Home Smelly Home

The Book Benchers are home from a relaxing week in Maine. It was the kind of vacation you imagine all year (unless you are an extreme sport, go-getter, action type of vacationer). Everything was perfect except for the mountain of disgusting and malodorous clothing and linens we brought home and dumped in a laundry room containing a gerbil cage and fish tank badly in need of cleaning. Ah well, it's a small price to pay. I hope you'll indulge me by viewing a few vacation pics.

Here is my ten year old and a snapping turtle he caught. He spent several mornings in a kayak stalking turtle sunning themselves on rocks. Every time he got too close, they slipped quickly into the water. Finally this guy was a bit too slow. My husband showed us all how a snapping turtle reflexively? instinctively? snaps by placing a stick near its mouth. He immediately clamped down on it. We all yelled "Do it again!" He did. We yelled "Do it again!" This went on for an embarrassingly long while. We have no television at the house in Maine, and we're a bit simple, I guess.

Here we are at the Portland Head Light. It's a very predictable family photo op, but I don't care, because it's a nice one. Speaking of predictable, my youngest son is not looking at the camera even though we were all admonishing him to do so from the sides of our smiling mouths. Of interest to me is that this lighthouse is pictured on the cover of the American literature textbook I will be using to teach this fall.

This shot is of two of the kids eating lunch en route from New Jersey to Maine. Before you alert the authorities, the truck was parked in a lot. While the truck was moving, everyone was buckled into their seats and bickering about elbow room. I just include this photo to show how Beverly Hillbillies we roll. And to give you a glimpse of the beautiful sailboat my husband built.

Finally, speaking of boat, after twelve months of schlepping my kids around to school and sports, play dates and activities, it was nice to be in the passenger seat and let my six year old son do the driving.

As far as books go, I finished To Kill a Mockingbird and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society while sitting by the water. On the car trip to and from, we listened to Eoin Colfer's Artemis Fowl. We all enjoyed it, even my husband who is usually more of a nonfiction guy.What more could a vacationer ask for?

Of Books and Blueberries

We just returned from a perfectly relaxing week of vacation in Maine. We sailed our little boat, caught (and released) fish and frogs, swam, read lots of books, and generally loafed around. As you can see from the photos, we went blueberry picking as well. One thing that concerns me about my children's lives is how far removed they are from the production of the foods they eat. Most of their food experiences would lead them to believe that it just shows up at the grocery store, wrapped in plastic. So my husband and I have had a little vegetable garden in the backyard and we take them apple and pumpkin picking each fall, but I think the best thing we've done is to incorporate learning about local agriculture into our family vacations. For example, we have had the great good fortune to tag along with my father-in-law as he tends his oysters and clams on Cape Cod. We spent one of the best afternoons ever working on board The Lucky Catch lobster boat in Portland, Maine two summers ago, and this year we spent a few hours on a hill in Maine picking low bush wild blueberries. The hill looked just like Blueberry Hill in one of the most perfect picture books ever written, Robert McCloskey's Blueberries for Sal. After we picked our pound of berries, and, like Sal, ate a good many more, we went home and baked them in coffee cake, sprinkled them on vanilla ice cream, and read Blueberries for Sal. We went on to read McCloskey's Make Way for Ducklings as well. What could be better? By the way, the blueberries are full of antioxidants and only cost one dollar for the pound! Get out there and support local agriculture wherever you find yourself.

A Reason to Read Robert McCloskey's Blueberries for Sal