Babbie August 2004

August 2004

August 01

I think I will experiment with a different journal format and procedure: writing notes from time to time throughout the month rather than waiting to see how (and whether) it turns out in the end. I supposed that pushes me the final step toward "blogging."

We are pretty much settled at the camp now, waiting for the weather to catch up with our vacation plans. Specifically, we could stand a few days of sunshine to warm up the pond. I think Sheila and I are both getting a little edgy at hearing each other scream when we attempt to take a dip.

As I sat on the porch early this morning, I watched Harry the Heron (we give all the animals alliterative names) break with his normal pattern. For the past nine or ten years, we have watched Harry (we assume it's the same one) circle the pond and land somewhere along the shore, where he proceeds to stealthily creep in search of food. We have never seen him catch a fish. This morning, I was astounded to watch him circle the pond and then plop down like a duck about 40 feet from shore. He floated around for about a minute or so and then abruptly took off--dropping a fish as he did so. I think Harry should consider a different line of work, something in the visitor industry perhaps. He's quite photogenic.

During the day, I have seen Harry, a fawn running along the road, a loon on Greenwood Lake, and a fisher cat scurrying up and down our driveway. It always feels good to be sharing this land with animals (bugs excluded).

We had an enjoyable evening at a church picnic in Greensboro. My mom's church is celebrating its bicentennial, and part of the observance was a picnic dinner that was almost rained out but not quite. Even though we knew almost no one there, we had a good time and enjoyed hearing people reminisce about the old days in the church. I especially appreciate the way the church has become a welcoming part of my mom's return to Vermont.

August 04

This afternoon, we took my mom to visit cousins, Lewis and Nancy Hill. Although our purpose is simply to spend time together, we usually use their day lilies as an excuse. So, keeping up the pretense, my feeling is that unless you do something really stupid, you can't take ugly pictures of flowers. Here, I think, is some support for that thesis.


	Everybody loves flowers. (And I love this camera.)

August 08

Although the weather continues to be colder than we would wish, we had a great time yesterday. In the afternoon we were visited by friends from New York and Pennsylvania. Charlie and Steve are friends from high school, and I am not in touch with any friends I have had longer than that. As they are now "retired" from the law and medicine, respectively, we are now exploring a new stage of life together. So, naturally, we spend most of the time talking about jazz and computers, while the wimminfolk talk about. . .I'm not actually sure what they talk about, though I overheard one saying, "How long did it take them to start talking about computers this time?"

For dinner, we drove an hour on back roads to reach Brookfield, a small town within spitting distance of the freeway, which has successfully voted against having a freeway exit near them. (The nearest is five miles away, and it's not obvious how to get to the town from there.) The town's streets are unpaved, and there doesn't seem to be a lot of commerce, but there is a surprisingly upscale restaurant that Sheila and I stumbled across a year in our Vermont 251 adventure (visiting each of the 251 towns and cities in the state). We had a great time at dinner last night, though the restaurant was not as magical as we remembered from the first time. I guess that often happens.

This morning, we went for a walk at Greewood Lake. We take a walk every morning it's not raining, so that would hardly seem blogworthy. Still I think it's worth reminding ourselves now and then of the astoundingly beautiful environment we risk taking for granted. Here's a picture of Greenwood Lake this morning and one from our Nelson Pond walk three days ago.

The picture to the left is another view of Greenwood Lake this morning to illustrate the gorgeous clouds we see (on sunny days) and how they are reflected in the lakes and ponds.

If you are less than giddy about this picture, I might point out that I've posted it upside down. The prominent clouds in the top half of the photo are actually a reflection in the lake. If you look at the picture directly above it, you'll see a similar effect.

This is a magical place. We are every day reminded of John Muir's reverence for the natural world and the sense of the sacred he found there. In the same spirit, The Gospel of Thomas (which the Vatican denounces as heretical) quotes Jesus saying the Kingdom of God is everywhere: "Split a piece of wood; I am there. Lift up a stone, and you will find me there." We are appreciating the pieces of wood and the stones all around us.

