upper dining room milk machine is empty. (Try the one in the lower dining room kid.)<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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.</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7330688390874384693" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;"><br />
</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7330688390874384693" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;">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.</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7330688390874384693" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;"><br />
</div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7330688390874384693" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 520px;">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.<br />
<br />
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.</div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-29421251416493308192011-06-18T12:36:00.000-07:002011-06-18T12:40:17.771-07:00Hello Madda, Hello Fadda<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here I am at Camp Lanakila. Which unfortunately doesn't have wireless internet access. So here I am at the Fairlee Free Public Library. What is Fairlee Free? You only have to pay sometimes? Just what seems right? And who decides? Anyway it being Saturday they closed an hour before I got here. Luckily the bench out front ain't too hard and is close enough to the Whistlestop Cafe's internet signal that I am able to broadcast and try to get up to date.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">All the kitchen staffs from all the camps got together this morning to go over policies and procedures. Definitely have fun. Definitely do not clean the slicer with your hand while it is running. I met my staff which consists of my Asst. Chef Chris who is nice enough but a little jumpy-everything cool-I'm down with that-can we get a CD player for the kitchen kind of guy.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Then I have 4 college-age kids from overseas who have little or no experience in the kitchen. (The cheese goes between the two slices of bread for a grilled cheese sandwich?) I will fill in more details as I get to know them but for now they are: Alan from the U.K., Ekaterina from Russia, Anita from Hungary and Olga from Ukraine. Beet soup for everyone! We start tomorrow with a dinner called the Big Kahuna which is a gathering of all the unit and department heads.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Some pictures.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_oC1WqUZbefgjOoWxG8fm4VvJsUCnqwL3UbI4Wx_ufglK9UWUlX69trEV0seSRHy5hVucQZTTS7mSPsGQ285Fhzul-_tk7wn1pdDbjtk1LEzv1HShI9CrNWuicWEsSivh0Lke9fY7riQ/s1600/IMG_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_oC1WqUZbefgjOoWxG8fm4VvJsUCnqwL3UbI4Wx_ufglK9UWUlX69trEV0seSRHy5hVucQZTTS7mSPsGQ285Fhzul-_tk7wn1pdDbjtk1LEzv1HShI9CrNWuicWEsSivh0Lke9fY7riQ/s320/IMG_1077.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">My cottage. Pretty rustic here at old Camp Lanakila.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EdJ3ywEkVG5gKsyZk59Jx2M-w7QoCG7xbI-HjLsZLGEtYfPqAykYJaV6rms1JfcobX6CzVG__ThD8z8PECyU7HjmIU5P5vNILJ7VfnZh8kSWpelM28Ac_pq0NAytfbgnHeiOY-3OVuk/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EdJ3ywEkVG5gKsyZk59Jx2M-w7QoCG7xbI-HjLsZLGEtYfPqAykYJaV6rms1JfcobX6CzVG__ThD8z8PECyU7HjmIU5P5vNILJ7VfnZh8kSWpelM28Ac_pq0NAytfbgnHeiOY-3OVuk/s320/IMG_1078.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">The view from my front porch. Are you sure this is a camp?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bMvZwzjgW84GNtI-zELQEOu4ZbMZZh4DbkTCct7UKC_V3xB4cGyHmZaxUGceO5hOGQcHVjPdBl1QxjW_gqjuezGvk_oRfl_G9TTJeDRNvhSIroB49nbphz0Or1TLpSKz7uuR36ycXHY/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bMvZwzjgW84GNtI-zELQEOu4ZbMZZh4DbkTCct7UKC_V3xB4cGyHmZaxUGceO5hOGQcHVjPdBl1QxjW_gqjuezGvk_oRfl_G9TTJeDRNvhSIroB49nbphz0Or1TLpSKz7uuR36ycXHY/s320/IMG_1079.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">The backside of the mess hall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyuL0rXjOlpyFmkJ8829KW9E4hXKruu_FesHvZ_pXsJsks4DbXrlgVvH-eOlnVk1z_dlrF5BlhkL_4Y1rgqxDMZSes6XobFif0d9b2rNJFn1SdWvpDulqjCcbo5fe1L-09Rx46k8x7PQ/s1600/IMG_1080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyuL0rXjOlpyFmkJ8829KW9E4hXKruu_FesHvZ_pXsJsks4DbXrlgVvH-eOlnVk1z_dlrF5BlhkL_4Y1rgqxDMZSes6XobFif0d9b2rNJFn1SdWvpDulqjCcbo5fe1L-09Rx46k8x7PQ/s320/IMG_1080.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Some of the tents and clubhouse of the Brookside Unit. 8,9 and 10 year old boys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmA_1ZAwmt47BZoQ3qyoS0hlBWMooGV2k370cn6sV3viGj_EkVpDFKzEHrPKfDmcl25fMh2wgM5Ig2IFt0cPSK71AliQZlHX4c8exUQdrrFLyG6ZMWb-0m7U65doZgIhZhunw_YMP3EM/s1600/IMG_1081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmA_1ZAwmt47BZoQ3qyoS0hlBWMooGV2k370cn6sV3viGj_EkVpDFKzEHrPKfDmcl25fMh2wgM5Ig2IFt0cPSK71AliQZlHX4c8exUQdrrFLyG6ZMWb-0m7U65doZgIhZhunw_YMP3EM/s320/IMG_1081.