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runswithscissors


Tuesday, July 22, 2003

This area has seen little rain since my return from the other side of the Atlantic a month ago. Good vacation conditions, but abnormal, leaving the ground thirsty. Just enough precipitation to keep the countryside in general green, while the land around the house here has been slowly turning brown, dry, patchy.

Looks like some balance is now being restored. Sun, showers and misty conditions traded off all day yesterday, until the weather got serious just after dark. After an hour's foreplay of thunder/lightning, rain came abruptly down as if someone had flicked a switch, falling so heavily, so intensely that it produced a roaring sound. Kind of eerie.

All night long, on and off, the roar of the downpour, broken up by silences when it let up, the air still and thick during those breaks. I tossed, I turned. I wrestled with the covers. Big fun.

Finally, mid-morning, it cleared out. When I headed into Montpelier, the land up here on the hill remained damp and soggy. Until I got about a mile down Route 14 where everything suddenly dried up. Dry pavement, dry ground. Apparently at least part of last night's rainfall was highly localized. Highly, highly localized. As in hanging about over my house and dumping its load on my roof while the rest of the area got a good night's sleep. (Grumble, grumble.)

I'm talking about the weather. I'll stop.

Down at the bottom of this hill, a stone's throw to the north along Route 14, stands what used to be a horse farm. A lovely place fronted by a rambling old farmhouse before which stands an enormous shade tree. A barn/garage, stables, a large arena, and many acres of land on either side of the two-lane -- rolling meadows that give way to wooded land as they extend away from the road. And horses. Lots of horses, sprinkled about that beautiful expanse of land, tales switching as they grazed. It couldn't have been more bucolic.

Two summers ago I began hearing rumors that the owners were thinking of selling out. The rumors turned out to be true, and once the wheels began turning, things happened quickly. Last summer, papers were signed, the place changed hands, by August a couple from New York had moved in.

When I got back here last month, a neighbor told me the new folks had been hard at work converting one end of the farm house into a café, a small space with a dining room big enough only for a couple of tables, a small porch outside for the short warm season, big enough for two more teeny tables.

A café, owned by people, my neighbor said, who could really cook. Those were the rumors, anyway. Not hacks. Real cooks, with a N.Y. catering service they'd run for years. And now about to provide us, the occupants of East Calais (d/b/a East Buhfuh), with a place to go for a good meal, eating in or taking out.

A huge deal, this, for us, residents of a locale where the nearest eating spot is a 10-15 minute drive. Huge.

And sometime within the last week or so, the place opened for business. This evening I picked up the phone, ordered the day's special. Drove down the hill, picked up a container of some pretty fine-looking fare. Got home, sat down (yes, in front of the TV, I admit it). And found myself eating the single largest and most delicious fajita I have ever had the privilege of stuffing (slowly, with great self-control) between my quivering lips. Accompanied by a mound of very respectable rice&beans, veggies, avocado, and a small container of real damn tasty mango garnish.

I may be poised at the onset of a dangerous take-out binge.

We'll see.

rws 11:51 PM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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