For lunch today, we joined our friends at Simon Pearce's in Queechee. This place is noted for its pottery and glass blowing--and it has a first-rate restaurant. Here we are at lunch, and I've included the view just outside the window.

August 11

Vermont (and here in the Northeast Kingdom region of the state) is no place to escape politics. When I grew up here, everyone was a Republican. I remember hearing a joke about the small town with one Democrat: Charley. Every election, the town selectmen would sit down to count the ballots: Republican, Republican, Republican, and, eventually, Democrat, at which point they would say, in a chorus, "Charley," and then continue, Republican, Republican. . . One election tally began that way, but a little while after counting Charley's vote, they were astounded to open another Democratic ballot. They sat speechless for a moment, until one of the selectmen took both Democratic ballots and tore them up, muttering, "The bastard voted twice."

Things have changed since I grew up here as a boy. Bernie Sanders was, for years, the Socialist mayor of Burlington and now serves as an Independent in the House of Representatives. Jim Jeffords threw control of the Senate temporarily to the Democrats by leaving the Republican Party to become an Independent, caucusing with the Democrats. More recently, Howard Dean's run for president, though unsuccessful, brought life into the Democratic Party, and Vermont is regarded as a solidly Blue state in 2004.

Today, I had the pleasure of spending some time with Bob Kinsey, a farmer in East Craftsbury, who served 30 years in the state legislature and was voted out primarily, it's assumed, because of his support for Civil Union. As a leading Republican in the legislature, his shifting his position to support the measure carried a lot of weight--and also got him targeted for ouster by the anti-gays. Pat Robertson, among others, came here to campaign for Bob's opponent in the next election. (The sticker on Bob's tractor, saying "Throw out the 6-pack" refers to the six candidates voted in on an anti-gay wave.) I took this picture of Bob as he was getting his John Deere tuned up for the Craftsbury parade on Saturday, part of his campaign to win back his seat in the legislature. He is certainly a man of enormous courage and independent thought. (It didn't hurt that he's an old friend of my cousin Lewis Hill and spoke fondly of serving in the legislature with my uncle, Leon Babbie.)

After spending some time with Bob, I went to lunch with a colleague and his wife, only to have a nearby table filled by Chief Justice Bill Rehnquist and friends. (I assume they were friends; I'm pretty sure they weren't the rest of the Supremes. I would have recognized Thomas dozing off or Scalia killing ducks.)

With no statistical evidence to back it up, I think there is a very strong libertarian strain in the collective mentality of Vermonters: a genuine live and let live morality. The backlash against Civil Union was, I think, an aberration, very unVermont-like. More than a few counterculture refugees from the 60s sought to get back to nature in the Green Mountains, and those who were seen to be serious about living on and with the land seem to have been accepted. There are more pony-tailed farmers than you can count. There is also evidently more than a little ganja being grown alongside the turnips, but no one seems to get overly excited about it. I'm getting clearer about my own fundamental reluctance to tell other people how to live their lives, as long as they aren't doing serious damage to others.

August 13

I'll start this journal from Logan Airport, where I am between flights, on my way to San Francisco for the American Sociological Association annual meetings. (Yes, I'm flying on Friday the 13th.)

As we drove to the Burlington airport this morning, I felt as though I was fleeing the East Coast before a deluge. The news is filled with Bonnie and Charley attacking Florida and other chad-challenged regions, and Vermont hasn't been doing all that great either. Yesterday was the heaviest rain I've seen in a long time, threatening to fill the pond to overflowing. It was also the day we were scheduled to pick up a television set in Barre, which we'll use the rest of the summer and then give to my mom. There is a TV in the camp, but it only gets one station, pretty much all in green. We bought a snazzy set with DVD and VCR built in. Somehow I missed the part about it weighing 62.5 pounds, when we ordered it Tuesday. It was so big that we had to take it out of the box at the store and squeeze the TV into the back seat of the car. Sheila pushed her seat way back to keep it wedged in place while we did the rest of our shopping and for the drive home.

