the squibix family blog

I've been indulging his desires at the markets because the end of strawberry season is nearly upon us. As always, I failed to fully appreciate the bounty of the season (never mind all that jam: I never did make the vanilla strawberry). I count myself as a sufferer of fruit guilt, the existence of which I was not aware until recently, but which symptoms describe me pretty well. That's what drives me to make jam: I just can't handle the pressure of eating fruit when it's available! Someday we'll have our own fruit plants producing at the level we want, and then it'll be a good thing that Leah and Harvey will be picking and eating because I sure won't be able to manage it.

I lured some ducks in towards the beach with Katie's wheat thins. Harvey was thrilled at the close-up.

After a bit, they even let Leah and me try out the boats! We took turns, so there would always be one parent onshore with Harvey. It was great fun, except apparently these are the kind of boats that you have to work hard to make them go.

They even took pictures of me, so there's finally photographic evidence that I exist and and am like a totally awesome boatman.

It may be argued that Christians shouldn't be celebrating the 4th of July, but at the picnic the observations are much more about listening to music, stuffing our faces with cupcakes and watermelon, and being in community with neighbors. More than just a celebration of this country—and hey, there's plenty about the United States that I'm happy to celebrate!—4th of July is our summer festival, and it's wonderful to cut loose with some bluegrass music and tasty food, and maybe a sparkler or two after it gets dark (if we aren't asleep by then).

Harvey is happy to salute those ideals... or maybe he just wants to get back into the trailer to go home!

It seems counter-intuitive, certainly, to choose a human-powered mode of transportation when the news outlets are broadcasting heat advisories and things, and we do get some odd looks from motorists. But a little bit of driving in the car today (we had to take Rascal to somewhere he could swim) showed us that, in today's weather at any rate, biking is actually cooler than driving. At least, than driving in my car with it's regrettably inefficient air-conditioning. The movement of the bike even at low speed creates a wonderful cooling breeze, an effect that isn't replicated by the much faster air around the car: not enough of it gets in, not nearly enough to counteract the effects of sitting inside a metal-and-glass box. The only thing to be careful of is going too fast. Start to work too hard, of course, and that breeze doesn't have a chance of dissipating the heat that'll quickly build up. Now if only I could find a way of dissipating the huge clouds of smugness that envelop me after I travel anywhere by bicycle...

And I tell ya, nothing brings out the worst in parents like berry picking under a hot sun. Some wonderful displays of family togetherness and enthusiasm, sure, but just as much unproductive nagging, threatening, and hitting children who aren't as into the whole agriculture thing as their parents. To be fair, the parent who smacked her kid did it because he had just hit his cousin; that'll teach him not to hit, right? If you don't want to escalate all the way to physical punishment, there's always threatening to deny your little monster the traditional post-picking doughnuts (blueberry this season, and delicious!), and, once you've already told him that he's not getting the doughnut and he's still not listening, threatening to take back the toys you gave him yesterday. Is it worth it to get your blueberries at below-market rate? I say yes!

Of course, we're never going to do anything like that because we're perfect parents. We showed him what berries to pick ("not the green ones!" resounding from all corners of the farm) and gently discouraged him from pulling off leaves and stems; we allowed him to eat a representative number of berries, but not go nuts; and we provided him with an enjoyable alternative when his interest in berry-picking flagged (though his interest in berry eating was unchanged, if not stronger than before). And we'll give him some of the jam from the berries we picked, because, again unlike last year, I was able to get myself going to make both raspberry and blueberry jam the same day we picked. I also made bread this afternoon for my precious darling son to eat. Are there any parenting awards that I'm eligible for?

You can read it all yourself, wherever you are in the world, if you care to: we receive the "Concord Edition" if you'd like to fully replicate my experience.

So instead I stayed right where I was on the floor, and I'm sure Harvey preferred it that way. He, too, seemed a little nonplussed by the goings-on, mainly wondering why everybody else was making so much noise. It may surprise you to hear it, Leah, but it turns out we have a pretty quiet baby! In the end, though, while we might have had more fun hanging out with the puppets and the board books, I think it's nice for Harvey to see what other kids are like every once and a while—it's important for him to be able to realize how advanced he is. And I didn't mind, because just like in middle school I was reading a book the whole time, one I picked up from the new books stacks on the way in called Hell Is Other Parents. Good thing it was a paperback so I could keep the cover folded back as I read: I wouldn't have wanted the other folks in the room to think I meant it as any sort of personal reflection!

It helped that the bushes at Parlee Farms are so laden with berries that you can pretty much sit and pick in one spot for long minutes at a time, because a one-year-old holding on to your legs (not pictured) does tend to impede mobility.

