Summer vacations are swift-moving bodies of water. They are cool, and refreshing. They eddy and spool around the shallows, then hurtle past, gurgling while you paddle for a leisurely afternoon or two in the dappled sunshine. And then you go home.
We have returned from a week of cooler temperatures at a little mountain house in western North Carolina. Our adventures there were much the same as here: daily trips to the grocery store and to farm stands. Everything was centered on food, but we got a chance to look up from our books, and appreciated the sound of the approaching wind through the tall trees. I sat on the porch one afternoon waiting for a rain shower to move through the little valley. It was delightful to be sitting in someone else’s creaky, listing wicker, instead on being firmly planted in front of my computer.
We were on holiday with our former Pesky Pescaterian daughter and her almost-three toddler son. She no longer shuns meat, but eats it in judgemental moderation now. She is more organic than we are, although we noticed her scarfing down the goldfish with as much enthusiasm as the Young Master. And the Young Master blithely ignored our well-intentioned attempts at serving him organic and virtuous meals by subsisting on a diet of strawberries, bacon, grilled cheese sandwiches, mac and cheese, and goldfish. He did have cheese pizza once, but only because he was held in such thrall by a parade of passing dump trunks that we could have given him liver and onions. Not that we ever would, of course.
Who knew that large machinery could be so fascinating? And who knew that there was so much construction happening this summer? We certainly managed to pick the best part of the universe as far as our toddler was concerned. On all our forays out of the house we spotted back hoes and excavators, dump trucks and steam rollers, bulldozers and motor graders, crawler loaders and trenchers. My. We all got an education. He was politely dismissive viewing all of the other sights we were so eager to point out to him: cows, goats, horses and acres of Christmas tree farms. He asked repeatedly for ducks, but we weren’t able to find any for him. Luckily there was always another truck on the horizon.
There was an intersection near the grocery store we frequented that was being enlarged. The parade of passing construction trucks was alluring enough to get him into the car seat (willingly) for our daily pilgrimage to the market, where the adults were most interested in dinner and snack fixings. Oh, and wine.
We needed a daily fix of summertime strawberries, blueberries, peaches and cherries. It was stone fruit season, and we couldn’t get enough. I had to break my summer rule about not using the stove for this recipe, but I think you will find it is well worth the momentary discomfort. You can go out on the back porch for a little while, and wait for a summer rain to come sailing through: https://www.bowenappetit.com/2012/07/11/peach-upside-down-cornmeal-skillet-cake-bye-bye-ca/
This is one which garnered the former Pescatarian’s approval, and it does not require a stove at all! Just a sharp knife and a major hunger factor. Have it for dinner or breakfast, after all, you are on vacation: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/12558-minty-fruit-salad
Peach Melba does involve a little cooking – you have to poach the peaches – but do it early in the morning. That will leave you more time to watch Jungle Book again tonight. https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/nigella-lawson/peach-melba-recipe-1946359
And we spent some time sitting in Adirondack chairs, watching the delighted future construction foreman playing with his trucks in a gravel bed, while we were sipping cocktails before dinner. This is perhaps the best use of stone fruit we could find, as cool and refreshing as the New River, in which we dipped our toes before squealing about how cold it was. Such delightful first world problems. This cocktail goes very well with goldfish. https://www.bowenappetit.com/2012/07/23/summer-cocktail-cherry-bourbon-fizz/
“There is no situation like the open road, and seeing things completely afresh.” — James Salter