when one adventure ends…

…another one is just gearing up to begin.

being home for a wee bit more than a week now, it has become super clear that there are some LOVELY perks to living life in one single home, as opposed to a life spent driving mile after mile on the open road, living off of string cheese and diet coke, gazing at miles of strip malls and strip joints, food carts and food marts, cow pastures and cowboy races….

some of the most fabulous perks include:

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eating food out of my own fridge whenever i’m hungry

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shopping at our local farmers markets. and actually having said fridge to put all the yummy produce into.

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gazing out longingly at our gorgeous mountains in the distance

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baking superfluous treats and treasures.

and perhaps most fun, spending precious minutes and hilarious hours with the fabulous friends that luckily pepper my life

but for all the fabulous pluses (and the wonderment of once again sleeping in MY VERY OWN BED!!!), life at home is super quiet. and the scenery does very little changing. and while i love having my precious car back, i miss the joy of steering a vehicle that didnt struggle with a power steering system that is 100,000 miles old. life at home is comfortable, if also constricting. safe, but unchallenging.

after nearly 21,000 miles on the road, there are minutes i long for the freedom of the highway and the adventure of the hidden bend in the path.

but one doesnt always need to leave home to forge new waters. and so a new adventure has already begun — perhaps even scarier than traversing the country eating yummy food and meeting amazing people. an adventure that unfolds in my very own apartment, gazing out my very own window, hoping to find the words to illuminate this crazy convoluted journey into some kind of a cohesive story…

how on EARTH do you write a book? how do you take those reams of empty paper and somehow fill them up with words that are funny and poignant, telling and crazy all at the same time? how do you quiet the inner critic that constantly screams ‘NO ONE CARES ABOUT ONE MORE CROISSANT!’?

i have no answers to any of these questions. none. whatsoever.

i just have lots more questions, really.

but i’m stoked about this new adventure. maybe even more than the last one. stoked to be scared. and to dive into the unknown with my eyes squeezed way tightly shut. and to my darnedest try to whip up one treat of a tale…

the goal is a finished manuscript by christmas. cross all your fingers. and maybe your toes, too. its going to be one heck of a ride

day 104 – waterbury, vt

So after 104 days spent driving like a crazy person some 20,000 miles exploring the crunchy-creamy-oozy-gooey foods that make the u.s. so darn tasty, it only makes perfect sense to have the very last tasting-stop before home to be the ben and jerry’s factory in upstate waterbury, vermont.

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Friends, i have been to a lot of food-oriented places on this summer-of-grand-adventures. And lots of people have also been AT many of these foody type places (remember the CRAZY line for the lobster rolls? The packed cooking class in santa fe? The unending wait for the cheese samples at the Oregon-based Tillamook factory???), but NOTHING compares to the number of people enjoying this gorgeous day at ben and jerry’s — i am NOT exaggerating when i tell you there were probably 1,000 people there during the brief two hours that i spent eating amazingly creamy ice cream and touring the back-of-the-house to see just where the crunchy mix-ins are whipped into the fabulous vanilla bases… with a $3 dollar tour of 50 people every ten minutes, i can only imagine how happy ben and jerry actually are these days…!

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And while the home-of-all-things-specialty-ice-cream is perched in a gorgeous location, and staffed by some of the friendliest people i have ever met, and covered with way fun ben and jerrys signage and trinkets, it really is just a big-ole-ben-and-jerrys-ice-cream-parlor-that-happens-to-also-have-a-wee-factory-attached. You go on a 10 minute tour. You walk through a gift shop packed to the gills with ben-and-jerrys t shirts and water bottles and ice cream bowls and tragic magnets. And then you go order your fave ben-and-jerrys ice cream treat and eat it outside with your family while smelling the amazingly fresh and sweet Vermont air. And then you are done. and for this, people come from AROUND THE WORLD to participate. Its incredible! Talk about food having a powerful magnetic draw!

