There is a bumper sticker around here that says "I'm not on your vacation."
I have no idea why people think New Englanders aren't friendly.
I don't have one of those stickers, because I'm trying really, really hard to be on people's vacations. Look through your own vacation pictures and you may find me, smiling, trying to blend. It is hard to blend when you are the color of poached fish and you live at the beach.
Anyway! We had a very vacationy day last weekend. We did a tiny bit of gallery hopping and then went to a friend's house to pick blueberries. Two gallons of blueberries. Our friends will probably not make the mistake of inviting us over to pick again.
In addition to the two gallons we brought home, Studley consumed at least two pints.
Have I told you about the pick-your-own strawberry farm my parents used to take us to when we were on vacation here? They'd weigh us kids on the way out. It probably took me 30 years to realize it was a joke.
If they had weighed Studley, they would have looked at the scale, looked at it again, scratched their heads and said "there must be a mistake?"
Since it was the weekend and since we were not the only ones out doing touristy things, I used my super secret knowledge of the area to take the backroads home.
This was on Saturday, aka "changeover day." On Saturday morning, the renters leave. On Saturday afternoon, the new renters arrive. All over the Cape.
Everywhere we looked there were minivans and station wagons in driveways, with all the doors and hatchbacks open. People were carrying stuff into houses. Kids were out front throwing frisbees around. The First Day of Vacation was palpable.
I remember those days so clearly from when we were kids. We'd finally, FINALLY arrive at our beach house - the one we'd rented for two glorious weeks. We'd pile out of the car and run to pick bedrooms. We'd explore. We'd play with the beach toys in the yard. In later years, we'd go searching for summer friends who owned cottages nearby.
And then we'd all pile back in the car and go grocery shopping.
I have no idea why. I know we weren't alone because I see entire families in the grocery store now all the time. They're buying donut holes and burger buns, not kitty litter and grout.
I want to be buying donut holes and burger buns. I want to play in the yard and pick bedrooms and explore the neighborhood with fresh eyes.
My mom made strawberry jam while we were on vacation, and brought jars of it home.
Last night, I made blueberry jam. It tastes just like summer.
Hi. I'm Susan, and I'm on your vacation.