But this is about the weather. When we got back to the camp, the electricity was on, (Oh, yeah, it went out just as we were leaving for Barre.), but despite all my chanting "Rain, rain, go away" and reminding Sheila that "It's always darkest before the dawn," the rain kept coming down. I backed the car onto the lawn, with the back door just a few feet from the front door to the porch--and the rain kept pouring. Whenever I'd even think about getting the TV, the rain would increase (how does it know?). Finally, I pulled out a tarpaulin, stretched in over my head, then over the back door of the car, and then over the 62.5-pound TV (did I mention it was big?) (and heavy?) and wrestled it inside, unwet and undropped.

To our surprise, we learned that the camp gets THREE channels in ALL THE COLORS. There are four if you count the snowy Canadian channel in French, but I don't want Dick Cheney and John Ashcroft learning that I know a foreign language, especially the linguistic F-word. (Cheney evidently knows all the F-words, but he considers French the only dirty word.)

The flight to Boston, while booked full, was uneventful and I had plenty of time in the terminal to work. Now it is time to get on the San Francisco flight and head off in search of the Golden Gate. [Later: I arrived safely, after another uneventful flight.] [Let the Wild Sociology begin.]

August 14

My first day at the ASA convention was both relaxed and hectic. It was relaxed in that I didn't attend a lot of sessions. Some that I had initially planned ended up on the cutting room floor--particularly the late-night Department Alumni Night. This is always a great opportunity to meet and mingle old friends from schools you are or have been associated with. In a large ballroom, individual departments pay for a signed table that serves as a gathering place. It has the feeling of a huge and happy cocktail party. Unfortunately, I don't do well at cocktail parties. Whether physical or psychological, my hearing goes on vacation in such situations, and my interactions are not always on the mark. "My wife left me after she learned I had cancer!" "Hey, that's great. Keep it up." Also, standing around usually gives me a backache. God, I sound old! (Hey, I am.)

My "relaxed" comments above give some indication of how the day was also hectic. Although I had no specific obligations, I wanted to get out and mingle, hear some presentations, meet some friends. All of that happened, but it took place in three different hotels, each laid out with the intention of confusing the Nazi invaders. At one point, I got on an elevator with a group of people whose transportation was already in progress. I pushed '4.' It didn't respond. I pushed it again and again--no luck. Finally, a young woman politely said, "You were already on the fourth floor." So I surrendered to the elevator police, rode to the very top floor, and, with no one left to watch me, I pressed '4' and returned to my previous condition of lostitude. I eventually discovered that the room I was looking for had cleverly been hidden on the 3rd floor. (Take that, you Nazi swine. Zut alors.)

The one session I attended was about the teaching of sociology, the proponents of which feel like an embattled and unappreciated minority in sociology and in academia. It has been my impression that my discipline is primarily composed of subgroups who feel like embattled and unappreciated minorities, but in the case of teaching, there's a special irony. Teaching is what most members of the ASA do: yet, graduate schools devote very little time (if any) to HOW to teach, and teaching is not as prestigious as research when it comes to promotion, tenure, grants, and the various payoffs in academic life. (Another embattled and unappreciated minority in the ASA, incidentally, are those sociologists in non-academic jobs--i.e., those who don't teach at all.) All that aside (too late), the session was wonderful. All the presenters were old friends, the format was a roundtable, and we had a grand conversation about various aspects of teaching sociology.

So far, I haven't taken any photos. I mean, you don't need to see the picture of my hotel room, and I simply didn't think to take any pictures as I wandered around and among the teeming masses of sociology. I'll do better tomorrow, so you can have a better sense of what it's like here.

August 15

Happy Anniversary to Ara and Aaron.

This was probably my busiest day of the meetings, and it went well. In the morning, I co-led a discussion of "teaching research ethics to undergraduates." I appreciate this being a topic for discussion now, since I recall putting a discussion of research ethics into Survey Research Methods in 1973 and being trashed by the reviewers, who felt such a discussion had no place in a text on doing research. Beside my section on "The Rights of Subjects," one reviewer wrote, "What about the rights of science?" I was a little taken aback, since I didn't think science had any rights. Anyway, things have changed, and one of the problems today is the overzealousness of some review boards, making meaningless demands in the name of ethics that make research impossible without really protecting anyone. I take it as confirmation that one of the key principles of human beings is that anything worth doing is worth doing to excess.