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But at the end of the day, it seems to speak volumes — people are willing to travel far and wide to find food that is special…food that is creative and fun and different. Food that is socially conscious (ben and jerrys sources every gallon of their milk from a local Vermont small-farm dairy co-op and gives millions of dollars a year to fabulous non-profit organizations…). Food that is created with great love by people who are well compensated for their efforts (did you know that every person working at ben and jerrys gets to take home 3 PINTS of ice cream after every shift!!! That is reason enough for me to start packing the uhaul for a Vermont relocation!!!!). food that is the true American story —– two grade school buddies, always the slightly roly-poly boys who stuck together because they loved meatball subs more than dodge ball, tragically ‘failing’ at the traditional trajectory of life (jerry applied to nearly hundreds of med schools to be systematically denied by every single one!), who one day had the courage to sign up for a $5 correspondence course in ice cream making from penn state. Its been over 30 years now, and their wee ice cream stand now dominates the international ice cream market. Food created with passion and love, committed to causes that mean something to the people we love, always wins.

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Just ask the 1000 people licking their cones of cherry garcia in the Burlington countryside.

day 102 – bar harbor, me

It is so obviously clear now why the rich and famous summer to maine.  marthas vineyard’s got nothing on the natural beauty of maines coastline — and while it might make recreational swimming a bit tricky, the rocky plunging landscapes, the light hanging cloak of fog, the pristine waters — they all add up to create perhaps the most beautiful state in the continental u.s. (given, having never been to Hawaii or Alaska i thought i should probably put in that caveat. But seriously, maine is freaking gorgeous.)

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passing the cambell estate (yes, yes, of the soup company family dynasty), and one of the many stewart estates (yeppers, that would be Martha and all her crazy dogs!), one is amazed at the striking visual  juxtaposition of life in this tucked away community — the mega rich summer folks hunkered down right next to generations-old lobstering families. In little coastal towns that dot the entire shoreline, stores sell ice cream to day-cruise-trippers and tar-dipped-lobster-traps to local lobstermen, ticky-tacky-tshirts to weeklong visitors and motor oil to fisherman. There is truly something for everyone.

If you love to boat, come to maine. If you love to fish, come to maine. If you love to play outside/hike/camp/read books while lounging in Adirondack chairs/stare off into space at the most gorgeous scenery/shop for french-canadian antiques/really do just about anything to escape from the crazy hustle of metropolitan life… then come to maine. As quickly as you possibly can. Honestly, you might not want to leave…

but most importantly, if you love lobster, come to maine.

In my wee mind, i had imagined maine to be simply TEEMING with lobsters. I even peeked over a gorgeously covered bridge to check the very edges of the coastline to see if the lobsters were just ever-so-quickly crawling up the rocky ledges and into the arms of the next desiring eater. Sadly, no such self-sacrificing lobsters were spotted. The truth is, lobsters are INCREDIBLY abundant in these frigid waters — you just have to know where to find ‘em.

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Enter the maine lobsterman. Tall (these boats are not small. Pipsqueaks like sisterlove and me need not apply for jobs aboard the vessels in these waters.). Normally quite burly (i’ve told you, its freaking COLD out here for like 80 percent of the year!). and extremely strong (a full lobster trap, or pot if you are speaking like a true local, can weigh up to 100 pounds…ones gotta have some fortitude to be able to haul that outta the depths of the ocean to claim his bounty!), these men (yep, like 98 percent or so of all lobster fisher-people are men still to this day…) know these rocky waters better than they know the roads that lead to Portland. They know where the rocks are the craggiest, and thus where the lobsters like to feed and hide. They know where the cannels are the deepest, and thus where the water is the coolest. And they know where their pots have been hauling in lobsters for centuries — measured to length (not too small, nor too big —- gotta protect both the babies and the fabulous big-ole-breeders) and sighted for eggs and brought to market for monies to feed their families and fuel their boats and protect their livelihoods.