When the bay got bored of picking I took a turn to bring him to see the goats ("goh!" he says). Leah tirelessly picked eight-and-a-half pounds of berries, and while other engagements prevented me from yet turning any into jam, Leah froze a considerable amount—about half of the total—for later consumption in smoothies. Yum!

All the fun even wore Harvey out, and he spent most of it sitting down in cushioned comfort, so I'm not entirely sure how that works...

With all the strawberries I got we put up 12 pints of strawberry jam, against seven last year; eight pints of blueberry versus last year's four; and two pints of raspberry, something we didn't even preserve last year (though we did make raspberry freezer jam). Up next is relish: there are six big yellow zucchinis sitting on the counter and another one ready to harvest, so I'd better get going!

Of course, even coal miners have to sleep sometimes...

Here at the squibix household we're firm believers in taking what we can get from other people's cast-off possessions. I mostly come home with useless things like sleds and lots and lots of windows, but Leah's finds are far more practical: a rubbermaid container for storing clothes, a set of bed rails still in their original packaging. The other day while we were biking she noticed a big bag of kids clothes and snagged five very serviceable pairs of trousers. Too big for Harvey now as-is, but the two pairs with more-than-cosmetic rents in the knees have now been transformed into shorts that will fit him from now until when he's four. Below-the-knee cargo shorts? Pretty stylin! Especially when paired with an equally-free mama-made shirt and a cutie belly-button. Aw.

Since we have fairly optimistic plans as to the hour of our departure, we've done a good bit to get ready already. The car is half-packed, lists have been made and crossed off, and we feel reasonably confident that we'll get on the road in good order. One thing that isn't ready is that I still don't have a telephone of the mobile variety. I made a trip to the Apple Store yesterday to replace my recently deceased iPhone, only to be told they didn't have any new phones to give me. You'd expect that given the advertising and publicity blitz Apple would be able to sell me their current flagship product, but apparently not. I suppose scarcity adds to the mystique. I was counting on the new phone to keep you all up-to-date with our doings; absent that I'll do my best with Leah's (ew) Blackberry.

I'm also, as I write these words, desperately torrenting a number of episodes of Between the Lions for Harvey to watch in the car. Right now the average expected download time Transmission is giving me is hovering around 13 hours... we don't have that much time!! Oh well, if all else fails we can always show him Bourne Ultimatum... or just turn on PhotoBooth and let him stare at his own cute little visage for five hours.

Lest you think badly of me for not providing for my offspring's video needs, I will say that I baked two loaves of bread and several dozen cookies—two kinds!—today, which must be worth something. We've managed to convince even more friends to come along this year, and their presence must be rewarded with delicious baked goods.

Whether or not we manage to blog from the campsite, there will be pictures on our return. I'll go charge the camera batteries now.

Despite how awesome was the setup I created for Harvey and Rascal, the drive up didn't go incredibly smoothly. Well, Rascal didn't have any problems, actually. How amusing it is to think how much we worried about stopping enough for him before we had the child! Harvey doesn't mind the car in small doses, but he wasn't happy to be unable to leave it for such an extended period. We weren't desperately pleased either, come to think of it, especially when we got stuck in traffic between Portland and Freeport and a stretch that should have taken 15 minutes took an hour more than that. Harvey wasn't the only one shouting then, but luckily an emergency stop in Yarmouth for a stretch (for dada and Rascal) and iced chai (for mama and Harvey) put everyone in a happier mood. For a little while, anyways: Harvey still needed a number of stops in various picturesque locations.

Eventually we made it, and Harvey very kindly allowed us to set up the tent and everything without interruption, because he was asleep. Somewhat later our friends arrived, already unhappy with us and this vacation we'd dragged them out on because they too suffered through terrible traffic (I refrained for asking for a show of hands from those who traveled with a screaming baby). We mollified them with dinner and planned the next day's adventures.

When we woke up to steady rain, though, everyone was unmollified again. Being a holiday guide is stressful work! Refusing to mope in the tents, we pressed ahead with the plan and headed downtown to breakfast (at the Cafe, natch). By the time we finished up a delicious and leisurely meal (did you know they have toy animals for the kiddies?) the rain had stopped, and we ventured a walk along the shore path. The heavens showing no further signs of opening, we piled into our three cars and headed out for the day's hike.

Hoping to present our friends, first time visitors to Acadia all, with a varied and not-overwhelming introduction to the park, I took them up Parkman Mtn and Bald Peak. Besides the oppressive humidity it was a wonderful hike, and no one sustained injuries of any great severity (my wrist already feels better, and Leah probably won't have a scar unless she keeps picking at that scab). To top it all off, the top of Parkman was enlivened not only by a delicious lunch of sandwiches prepared in the parking lot below but by a number of sizable puddles—ponds, almost—left by the recent rains. Harvey enjoyed them tremendously, and luckily we had dry clothes for him after.

Bald Peak was nice too, but you know, the second summit of the day just can't be as much fun.