I was especially pleased to have three of my Chapman students show up during the session. To tell the truth, I got some ego gratification from having them discover that other sociologists knew my name and used my books, that IK'm not just the guy who wears aloha shirts to class.

Had lunch with an old friend and graduate school colleague, Metta Spencer, who has pretty much devoted her life to the cause of peace. In addition to traveling all over the world in that pursuit, she also publishes Peace Magazine. She has also been working on a study of the ways entertainment media are used to instill values in a society and will have a book out on that shortly.

I attended a student session during the afternoon. The ASA has become a very student-friendly organization, with special activities for students and sessions in which students present papers (in addition to participating in the rest of the program). I always enjoy mingling with students and reassuring myself that sociology is in good hands.

My photography hasn't really taken off at the meetings, but here are a couple of blurry shots: on the student panel and of the milling mob of sociologists in the Hilton lobby. It may give you some idea of what my environment is like here.

The evening ended on a PARTY note. I attended three receptions. (I couldn't locate the fourth I had scheduled.) I won't reiterate my sad tale about standing around, pretending to understand what people are saying, and stamping my right foot in an attempt to get feeling back into my leg. The final event of the evening was a fund-raiser for the Teaching Endowment Fund, entitled, "Just Desserts," which features what the name suggests. Since I got there just as they were opening (yeah, yeah, I know, not a surprising piece of information), I got to have some coffee and dessert SITTING DOWN in a pretty QUIET environment where I could carry on real conversations. It was a great ending to a busy day.

August 16

The best news so far has nothing to do with the convention. For weeks (months?), I've been trying to reorganize the online course I'll be teaching this fall (starting two weeks from today, in fact). Unfortunately, Chapman has been upgrading the online instruction system, and I have been unable to log in to do the extensive work I need to do. This morning, the dam(n) partially broke, and I've skipped the morning sessions to upload files to the web, test them, discover what I had done wrong in the first place, revise, re-upload, etc. If you have absolutely nothing better to do with your time and have any interest in learning why this is a big deal for me, you can preview the course in the backup system I created in case the university conversion failed. If you have a really perverse interest in such things, you can check on the social problems course I am constructing for Spring 2005.

Most of the afternoon centered on publishing. I had lunch with one editor, then met with two others to discuss possibilities for electronic products. I am increasingly interested in creating educational processes that don't show up on paper. My interest isn't specifically motivated by saving some trees, but that would be a byproduct.

A delightful surprise during the afternoon was to finally meet my Canadian co-author, Lucia Benaquisto. We spent half an hour or so getting to know each other and I came away thoroughly excited about the partnership that was created by Canadian editors a few years ago and which should last through many successful editions, eh? It's great to have co-authors you'd seek out as friends, and I've been blessed with several.

Early in the evening, I went to a reception for the Communication and Information Technology section of ASA, which I chaired a few years ago. (It used to be called Computers and Society.) Near the end of the evening, I fell into a conversation with a colleague whom I never see because he lives all the way up in Los Angeles. He had just spent his sabbatical in a Zen monastery, doing, well, nothing. We talked with increasing excitement about. . .nothing for what seemed like. . .no time. For the first time in the convention, I came back to the room late at night, more energized than when I left it.

August 17

My last day of the convention has gone well. I began with an 8:30 meeting that I co-chaired, looking at how the ASA can support and collaborate with state and regional sociological associations.

At 10:30, I attended a session looking at different aspects of the "digital divide," with participants from the Netherlands and Sweden as well as the USA.

By noon, I was ready for a quiet, relaxed lunch with Dr. Alex Cross solving another murder mystery. As I sat in the hotel restaurant, gazing out the window, I realized I was looking directly at Nordstrum's, where Aaron and Ara met and fell in love (well, I don't know if they actually fell in love in Nordstrum's, per se) while working there. I thought that was particularly apt, two days after their anniversary.