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So after an incredible afternoon checking traps and measuring body length, it was time for a quick snack —- and the snack of choice in down-east maine is most certainly the lobster roll.  Like most things in this world, you ‘kinda’ get what you pay for. Clearly lobster is a luxury food item, and thus comes at a luxury price — one knows that going into this kind of eating treat. But what one does NOT expect is a line for a lobster roll to be nearly TWO HOURS long. Yes yes, you heard that right, 2 HOURS for a wee small hotdog bun, lightly toasted and filled with a small handful of shredded lettuce, topped with the delicate meat from a scrumptiously fresh maine lobster and finished with a schmear of mayo or a cup of decidedly-dripping melty butter. (A word to the wise, NEVER come to a local lobster stand that has just been featured as the cover story in the new york times the day before. I’m sure that lobster roll was simply amazing. I would have LOVED to sample their culinary wares. But two hours?!?! Are you KIDDING me?!?!? the wee precious stand just across the street did just fine, thank you very much. With the amazing-ness of fresh lobster, it’s just hard to go too far wrong…)

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It is so dang clear why the luxury-lobsters choose this desolate spot as their home of choice as well — with crystal clear waters, abundant food supply, and lobstermen who care so deeply about the sustainability of their fishing practice as a means to protect both the lobsters and the generations of lobster-lovers to come, maine simply proves deliciously ideal…

day 99 – ipswich, ma

I don’t know why it is, but there are some places on this earth that food just tastes ‘better’. maybe its because of the sea spray bathing everything in  a lovely salty broth. Or maybe its because people have been farming on these same exact lands for nearly 400 years. I really have no clue as to why.

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But the food in ipswich, massachusetts is some of the yummiest tasting i have ever had.

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Clams. Full-bellied Ipswich clams. Pulled fresh from the bay just a few miles down the road and flash-fried-lightning-fast in the lightest of cornmeal batters (they say it’s the evaporated milk dunk that helps the super light batter stay stuck. Gotta give it to ‘em… these things are out of this world…). Served piping hot, like scald-the-roof-of-your-mouth-like-pizza-cheese hot, over a bed of salty onion rings. Tartar sauce for the weak. Eaten outside with the rest of the northern massachusetts beach-going population on a Saturday morning.

perfection.

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Blackberries. Grown on bushes as far as the eye can see on the back edge of a farm that has been in continual use since 1634 (one of the oldest continually-used farms in the COUNTRY!). picked at the deepest of purples and nearly the size of walnuts. Sweet and tart and still warm from the late july sun. when mixed into my absolute-most-favoritest-greek-yogurt i was left speechless.

Unreal.

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And blueberries. Never my favorite fruit, but for some reason up here even these little radiant gems tasted pretty darn good. Still kinda mushy inside, but i can only imagine them tucked into a platter of cornmeal pancakes and drenched with creamery butter and local maple syrup (think i’m hungry for breakfast right about now?!?). plucked off of row after row of mesh-covered-bird-proof bushes (these growers have gotten something right in the past 400 years!), these powder-covered beauties barely made it to the slightly dilapidated wooden ‘check out’ stand.

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I still have no clue why the food in ipswich tastes so freaking delicious. I have my suspicions that it has something to do with the time it sits in transit — the big zero. Pick blackberry, place in mouth. Time in transit – nothing. Gather clams, drive 4 miles to clam shack, fry and serve. Time in transit – barely 5 minutes.  In a country where the average carrot travels nearly 1800 miles (lord how long must that take!!!) to arrive on our dinner plates, its no wonder that taste is often sacrificed in travel translation.

