CrossRoads Farm

Less Time at Camp

21 August, 2005 - 10:59 am

This past spring I was having dinner with my parents and Gumby in the Yellow kitchen in the house where I grew up. In the course of the conversation we started talking about Camp. When Grandma would be opening and other such matters. In passing, I said that I would be spending far less time at Camp this summer than I had last year.

They laughed.

”You live in Vermont. Why wouldn’t you spend as much time as possible at Camp.”
”It’s such a comparatively short drive.”
”It’s good for Grandma to have someone closer than RI, just in case.”

I patiently explained that it exactly because I live in Vermont that I don’t need to run off to Camp every chance that I get. I spent plenty of time there last year and any trip that lasted more than one afternoon found me emotionally exhausted and crying on the way home.

They didn’t listen.

We went over there for the afternoon on the fourth of July. And hadn’t been back. So when my folks decided to go over there for a week while Gumby was there for his birthday trip we got a call inviting us over.

I couldn’t see a single reason to say ‘yes’ – but I couldn’t see a single reason to say ‘no.’ “Oh,” Dad said, “the weather is going to be wonderful.” So we agreed to go – but I think everyone assumed we’d stay the night. And this is, really, the part that is most mystifying to me. Why, when I can sleep in my own bed at home (in Vermont), would I want to attempt to sleep on a fold out couch in the living room/kitchen of the Camp. I have to take a sleeping pill when I’m there to get any sleep at all and once Gumby is up making coffee at 5:30 in the morning sleep is absolutely impossible.

Saturday morning: It’s pouring out. We can’t think of a graceful way to back out so we load the kids and the reluctant puppy into the car and drive over there. We stopped on the way to get corn on the cob for Gumby’s birthday feast.

When we get there and Dad realizes we don’t intend to stay through dinner so we can drive home in the dark, he’s upset because ‘the big meal will have to be in the middle of the day’,

Oh the horror.

At lest the rain had stopped. It becomes apparent that if D and I want to have lunch in the kids before o’clock – we are going to have to cook it. I started slicing up vegetables and D went outside to start the charcoal. (He cooked hot dogs and hamburgers for nine people on a hibachi. That’s a story in itself.) kept asking my mother to please make the hamburger patties. And finally she turns to me and says, in all seriousness, “I’m deliberately trying to stall you, because we had a big breakfast.”

I was holding a knife.

I didn’t use it.

Birthday extravaganza. Didn’t happen. My parents were in charge. All Gumby got so far as I know was the 6-pack of Dogfish Head Chicory Stout I brought for him. No chocolate cream pie or presents. Last year I took care of all of that. Un-fucking-real.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in inane chatter on the front porch. My dad doesn’t fish or boat or hike when he’s at camp. He reads the paper on the porch and plans day trip away from my grandmother.

At 4 o’clock we packed up and left. You’d’ think we were headed for Afghanistan the way they acted. They blamed our leaving on or schedules, “It’s always some schedule, the kids or the dog.” My mother actually saidthat to D. Mom and Gram kept wishing we could stay longer. For what?? Informed opinion on the weather in Rehoboth??

We gave them our Saturday and it wasn’t enough. D left irritated and I felt somehow guilty. Mom’s face when I hugged her was like I’d done something toher instead of for her. And I know when we left they sat on the porch and bitched about us. About how I am different and we ended up looking unreasonable.

Today?? I woke up cozy and warm and in my own bed. The weather is better. It’s warm and sunny out and we are spending the day here at the farm. Brewing beer and making homemade pretzels.

We live in Vermont.

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