vermont

my unexpectedly rocking Vermont vacation

July 6, 2009 by krisis

I played an unexpected concert on the 4th of July.

I bring my guitar with me just about everywhere I go. Parties. Barbeques. Vacations. My default social state is to be idly playing guitar, and I don’t like to subject other people’s instruments to my style of playing and non-stop litany of alternate tunings.

Not surprisingly, I was armed with my acoustic axe in Vermont this weekend. I didn’t expect I’d be performing anywhere, but figured our idle days would leave me plenty of time to rehearse my new AC covers and some newer originals.

Kat apparently took it as a challenge to find me a place to play over the weekend. And, of all nights to find an opportunity, the one she discovered was Saturday night – right on the 4th of July: a local open mic at the Ripton Community Coffeehouse, topped by a performance by local band Twist of the Wrist.

When I first hear about a venue I get a very tangible picture in my head; they are seldom accurate. In this instance I was picturing a small coffee shop – perhaps as a part of a larger general store or community center – with sparse seating and a small riser doubling as a stage. It would be a fun night out. I’d play some newer stuff, and maybe finally play my cover of “Independence Day” live!

Mindful of the tendency of Philly open mics to never start on time, we left the farm on the late side for our up-mountain trek up to Ripton. We arrived at the “community coffee house” to discover it was a converted church, its parking lot overflowing with vehicles. Inside there was a foyer with a box office staffing by a twinkling attendant. The main room had many rows of seats (all full!), a proper stage, a snack bar, and a balcony(!).

Once again, my mental picture was off by a country mile.

holiday tsunami

July 4, 2009 by krisis

Funkin’ Donuts update: Elise has arrived to appreciate a beet donut, as have a charming pair of older women eating the Fourth of July lunch special.

And suddenly it is hurricane-crazy rain outside. The rain is all you can see in any direction – up the road or over the mountains.

Both of us walked here from the farm, but I have the upper hand, as I am wearing swim trunks.

Unfortunately, I don’t drive, so me walking back to the farm in my swim trunks really only helps me, and it doesn’t help me to get back here with my guitar to record a “Live @ Funkin’ Donuts” video-cast.

Meanwhile, I still have a lot more Vermont milkshakes to drink. I need to get started.

very serious donuts

July 4, 2009 by krisis

It is almost ten in the morning, and I am eating a bacon donut.

Kat and Jeremy currently farm enough to support three or four families, but they have enough eggs to stock said three families, a small market, and a donut shop.

Conveniently, Kat works at a donut shop. It’s actually the nearest landmark to their house, which was convenient on Thursday when we had been driving for eight hours and discovered that state roads in Vermont don’t have a lot of clearly labeled cross streets.

If my biggest weak spot of culinary frivolity is ice cream, donuts are not too far behind. As a kid I would clench my entire body in genuflecting hope every time our car passed the Dunkin’ Donuts. I was under the impression that was the only source of donuts. Like, in the world.

Now, I know better – I know that homemade donuts are a different beast entirely. On certain Fridays my boss brings in a particular kind that – if I should be bold enough to eat a filled variety – causes me to lose my voice for over an hour.

They are serious donuts.

So, when Kat mentioned that she worked part time at (and supplied eggs to) the donut shop down the road, my Fouth of July plans solidified: I would spend the morning eating donuts, perhaps bookended by a tacit jog to and from the shop to give the illusion of offsetting the 1000+ calories of breakfast I’d be consuming.

Such is the story, and here I am at Trademark-Infringement Donuts. I don’t want to advertise the name, as they’ve been flying under the legal radar thus far. Let’s call them “Funkin’ Donuts.”

Here is today’s Funkin’ Donuts menu:

Cinnamon Sugar

Honey Glaze

Maple Caramel

Plum Homer *

Beet Homer *

Chocolate

Maple-Bacon

Lemon-Poppyseed

Orange Sourcream

Cake

* Homer donuts are crafted to look as similar to the legendary Simpson’s donut as possible. The Beet Homer has beet icing. I am eating it presently. It’s great.

However, it is the Maple-Bacon donut that approaches the donut hall-of-fame. It is a plain, circular donut with a middle hole, iced liberally with light-brown maple icing, and sprinkled with bacon sprinkles from local pigs.

My meat-avoidance is pretty specifically predicated on a distaste for pork, but when we’re talking about less than an ounce of bacon from a local pig probably well-cared-for enough that he had a name I can make a brief exception.

And that exception was really, really good.

I’m going to spend the rest of the morning celebrating America by seeing how many donuts I can eat in one day (previously: 10), talking to Kat about her neighbor’s diabetic cat, and plotting a concert I’m going to play in the donut shop when I come back in the fall.

Weekending

July 3, 2009 by krisis

I have eleven minutes to write this post. I will just pretend I am on a bus.

Somewhere shortly before or after Albany Elise and I stopped at a rest stop that supposedly had wireless. It did not. It did, however, contain a rather dubious “Fish’n’Chips” connected to Roy Rogers.

In the future i will refrain from eating mid-state rest stop fast food shrimps.

Last night around eight we arrived at Kat & Jeremy’s home slash small farm, situated just on the rim of the ~~sixth~~ thirteenth biggest town in Vermont, Middlebury.

As with our last Vermont excursion, there are lots of friendly people and very little cellphone and broad-band wireless reception. Kat showed us the special spot in her house where she can take cellular calls. There was no internet at the spot.

This morning Elise and I headed into Kat’s backyard to feed her chickens. I have recently discovered that – in defiance of my general bird-despising – I somewhat adore chickens, which makes my refraining from eating them all the more sensible.

(aside: are all people that work in libraries weird? if i worked in one would it just confirm i was weird?)

After the chickens we toured Kat’s robust garden, sampled fresh snap peas and committing as much cucumber beetle genocide as possible. Each patch of plants had its own story – trials by cold soil or pests, favorite growers and runts.

I don’t consistently commit to buying local, but after this weekend I think I will have changed my mind. I’m glimpsing not only a tiny microcosm of farm economics, but also witnessing the love and attention that goes into each egg and potato.

I don’t know that “organic” really means anything special to me, but local now means a lot more.

I also played some Michael Jackson songs on Jeremy’s banjo.

Time’s up.