A few months ago, I gambled on the weather over Columbus Day weekend: that it would be warm and dry enough to camp in Vermont with a 3-year old boy and a persnickety French husband. It was a $40 gamble (the cost of 2 nights of tent camping in a Vermont State Park) and I was entirely pessimistic that the temperature lows would not be above the 45-degree cutoff that I had mentally set as the lowest temperature in which I would camp, or that rain would not be near-constant. But miraculous weather prevailed in the Northeast: warm temperatures, sun-filled skies, and a big fat zero percent chance of rain. A banner Autumn weekend in New England that was almost too warm (except at 8am, when we stuck Little Boy in the running car for 20 minutes for a blast from the heater).
It was Little Boy’s second camping trip and he was pretty excited to see all of our camping paraphernalia emerge from the basement to be organized into tidy piles on the living room floor, in preparation of loading the car on Saturday morning. He quickly found the bear whistle and appointed himself the Bear Whistler. We played along with him for a few minutes before abruptly confiscating and hiding the whistle. By then, Little Boy’s thoughts were filled with bears.
“Mommy,” he said, eyes wild. “Bear, camping, me, stick, hit bear!”
“Oh you’re going to hit the bear with a stick?” I asked.
“Yes!” he affirmed, waving his imaginary stick at the imaginary bear as I feigned amazement at his boldness.
We left Saturday afternoon after Mr. P returned from a half-marathon trail race and drove up to Quechee, VT. Having never camped in Vermont, we picked Quechee because we had stopped there this summer and found it a scenic, quaint though touristy town. So it was extra depressing to see the stunning amount of damage done by Hurricane Irene. We walked over to the Quechee Gorge and skirted past the “Keep Out” signs to tour the flood-ravaged gorge.
Quechee Gorge
Quechee Gorge -- river mud coating trees and half-burying the fence
Walking the Gorge
Walking the Gorge
When we returned to the campsite, we were just in time to attend the state-sponsored Fried Dough event at the campsite recreation area. Free fried dough for all campers! The park rangers were very excited to see Little Boy ambling over to the dough-kneading table and took copious amounts of photos alongside Mr. P. All of the attention made Little Boy stoic and shy.
Kneading Dough
Why is everyone staring at me?
This is how Vermont State Parks rolls: Fried Dough condiments table
Overcoming initial hesistation to devour fried dough
Back at the campsite, we started a fire. It’s funny how kids are just natural firebugs. Not “ha-ha” funny, but “terrified” funny.
Playing with Fire (vigorously supervised)
The next day, I awoke to the sound of a very calm “Mommy.” When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a very small bush leaf being held to my eyes. “Mommy, flower!”
“Leaf,” I murmured.
“Leaf!” Little Boy called, joyous.
It was time to go to the Harpoon Fest at the Harpoon Brewery for the 3.6 mile road race. Beer festival running races don’t exactly attract the most fit crowd and so I was able to finish 32 out of 220 women in my age group — 8:17 minute miles, a personal best. I think all the evening spent sprinting after Little Boy on his bicycle are paying off.
At Harpoon Fest
We played games — Little Boy won a Harpoon bottle opener by getting a miracle strike at keg bowling. We ate hot dogs, sauerkraut, and drank some beer. By mid-afternoon, the running crowd was being gradually replaced by the biker crowd, so we went back to the campsite to relax.
The next day, we went for a hike on Mt. Ascutney.There is an Auto Road that goes to the top, but we decided to drive half-way then suffer 2 miles to the summit. Because to drive all the way would have felt like cheating.
Mr. P suffers uphill
At the Observation Tower at the Summit
A well-deserved sandwich
Giving Mommy a Heart Attack on the Observation Tower
We headed back down to the car, savoring the last moments of our wonderful Columbus Day in the balmy sunshine. Little Boy walked at least 1 mile downhill on a rocky, technical trail– he’s becoming quite the little hiker! Here we are, practicing what we’ll do if we see a bear, or a lion…
