This past weekend I embarked on a three-hour-road trip to Lake Bomoseen, Vermont. I left on Friday during rush hour from Springfield. Traffic was nuts leaving the city and still fairly congested as I passed through what I call “box store towns” (if you have a Walmart AND a Lowe’s/Home Depot you live in a box store town).
Once I hit the Berkshires, traffic changed dramatically. Despite the clock reading 6 p.m. I was the only car on the highway. I drove with the windows down, one hand out the window, listening to my pitiful selection of CDs.
It was magical. I stopped whenever I felt like stopping. I dropped into the Vermont Welcome Center to use the bathroom and flip through brochures. I wandered around the Vermont Country Store to peruse their overpriced knickknacks and walk across the kissing bridge. I bought two gumballs for 75 cents because the machine ate my first quarter. Forced to detour due to bridge construction, I stumbled upon a Friday Farmer’s Market on the green.
Once arrived, I wasted no time in dragging the kayak from the barn to the lake. I paddled through the late afternoon water under gathering rain clouds. I went as far as a quarry, where lovers spray paint their names onto rocks.
Sheryll + Dan 4ever, 1977. Kate loves Steve – 1995. Monster… GET BENT 2k15!
The first day I paddled a medium distance. The second day I paddled a long distance. The final time I went out I paddled until my shoulders burned in their sockets.
There were other boat related activities. My grandparents took me on a spin in their pontoon boat. I sat in a captain’s chair while the engines roared under me. I felt the wind in my hair and a misty spray of lake water on my face. It put me right to sleep.
This was me, about thirty seconds into the multi-hour boat ride and approximately three minutes before I fell asleep for the remainder of it.
I had a nice time. I didn’t write a damn thing. I didn’t take pictures of very much. I didn’t think for a second about work. I had embarked on this trip with the intention to film, record and analyse my every moment to broadcast to the world. But in all honesty? I just felt like doing puzzles.
I’m a puzzle master, by the way. Five hundred pieces? Pssh, no problem. I helped my grandmother Cynthia put together a lovely garden scene and put a fair chunk into a scene of smiling children climbing into a tree house.
Hello MTV, welcome to my crib. This is where I do puzzles.
What else did I do? I rode around the logging trails on a quad (also called an ATV or a four wheeler depending on where you’re from). That was fun. I saw some blackberry bushes, ducked under fallen trees and picked up a tick on my leg.
I ate grilled corn, potatoes and lots of fruit. I took walks around the lake. I read a book. I watched John Wick (fantastic) and John Wick 2 (meh). My grandmother asked lots of questions about the plot as it unfolded on screen.
I pet lots of dogs. They were nice dogs. They did nice dog things like fetch balls and demand attention.
I intended to leave in the morning Sunday, but lingered into the early afternoon.
As I packed to go home, Cynthia handed me a box of ten puzzles. My back patio is dominated by a spread of five hundred deconstructed bluebird parts. Each time I pass by I hunt for a new piece, forgetting my growing list of work for just that moment.
A part of me wishes I had more to share, to show, but sometimes it’s nice to turn off.
Take a hike,