Family Vacation

Lost in the weirdness and terror of school vacation week is the fact that we did actually take a vacation. It was a small trip up to Burlington, Vermont, but it was a vacation nonetheless, our first real one as a family of five.

A combination of factors led us to Burlington. Though we were seemingly headed away from the warm weather, there was no way that we could afford a trip to the truly tropical climates of the Carolinas, Florida, or beyond. Perhaps some day that will be a possibility. We wanted a place that was easy to drive to, was kid-friendly, and had various low-key attractions. Burlington fit the bill, and so the first Sunday of April break, we loaded our kids and our bags into the car and started driving north.

Driving for four hours straight seemed like a tough way to begin. So after two hours on the road we arrived at our first destination: the Montshire Museum of Science in Norwich, VT. Norwich is just over the border--so much so that when we drove to the neighboring town for lunch, we actually crossed back into New Hampshire. This was a feat of utmost interest to Andres, who could not understand how we were passing in between states so quickly. (When we take road trips now, he is constantly asking, "Mama what state are we in?" But if he should ask the question twice 20 minutes apart and we have not crossed state boundaries yet, he will say "This feels like the biggest state ever." Hopefully we will never have to drive across Texas.)

The Montshire proved to be the perfect afternoon stop. If it were not a two-hour drive away, I would plan more trips there--it was small, engaging, kid-centered, and kid-friendly. Most exhibits welcomed young hands. There was a water/bubble exploration area and a hands-on make-things-turn-with-gears area. And those exhibits that were more delicate (like the cross-section of an actual, working beehive) were protected behind enough glass to make accidents impossible.

Everybody loves giant soap bubbles.

Lucia among the clouds.

The highlight of this afternoon was not something that our hands touched, though. It was an exhibit on leaf-cutter ants, which consisted of a series of interconnected plexiglass boxes that showed all the different parts of the ants' habitat, from the fungus garden where they grow their food (yay fungus!) to the dump where they dispose of waste and their deceased comrades. It was fascinating. It also had me on the verge of puking the entire time--perhaps no more so than when a giant cover was lifted off, leaving me (and my grabby kids!) within a foot of a swirling mass of thousands of these creatures. Andres and Celia dropped some leafs into the box, and then watched as the ants diligently cut small pieces out of them and walk them back to their garden. I felt much better once the top had been replaced.

Oh, and there was a sign that said this:

"Leafcutter Ant Queen. The queen is the mother of all the ants in this colony. She mated only once, in 1996. Since then, she has fertilized her eggs with live sperm stored in her body. When she dies, the colony will die."

So that's pretty crazy. Because it is 2013 now, and by my count, the queen is at least 17 years old.

Feeding the ants.

The kids stayed occupied until cose to closing time and then it was back on the road for the final leg up to Burlington. They snoozed while we looked out at far-off mountains and miles and miles of hillsides dotted with modest homes and the occasional cow. We were far from Waltham.

And then, finally, after a long day of travel, we reached our hotel. It was nothing special--a small suite in the southern part of the city, equipped with a tiny kitchenette and small living room. Andres and Celia thought it to be paradise, though. They ran around the two rooms like it was the Taj Mahal.

Celia: "Daddy! There are TWO TVs! One here, and one there!"
Andres: "Oh my gosh we have a small kitchen?! That's so crazy."

Soon they were camped out in front of the living room TV watching some mindless Disney Jr. show while Natalia fed Lucia in the bedroom. I went off to grab some dinner for all of us. Vacation had begun.

Monday dawned crisp and bright, and after a small breakfast at the hotel (and a small detour to get new sneakers for Celia, who was planning on wearing her favorite red dress shoes for three days in a row) we drove to nearby Shelburne Farms for some walking and animal sight-seeing. It felt like a very Vermont thing to do.