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">My room. Just as rustic inside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcfAgOE-TGycLp0xHrf0tGl20g2tcHZlUTKxFBSxcEYuym8B8exnO2JWtBzhQB3P-huGOHFqIM4n5aUImAs7WQ8zWBn_cr9CUZH5ux6r-aWhL_IFrezesg-LEyEe5CC1XrlaV1nmTzks/s1600/IMG_1082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcfAgOE-TGycLp0xHrf0tGl20g2tcHZlUTKxFBSxcEYuym8B8exnO2JWtBzhQB3P-huGOHFqIM4n5aUImAs7WQ8zWBn_cr9CUZH5ux6r-aWhL_IFrezesg-LEyEe5CC1XrlaV1nmTzks/s320/IMG_1082.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">A beautiful rainbow over Lake Morey. Aaaah.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">My snail mail address for anyone who would like to write a real letter and boy would I like to get one!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Peter Ross</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Camp Lanakila</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">2899 Lake Morey Road</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">Fairlee, VT 05045</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Well that's it for now. I better go check on my charges. Olga stop!! Turn the mixer off before you scrape down the sides. No Alan, sugar is not the same as salt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Love you all. Peace. Peter</div>Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-40353558852692018422011-05-13T12:44:00.000-07:002011-05-13T12:44:30.366-07:00Hey buddy I'm talking to you!I do not make these up. I swear. <br />
<br />
"Middlebury police investigated a report of a dead man sitting in a truck parked off Rt. 7 North on May 6."<br />
We could probably stop right there but let's continue. <br />
"A man told police that he had tried to converse with the person in the truck, to no avail."<br />
Did you try shouting? Not that it would do any good because...<br />
"Police discovered that the "dead man" was in fact a mannequin."<br />
<br />
Not to be left out of this week's stoopid sweepstakes...<br />
"A Seminary Street Extension resident was ticketed for an illegal bonfire on May 7. Police said the property owner had been burning, among other things, a mattress, lawn chair, pots, pans, shoes and a copier."<br />
30 color copies a minuite my ass. Burn you sum-a-bitch burn!Chef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7529061034681976835.post-37201667113782823892011-05-06T19:32:00.000-07:002011-05-06T19:32:41.156-07:00So Many Fools...So little space in the Addison Independent.<br />
<br />
You can not make this stuff up. This week's police logs were full of items too good to be true.<br />
<br />
We start in Bristol. Where the Bristol Police...<br />
<br />
"On March 5, assisted a state trooper to detain a subject running in the road and removing clothing."<br />
It was hot. Very hot. Stay with me here and see if you can follow the following...<br />
<br />
"On March 6, received a report from a Bristol man that objects were stolen from his car. The man later reported that a young male returned the property after it was stolen for a friend who had allegedly stolen it."<br />
I'm sure there is a crime here somewhere. If you can figure it out let me know.<br />
<br />
"On March 11, received a report from a Crescent Street resident that her dog, which looked "like a polar bear" had run away."<br />
Run away? Or just returned to the wild after eating all the garbage, which looked "like a fine restaurant meal". <br />
<br />
"On March 15, a Munsill Avenue resident reported her black-and-white cat named "Kitten" had been missing for three days."<br />
Hate to tell you ma'am but I think we found your cat.<br />
<br />
"On March 20, found a black-and-white house cat dead on East Street and the officer properly disposed of it."<br />
Which is more than we can say about this sap's car...<br />
<br />
"On March 25, received a report from an Adirondack View resident that his vehicle was mistakenly sent for scrapping by a towing company following a crash in Burlington."<br />
Not sure but I'm thinking this will probably get settled out of court.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile in Middlebury the police...<br />
<br />
"Were informed that a musical instrument - specifically, a stand-up bass - had been stolen from the Mahady Center for the Arts on April 25."<br />
Probably by someone with a really baggy sweater. And not driving a VW Beetle.<br />
<br />
"Took into protective custody a very drunk local man on May 2. The man proved to be uncooperative, police said - so much so that he was rejected by a detox center in Rutland."<br />
Probably want to leave that off your resume.<br />
<br />
In with the good air, out with bad. Peace. PeterChef Peterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15728286089486778450noreply@blogger.com0