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To have time to pick your own lunch is a total luxury, i get that. but on a gorgeously quiet saturday, overlooking the glistening massachusetts waterways, i can think of no better way to spend the morning…

day 98 – plymouth, ma

My love for living-in-the-olden-times may have come to a ceasing halt. After a day at plimoth (yes, that is how they spell it there!) plantation, my desire to don the overwhelmingly heavy woolen dresses and tend the chickens/bake all the bread/stoke the oppressively hot fire/weed the garden/make sure the children aren’t dying of small pox/etc… has totally lessened — in fact, i am left with zero envy and tons of awe. Early life on the Massachusetts coastal plantation looks absolutely atrocious — dirty and smelly and dingy and hot and just way too much for me to handle —- seriously, after this summer-of-unending-heat, i cannot FATHOM a life any longer without central air conditioning. I’d even perhaps give up refrigeration for a just a few wee hours of sitting in front of that little plastic vent, ice cold air bathing my legs and reminding me of the power of the good life….

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(seriously, if you have not traveled to the living history museum at plimoth plantation, it is TOTALLY worth your time — while they do their best to address the dynamic faced by both native american and european cultures living in such close proximity, the native wampanoag homesite is markedly smaller than that of the european settlers. Getting past the discrepancy of both size and information, the museum and the costumed interpreters do a wonderful job telling the ‘true’ story of life in the mid 1600’s on the shores of the atlantic in northern new england. Life was complicated and difficult, and they spare no energy in reminding us how different things really were back then. If i saw one more dirt covered bed i thought i might lose it…  Animals run free. Fires are burning year round. People are cooking and weaving and making barrels. Its super interactive and super informative — totally worth a day trip from your cape cod vacation )

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Some morsels learned from the day-trip-to-the-past:

1)      People brought olive oil to the new world on the mayflower! OLIVE OIL!!! Can you believe it?!!? i had NO CLUE our oil-of-choice-today was so popular some 400 years ago! To see a woman dressed to the nines in colonial garb frying up some pancakes in the most extra virgin of olive oils was amazing! (i guess i never realized how vital oil is for community success —- from the olive oils of the napa valley (and the Massachusetts colony!), to the whale oil of new Bedford, the corn oil of the southwest, and the refined oils used today in abundance, oil is such a crucial element to the success of peoples around our country…)

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2)      It took a REALLY long time for people to realize that kitchens DO NOT BELONG inside homes. I cant even tell you, but the kitchens in these colonists home were simply corners of their houses with fires in them. Literally. No fire places. No real chimneys. Nothing to protect the wee babies from toddling right into the fire-pits. Just a corner of the house sanctioned off to build a daily fire for warmth and light and cooking. Nothing could be more terrifying. It makes SO MUCH SENSE that lawmakers in the 1800’s finally put it on the books that it was illegal to have kitchens inside homes, and as such everyone began building separate kitchens behind their physical houses. (after living in a college dorm for 4 years, if i had to go outside at 3am to the sounds of alarms blaring for one more popcorn ‘fire’ i might have ended someone…. Perhaps we should go back to this kitchens-as-not-a-part-of-the-living-space after all…)

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3)      Its no wonder that the colonists and the native peoples were so thin — they worked super hard from sun up to sun down, and they originated the atkins diet! Protein everywhere! Truly the mainstay of their diets, most people living at plimoth ate tons of meat — oysters and fishes from the bay, deer and bear from the forests, wild birds and small mammals from the fields, beans and peas from the harvest. And while they did grow massive fields of domesticated corn, much of that growth went to feed the animals and/or make a thin breakfast-ish gruel. (As a meat-lover myself, perhaps i could have gotten used to the life-of-drudgery if only for a plate of the freshest sea oysters?! yeah right.)

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They say people don’t miss things they don’t know exist (hence i guess the lovely puritans certainly didn’t long for the glory of air conditioning!). but i cant imagine all the things the colonists must have surely missed from their days in Europe — friends and loved ones, community gatherings, access to endless produce growers, and the list goes on and on… and as for me, winding down the summer-of-culinary-adventure, i have totally missed those exact things as well. To travel across a sea, or across a nation, there are still moments when the pull from home is tantalizingly strong — even when you know the adventure is worth every moment.

I’m just super glad i didn’t have to do mine in a woolen hoop dress