After lunch, I attended the business meeting of the Communication and Information Technology section of ASA, where I received an award for instruction in support of teaching students to use computers. (That's me with the big smile and the plaque.)

I had originally planned to go to a couple of more sessions, but frankly, I think I'm going to take a long soak in the tub and get in a frame of mind to fly back to Vermont tomorrow.

That's it from the American Sociological Association and San Francisco.

August 18

4:20 p.m.: I am in Boston, at Logan airport. It's funny how you can be in a city these days and not really be there. I am in an airport terminal that is like every other airport terminal (no offense, Logan). For the past five days, I haven't really been in San Francisco, but in Westin, Hilton, and Renaissance. Here in the American Airlines Admiral's Club, I can connect to the internet and be a part of my virtual community the same way I have in so many other places: San Francisco, Vermont, Bodo (Norway), etc.. To quote the book title I wish I had thought up, Reality Isn't What It Used To Be.

The filled-to-the-rafters flight from SFO wasn't bad. We didn't crash and die, which is always a good sign, I think. I'm the only person I know who would add "I think" to that sentence, but I'm uncomfortable making assertions based wholly in belief and devoid of evidence. Thus, I am puzzled by those people who are absolutely certain that heaven is a wonderful place and then do everything possible to avoid going there. Only the Islamic suicide bombers seem to have the courage of their convictions in that regard--which I do not regard as a good thing, and I hope they will be disappointed.

As I begin to ramble, it is probably time to get some dinner and wend my way toward Delta Airlines, where I fly to Vermont between 9 and 10. Then, it's back to the pond and, soon, the kids. See you there.

August 19

Spent today recovering from the San Francisco trip (I'm too embarrassed to say how late I slept) and getting ready for Aaron, Ara, Evelyn, and Henry to arrive (tomorrow night). It is great to be back in Vermont. There have been reports of sun-sightings all around the state. When we were leaving the grocery store this afternoon, the deluge was so bad, I backed the car onto the sidewalk under the overhang so we could schlepp our groceries into the trunk. We were in for even heavier rain on the drive home but found the dirt road to the camp bone dry and dusty. No one with Vermont experience will puzzle over any of this, of course, and we are hoping for good weather during the kids' visit.

August 20

Our kids and grandkids arrived last night, after a fashion. As is my nature, I got us to the airport an hour early, and we were planning to have a bite to eat in the airport restaurant with our friend, Fay, and Evie's best friend in Vermont, Fay's granddaughter, Kameron. The only problem (at that point) was that the Burlington International Airport restaurant closes at 6:00 p.m. on Friday night. In their defense, I would say there weren't a lot of people in the airport at that hour. And, at least, we had the gift shop, so we could subsist on trailmix and chocolate. Except the gift shop closed. There was, however, the vending machine which served us until we ran out of one-dollar bills. To be completely honest, however, I should mention that by the time we got there, Fay and Kameron had gone to the deli across the street and bought some sandwiches, which they generously shared with us.

Then, the plane was an hour late. The crew for the second leg of the trip from Portland were either (1) late getting in from Canada or (2) hung up in the bar. Aaron says Henry had been quite good on the first leg of the trip, even sleeping much of the way. He was fine during the regularly scheduled layover in Detroit but started getting testy during the added delay. (Get used to it, Hank.) Everyone seemed happy to finally arrive in Vermont. Here are some frames from the video. There may be more pictures in the days to come.

August 21

It is raining. I'm beginning to feel a little like Allen Sherman at Camp Granada.

[Later] Despite almost continuous rain and it being cold enough to keep us all inside most of the day, I think a good time was had by all (to coin a clever phrase) (I am a writer, after all). At one point, Evie and Henry actually frolicked in the pond. I have no pictures of the event, since I was deeply engaged in a game of dominos with some of my more competitive relatives. (They should really see someone about that.) With weather forecasts promising better weather Sunday, with more sun-sightings, I'm planning on a full photo album of kids-in-pond action. (Given the notorious inaccuracy of weather forecasts in Vermont, as elsewhere, I'm thinking of trying to broadcast daily weather forecasts for the past. "Yesterday's weather will be cold and rainy." At least and at last people will have forecasts they can depend on.)