The new shoes came in handy once we arrived at the farm. Shelburne Farms is nestled on the eastern bank of Lake Champlain, and then extends for acres on acres inland. After decamping in the parking lot (and finding out that the petting zoo was still closed for the season) we began the long journey to the actual farm itself, which lay a half mile away, across a meadow and up a gently sloping hill. Andres made the walk without much incident. Celia decided that she was tired after about 100 steps, and it took a lot of negotiating (and some piggy-back help) to get her all the way to the destination. Natalia carried Lucia. She remained quiet, probably figuring that she had it easier than her siblings and shouldn't complain about anything.

Walking up the path to the farm.

Who doesn't love donkeys?

Once at the farm we saw enough animals to justify the trip. Donkeys greeted us first, then goats. Chickens roamed about the yard and baby sheep fell over each other trying to make it back to their mother. We meandered about, enjoying the sights and smells of the farm on this beautiful day. Then we bought some snacks at a small on-site bakery and sat for a bit before making the seemingly interminable walk back to our car. Both kids needed help on the return trip. Even Lucia, tired of being held and wanting to eat, was getting cranky.

We recharged our batteries with lunch at a small cafe in Shelburne. Two of us did, anyway--Andres and Celia were in no mood to eat the food that was available, though they did show a considerable appetite for annoying each other. Next time we go anywhere, I'm going to travel with a cooler loaded with pre-made PB&Js and fresh fruit. I'm tired of seeing perfectly good food go to waste because it doesn't look exactly like something that they have eaten before.

Sibling love.

Thankfully, they slept on the 45-minute drive to the Ben & Jerry's factory in Waterbury. Again, this seemed like a very Vermont thing to do, and I noticed an abundance of MA and NY license plates as we walked through the parking lot to get our tour tickets.

Me and my darling (Photo courtesy of Andres!).

Ben & Jerry's is supposed to make you feel like everything is right with the world because, at some point, humans invented ice cream--and though ice cream with funny names may not be able to solve all the world's problems, perhaps if all world leaders came here for a summit consisting of Phish Food and Cherry Garcia, then maybe, just maybe, we could all put aside our differences long enough to end world hunger and disease. It does this expertly enough that the gift shop is always filled and the line for cones and cups stretches around corners. It's the closest thing we have to Willy Wonka's fabled factory.

It's also an odd, incongruent place to hear about an act of terror. But that's exactly what happened while I was standing in line, blithely awaiting the 3:40 tour. A woman behind me was checking Facebook. I heard her tell her companion something about "them bombing the marathon." I checked my phone, and saw a bunch of posts about explosions at the finish line and announcements from onlookers and runners that they were ok, though shaken, and still trying to figure out what happened. I noticed a lot of people around me checking their phones as well. And then it was time for the tour, which began with a breezy 10-minute video about how great Ben and Jerry are, how they really care about our world and the ice cream that everybody eats, how social responsibility is at the center of every pint that they sell. Oh and how, by the way, Ben and Jerry don't really work there anymore, and that the company is owned by Unilever. Everybody around me was glued to their phones.

The tour itself wasn't very long or comprehensive. After the movie, we walked upstairs to a small pavilion, where we looked down on the factory floor. It was a series of silver tubes and barrels and hundreds of pipes, with white-clad workers slowly inspecting the machines that were making and then dispensing ice cream. The only indication that they were making Ben & Jerry's ice cream was a continuous trail of pint-sized cartons, which were capped and then flipped as they made their way down the factory line. We were asked not to take any pictures because, in the words of our tour guide, "Haagen Dazs hasn't yet figured out how to fit 16 ounces of ice cream into their cartons." I thought this was a funny line, but one that also seemed to depart from the company's "love one love all" ethos. Though this shouldn't have surprised me. Willy Wonka was most competitive at protecting his secrets, even though the world loved all of his candy.

We then descended a staircase into a small eating area where we were finally treated to some ice cream. No spoons, though--in an effort to reduce waste, they offered us ice cream scooped into little Dixie Cups. How quaint! And how difficult for my 3-year old to eat. She persevered, though, and only gave up her not-quite-cone for finished when half of it was on her face and the other half was melted in the bottom of a crumpled paper cup.

