It has taken me a week and a half and even with that this is likely to be a pretty incomprehensible post because it was just a looooong day at work and my brain has shut off, but here is a Vermont post.
My mother's father is from Vermont originally and even though he hasn't lived there in over 60 years, it remains a very important place to him. And Vermont in the fall is his absolute favorite. And because it is special to him and so trips there were significant parts of their childhoods, it is also a special place to my mom and her siblings (climbing Mt. Mansfield in particular).
It was not a big part of my childhood because we lived in California and so didn't make it out. But the applesauce my grandmother made with Vermont Macintosh apples that she and Grandpa got when they were in Vermont each fall was a
very important part of my childhood. I remember Grandma bringing us out a few jars when they came to visit, having packed them carefully in her carry-on (on the list of things you can't do anymore). I have a vivid memory of this occasion one year (I can quite literally see her carry-on bag in my mind and see us standing at baggage claim waiting while Grandpa and my mom got their checked luggage and we guarded the carry-on of applesauce), but I assume it happened other years as well. And visits to Grandma and Grandpa's house always included applesauce that had been made and frozen. I can still taste it. It was objectively wonderful applesauce, but there is also a magical quality of something you only got once a year or so and that is connected to childhood memories at your grandparents' house. Nicholas and I have tried making it ourselves, but it isn't quite right. There was some at my Grandpa's house this summer that my mom or an aunt must have made or worked with Grandpa on at some point, though, that was really close. And I savored every spoonful, being transported back in time 20 years.
Anyway, that was a long tangent to explain why we were in Vermont. Grandpa and three of my aunts and uncles spent a week in Vermont and my parents, a cousin and her son, and Nicholas and I joined them for the weekend. Nicholas now refers to the house we stayed in as "the Vermont house" as though we own it, because it is the same house we all stayed at last summer. He also calls it "the barn house" because it is a barn red color and the windows overlooking the driveway have a barn-like feel. I was surprised that he remembered it so well from last summer, but when I said we were going to Vermont he immediately started talking about which room we would stay in at "the barn house."
We didn't climb Mt. Mansfield this time around (realistically no more than half of us would have been up for it) and we didn't camp (I know it is treasonous, but I really do enjoy this new tradition of renting a house instead of camping--I have gone soft), but we did do some shorter hikes and roast a few marshmallows in a backyard fire pit. And, honestly, the hikes we did were the most I could manage these days. I actually wondered if I'd even be able to do those, but the hideous compression stockings I've been wearing for the last month or so have made a huge difference. It pains me that a mile-long hike is a huge accomplishment for me, but there have been enough points in the last couple months where walking across campus (all of probably 400 yards) caused extreme pain that I thought it might not be possible. And, to be honest, I really only did as much as I did through sheer perseverance (or, as Joe would term it, stubbornness). And I did take the rock sections up and down from the waterfall in a crouch with both hands holding on at all points, although that was more to protect the baby than out of pain. I am positive I looked ridiculous, but since I only have pictures from my camera, I luckily have no photographic evidence of this. The only reason this worked of course is that my mom took charge of Nicholas and keeping a hand on him so that I would have my hands free to keep myself from falling. I felt like I missed out some by not getting to go out into some of the more adventurous spots, but it was fun to watch Nicholas and my mom out on their adventures.
And so on to the pictures:
This looks like an appropriate trail for someone 34 weeks pregnant, doesn't it?
If I reach just a little further . . .
Not so sure about this whole roasted marshmallow thing at first. For a kid who refuses to eat anything above room temperature, though, he warmed up to the idea pretty quickly.
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