The less than Summer-Vacation-Advertising-Quality weather, I managed to squeeze off a couple of pictures. Here's some sense of the day.

August 22

What can I say--the weather was sensational. One photographer went too long without his hat and burned his bald head. (You forget about such things after so long without sun.) But a great time was had by all, I think. Probably the pictures say it better than I can, so. . .

August 23

After yesterday's family reunion and barbeque, today was pretty quiet. Oh sure.

Bob and Fay Gallant came by with granddaughters, Kameron and Katie, and we packed up for:

Ben and Jerry's

The Vermont Teddy Bear Factory

The Alpine Slide at Mt. Mansfield in Stowe

If we didn't do anything, why am I so tired? Must be getting old. (Yes, I went down the slide. I had planned to take pictures on the way down, but that wasn't happening.)

August 24

Today was a tad more relaxing. Aaron and Henry came over for a dip in the pond. Even though it was still quite chilly and Henry has zero percent body fat (he's a lean, but not mean, swimming machine), Henry was determined to bond with the pond. Wearing his innertube suit, he splashed around while Aaron kept hands on, and then he SOLOed. I anticipate he will be paddling around on his own again before the kids leave. Aaron was similar when only a little older than Henry is now. Once he got it, we couldn't get him out of the water.

The big event of the day for Evelyn was her first sugar on snow (aka, sugaring off). While this is traditionally done in the spring, when there is snow on the ground and the sap is running (yeah, yeah, we've heard all those cute jokes), the advent of freezers has extended the possibility throughout the year. Cousins Lewis and Nancy were kind enough to dip into their snow stash and expose the kids (well, and the adults, too) to this tasty and festive event.

Snow is packed into some flat pans. Maple syrup is boiled to a somewhat thicker consistency, and it is then drizzled onto the snow. As it congeals, you pick it up with a fork and do what comes naturally.

Other essentials of the ritual are: (1) pickles and (2) jelly donuts. Go figure. Imagine how many ancient Vermonters died experimenting with other possibilities: radishes, eclairs, onions, macaroons. I like to think we all had some degree of reverence for those who went before us, sacrificing themselves to establish such a perfect ritual. But then, I think a lot of things like that, and Sheila assures me other people don't necessarily do that.

What did Henry think about the ancient tradition of sugaring off, you ask?

Frankly, he thought it was a snore.

(Okay, I'll try to control my devastating wit.)

A sumptuous dinner at Bob and Fay's made the evening complete and my tummy a bit tubbier. (That's on tomorrow's agenda--and the rest of my life.) Before dinner, however, we were treated to boat rides on Valley Lake (aka Dog Pond), and a practical lesson in venture capitalism. (We're training Kameron and Evie to take care of us in our old age. They charged some of us 25 cents a cup and others 50 cents or even two dollars. I'm counting on them to revive Enron in a few years.)

August 25

Today, Evie confronted the animal kingdom, the mystery of death and the possibilities of art, while Henry learned a thing or two about naked women.

For most of the afternoon, Sheila and I took Evie on an expended shopping trip, so I could pick up my repaired (died in NYC) computer and buy the wrong kind of DVDs. Thinking none of that would interest Evie, we added a couple of diversions. The first involved what was billed as a petting zoo, though the actual petting involved sticking your fingers through the wire mesh and hoping you'd end up with as many fingers as you started with. Evie used the opportunity to express what may be a natural human urge to feed animals. She focused her affections on a baby goat and a rabbit.

We were retrieving my computer from a shop in Barre, which is better known for granite quarries than for Macintoshes. Growing up in Vermont, I knew Barre was famous for granite, but I had never visited the cemetry located on the outskirts of the city, which features some ingenius igneous creations. Evie was fascinated by the amazing headstones, and we never had to explain why they were here or what lay beneath the surface. Here are just a few examples.

Moving from death to art, Evie spent some time with my mom, Evie's GG, to help complete a painting Evie selected for her bedroom. Our initial idea was that Evie would actually help complete the painting, but she proved reticent in that. However, she was delighted to put brush to canvas (okay, a sterofoam plate) for her own creation. By the way, my mom is a great artist, in my humble, unbiased opinion.