Going for broke.

Ice cream with a couple of nuts.

That evening we stayed in Waterbury to have dinner with Eric Smith, an old Baboon Heart friend who relocated to Vermont a decade ago. His three kids are all embroiled in the glorious struggles and temptations of the middle- and high-school years, so he enjoyed playing the role of entertainer to Celia and Andres. Naturally, they loved him--all play and no consequences, unlike dear old mom and dad. We had a nice dinner at a BBQ joint and then walked to his place for some more ice cream (Hood, the cheaper regional favorite).

Eric's home was one of those affected when the floods came to Waterbury a couple years ago. He told us about all the renovations that he had done in order to make the place livable again--tearing down walls, ripping up floors, getting new furniture, the works. Andres was most interested in whether the big flatscreen TV on the living room wall had been affected. He asked about it at least twice, with Eric assuring him both times that no, the TV was above the flood line, and was spared. I'm not sure whether Andres understood or why, for that matter, he was so interested in the first place.

It was dark when we left Eric's house. It had been a fun day--and a long one, too--and we were all ready to get back to the hotel for some sleep. Andres and Celia had no trouble going down. Natalia and I stayed up for a while watching coverage of the Marathon bombing on TV. I think we were both struggling to comprehend what had happened. We know so many people who run and so many people who watch--and to be out of the city when an event of this magnitude happens? When we finally went to bed, I felt like when I woke up the next morning, the news stories would all have been part of an elaborate dream.

But of course they were not. We packed up and headed to breakfast downstairs, where two different televisions were showing CNN. So much for trying to keep the kids unaware. Thankfully the volume was turned down. I could see Andres peeking at the coverage, and I tried to distract him as much as possible. But I know he knows that something happened. Whether he knows what that thing is, or where it occurred, or why it was such a big news story I have yet to find out.

We did continue with our vacation, though. So on this morning it was off to the ECHO Aquarium in downtown Burlington, where the kids saw turtles and fish and listened to some Earth Day-themed stories and learned about the various habitats of Lake Champlain. All typical fare for an aquarium visit.

Tangrams in front of Lake Champlain.

What was not typical, though, was Andres' sudden adoration of chicken soup. After a morning of exploring and occasional fussing from multiple parties, we had stopped in the cafe for a snack. We had brought typical snack fare--granola bars, fruit strips, etc--for the kids. I was in the mood for something more hearty and ordered a cup of chicken soup with wild rice from the on-site cafe. I was happily sipping it when, fully unexpectedly, Andres asked for a taste. It would have surprised me less had Lucia asked for some. Leaping at this chance for my son to expand his culinary boundaries, I pushed the soup in front of him and said "here you go--have all you want." He tasted the broth, and then slowly ate spoonful after spoonful, each a bit quicker than the last. What a moment.

Soup!

It was now early afternoon and our time in Burlington was coming to an end. We left the aquarium and wandered up and down Church Street Marketplace, an open pedestrian mall akin to Faneuil Hall (without the Hall, of course). Sporadic rain drove us into Lake Champlain chocolates and a kitschy tourist shop for some souvenirs. We found lunch at a deserted Sweetwaters cafe along the mall, our final meal before jumping into the car and beginning the four-hour trek home. The passengers slept most of the ride.

We arrived home with many new experiences to savor and stories to tell. Not only had we all survived, but we had also had a good time. My batteries felt recharged. It was a small trip, but one that pointed to the possibility of other adventures down the road.

But the city and state we came back to had also changed. The bombings and subsequent search for answers and suspects dominated headlines. Celtics, Red Sox, and Bruins games were all cancelled. The news was busy chronicling the stories of the victims and how they had come to be where they were killed on that fateful day. It was mentally exhausting, and the stress of trying to keep up with the latest updates chipped away at my post-vacation glow. And then Thursday evening, the manhunt, the Friday lockdown, and the eventual peaceful resolution to a bloody week. By Saturday, Vermont felt hundreds of years and thousands of miles away. Just when we needed it most, vacation was over.