Ben, Jerry, Me, My Mom

My mother and I decided to head to Vermont for the long 4th-of-July weekend. Our adventure started with a lovely dinner of locally grown treats including a Vermont-grass-fed cheeseburger and Brattleboro-brewed beers overlooking the Connecticut at the Riverview Cafe. We then headed north to Woodstock, the last hour of our drive and our dash to our motel somewhat de-fun-ified by the dark and pouring rain. We awoke Friday morning to discover, however, coffee on the Shire Motel's lovely balcony overlooking a mellow, meandering stream:
I don't think it's permitted to write anything about Vermont without including a covered bridge, so here is one in Queechee:
The roiling water you see provides hydroelectric power for the glass blowing operation for Simon Pearce Pottery, purveyor of some of the most uptight, uninteresting, and overpriced glassware one can find anywhere.

We hit Bennington on the 4th. I have the unique habit of visiting notable cities on the 4th of July and getting a wholly skewed impression of them due to everything being closed. It turned out that Bennington was not a bad place to visit on the 4th because they were having one of those civic art projects in which local artists are all given the same object to transform into an artwork in their own way, so we strolled around and looked at the Bennington moose.
Our favorite:
This was not part of the exhibition but in many ways more moving:
Chocolate female moose! Can you find Judy Leiterman in this picture?

Like the rest of New England, Vermont was not wanting for rain by the 4th of July, so we took a precipitation-free but still moist hike along the Long Trail in Green Mountain National Forest up Bromley Mountain. The views to the south of Stratton Mountain were, unfortunately, not so spectacular as the amount of mud we encountered. Nevertheless, I will include photos of both:
We spent an inordinate amount of time Sunday morning trying to locate the monument to Brigham Young in Whitingham, especially given that neither of us is a latter day saint or even particularly interested in the history of the mormon church, unless, of course, it will enrich our enjoyment of Big Love. When we finally did find it, way at the back of an underused municipal baseball field, I said to my mother "we should write down the GPS coordinates and post them on False Reckonings so no one ever has to go through this arduous search again!" But naturally I forgot. Frankly, I would think the citizens of Vermont would show a little more gratitude to their native son, responsible for moving the Mormon church 2,300 miles away from them, by siting his memorial more prominently. It is a nice spot, though, and if you are looking for it and have ended up here, when you find the collection of war memorials at the top of the hill next to a children's playlot, you are almost there! Park on the other side of the road and cross the ballfield. You're welcome.

Wooden Boats! Wooden Boats! Wooden Boats!

I did not know what to expect of my first ever wooden boat show, which occurred last weekend in Mystic, CT. My father, as seven of the 10 regular readers of False Reckonings already know, is kind of a boating nut, and since retiring and learning to build boats himself has become a rather shameless shill for a specific type of dinghy. It stands to reason that he would cross a third of this great nation in his wee car to attend this event for 2 of its 3 days. After Day 1, Dad came back reporting (with no small amount of disdain) that there was not a single shellback dinghy on display.

Nevertheless, there was plenty to see. For example, big wooden boats:
Small wooden boats:
This being New England, vintage wooden whaling ships with real harpoons!:
And, of course, it wouldn't be complete without one of these:
After, we had not quite had our fill of boats, so we went to Abbott's in Noank for lobsters and lobster rolls and views.
And IF THAT WEREN'T ENOUGH, my good Chicago friend (now of Champaign, Ill. while she finishes graduate school) arrived shortly after our return. Hearing of our faux-maritime and seafood obtaining adventures, Chris wanted in on the action. Using her librarian wizardry, she led us to Stowe's, another lobster roll/clam-shack purveyor right in our own backyard. This is not Stowe's, but it is Chris:
More photos.