The day ended with us joining Bob and Fay to babysit the littles, so Aaron, Ara, Kirk, and Kim could go out to dinner. Henry's favorite part of the evening was splashing in the tub with Katie. As the older woman, she kept leading him astray: pouring water down your chest, sticking your tongue under the faucet, etc. I worry about his tendency to blindly follow the lead of naked women.

Only time will tell, I guess.

August 26

Here's a picture I took the other morning at Mirror Lake. I always think it's romantic to see the mist rising up off a lake or pond. There is another point of view, however.

This phenomenon is caused by the water being warmer than the air, and the mist represents the heat leaving the water.

Every morning I have watched the air leach out whatever little heat is in the pond, seeing it get less and less swimable.

This morning, on the other hand, was quite nice. It was almost 60° when I got up this morning, and it has been getting warmer ever since.

(I only showed you this picture, because I liked it and forgot to include it the day I took it.)

Our morning walk was different today, being a fully family affair. Aaron and Ara showed up with a two-seater stroller, which worked for awhile. However, both passengers bailed and insisted on walking. For his part, Henry discovered stones and the throwing thereof.

After our walk, the pond beckoned to all of us, and even I went in. Hence, I didn't take any pictures, though Aaron took this one.

August 27

This actually seemed like a more laid back day. Our main activity was a return to the Apline Slide at Spruce Peak in Stowe. Part of the laid-back-ed-ness came when I volunteered to stay in the car and read while Henry completed what turned out to be a lengthy nap. It was a peaceful setting and the temperature was wonderful, and Dr. Alex Cross moved ever closer to catching the dastardly serial killers. (As opposed to warm and sensitive serial killers? Perhaps adding 'dastardly' was a bit much. I'll work on that.)

When Henry woke up, he showed no concern about my being the only familiar face in sight. We packed up his walking-around stuff and headed off to the finish line for the slide. I watched for family members while Henry watched a bulldozer and steamshovel at work on the slope. When a nearby dog barked, Henry returned the greeting. But still no sign of our family.

Then one of the staff started hiking up the hillside along the concrete troughs, and word spread throughout the waiting crowd that there had been an accident. No sliders appeared at the finish line and we waited. Eventually a few sliders appeared on one of the two troughs. Then I could see a man walking down the hill carrying a child in his arms. Not a good sign, though I was pretty sure the man in the distance was not Aaron, nor the child Evie. When they got closer, I could see the child was a boy about 8 or 9 with several ugly though not fatal bruises on his face. And he seemed to be with his grandfather! I shook with empathy (and tingled with gratitude it wasn't me bringing a damaged child home to his parents).

Eventually, Ara and Evie came down the slide. Ironically, Aaron was already down, sitting around the corner from where Henry and I were waiting. But where was Sheila? She hadn't been with us the previous time, so I had some concerns over the lengthy delay. Had she also had an accident? Had the injured child shaken her too much to come down? Had she taken some time to correct the way the slide was organized and operated? Turns out the delay was simply due to the earlier accident and the less than rocket-science handling of the situation up top, and here's what eventually appeared. Turns out this was Sheila's third trip down the slide.

After the Alpine Slide, we rounded out the day with a pizza lunch, ice cream, a little playground, a dip in the pond, the farmer's market, and dinner in the camp. As I say, it was a more laid back day. And it was the last full day with the kids in Vermont. Tomorrow they return home.

August 28

Today was about goodbyes. The kids left on an early afternoon flight, which gave us time to feed some horses, stop at a couple of playgrounds along the way, and have lunch at the airport. Henry had the last word, which said it all. After a week of excitement and nearly perfect weather, we came home to a quiet camp, except for the sound of distant thunder--getting closer. (The skies opened for a deluge at 4:30 the next morning.)

August 31

Although the kids are gone, the memories definitely linger on (to coin another clever phrase), and those memories were augmented when Fay emailed some of the pictures she took. Here are some you may enjoy.