Back home, we kicked back to enjoy some beers and a delicious meal of pizza cooked over the campfire. Plus, there were cupcakes to celebrate Katie's birthday! Now that's what camping is all about. Right Harvey?

But it was a beautiful day, and we were well-supplied with lunches and treats, so spirits were high as we headed up the steep cliffs at the base of Penobscot Mountain. Unlike the previous day's varied hike, the way up Penobscot has basically two parts: first straight up the cliffs (though not so straight as to require any ladders) and then gradually up the ridge for a full mile. The wind got stronger and stronger as we approached the summit, and Harvey wasn't too sure if he liked it. When we finally ran out of climbing we posed for the requisite photo, and ducked into the lee of a rock to have lunch.

On the way down we detoured a little bit to take a dip in Sargent Pond, where the Archibalds were the only ones foolhardy enough to put their heads under. Harvey loved it, as he loves all natural bodies of water, and I wore myself out tossing him up and down. Rascal only swam a little bit, distracted as he was by another dog who dared to invade his presence.

The way back to the car was long but unremarkable, as Leah failed to fall in the mud like she did last time we were on this hike. Back at camp we went for a swim—civilized camping here, none off your backwoods stuff!—and headed into town for burritos. Apparently Monday is the day for band concerts in Bar Harbor, and we were lucky enough to catch part of one; but baby bedtime kept us from seeing if Mary, local saxophonist extraordinaire, was with the band that night.

The following day everyone but us was heading home, so after another delicious Cafe This Way breakfast we did some shopping in town and took another walk along the shore path. This time the warm sun encouraged us to hang around, and certain members of the group tried to show off their jumping skills and earned a good sized scrape of the knee for their troubles. Harvey was happy sitting still and playing with rocks, smart boy.

After everyone else had left we declared a rest day and headed back to camp to play on the playground, swim, and read. It was relaxing enough that we decided not to bail on our last day and head home early. That warm pool—and contemplating another long trip in the car with Harvey—even made us think about setting up permanent residence at the Narrows campground. If only we'd brought more clothes...

Unlike last year, I remembered to take photos of our totally sweet setup before taking it down (just before). You can see our front porch, and beyond that the queen-sized bed to the left and the changing station for Harvey—which Rascal appropriated to sleep on, when he wasn't on the bed with us—to the right. I think I did a pretty good job of keeping things neat and organized this year; Leah might agree if she's in a good mood.

After breakfast we headed out for a short hike—very short, as it happened. I think it took us longer to park and get our gear together than it did to get up North Bubble, our fourth and smallest peak of the trip. Despite it's curtness it was a beautiful hike, and we regretted not having the camera when we got to the top and saw the view down the length of Jordan Pond. It was fun to compare how much we could do this year after only making it up the even smaller South Bubble last year; as we ascended the beginning of the trail, which is shared between both Bubbles, Leah asked incredulously: "You made me do this at five weeks post-partum?!" Yes I did!

Back down again it was time to get going. Harvey fell asleep almost immediately, and we used some portion of his naptime to procure a film for him at the new Walmart in Ellsworth: Homeward Bound, which, if you understand as little language as Harvey, is mostly just dogs walking around. Just the thing! He liked it when he woke up.

We made our next stop in Searsport to eat a late lunch in a tiny park across the street from the Maritime museum and explore a wonderful little bookstore called Left Bank Books that I can't recommend more highly. They allow dogs in the store, they had a chair and toys for Harvey, and they have all the good books and none of the bad ones. We were sorry that, at the end of the vacation, we were not in a financial position that would allow us to buy something; we'll definitely be back, and if you're anywhere in the area you ought to stop by.

We skipped Linconville, having hit it on the way up, and crowded Camden, and on Leah's suggestion took our next break in Warren where there's a little park just off the road with a playground and a river: two of Harvey's favorite things! It has a name that I can't recall, but if you're interested you can find it on Google maps. The babies enjoyed playing in the water, as usual.

By then it was almost dinnertime, so when we reached Wiscasset and noticed that for once there was no line outside the little lobster shack on the corner of Rt 1 and the train tracks—and parking right there, too. We had to stop and see what the usual fuss was about. It turns out that Red's Eats is famous for their lobster rolls, so of course Leah had to order one—even if we did have to stop by the ATM to fund our cash-only dinner (you see that we value food more than books... a sad commentary). Harvey can't eat lobster, but he liked the rest of the dinner.

As the sun set we rolled into Freeport, where we were disappointed by the lack of a Gap outlet and where I was kind of horrified by the mall atmosphere after a couple days out in the sticks. Then on to Portland and more construction traffic—but this time Harvey fell asleep in the middle of it so our stress level never had a chance to even begin to tick upwards. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and we made it home just after 10:00. I call that a successful vacation.