Bombs and Berries

Last week, in a last ditch effort to save summer, we went to the Purple Fiddle in Thomas, West Virginia. The Purple Fiddle is a "family friendly" bluegrass joint that also serves espresso and microbrewed beer. They get bluegrass music every night during the summer and advertise heavily that kids are welcome. We stayed next door at the Fiddler's Roost, which is their Guest House. It's cute and convenient, but without very many amenities. We took Reed to see two different bands, and he really enjoyed it, but since the bands started at 8:30pm, and that is exactly Reed's bedtime, we were only able to enjoy the music for about a half an hour each night.

Then we went back to our room and watched the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on an old VHS machine. Reed had his own little twin bed, and he loved being in the room with us. He would frequently sit up and wave at us while yelling "Hi Mommy! Hi Daddy!" despite the fact that we were in a bed located approximately one foot from his. Then he would grin ear to ear, stick his thumb in his mouth and lay back down. I decided to let him stay up late since we were on vacation, and we were all up until about 11:00pm the first night.

This was a big mistake, because as it turned out, the band was staying at the Fiddler's Roost also, and they came back at about 2:00am. They then proceeded to sit out on the porch, drink beer, and have a philosophical discussion, which I could hear every word of as the porch was located just underneath our open window. Reed, however, slept through the whole thing and woke up chipper at 6:00am.

I guess we got pay back on the band, because the bathroom was communal, and Reed ran down the hall with his little foot stool that we had brought along shouting. I HAVE TO GO PEE PEE! Then, after Caleb used the rest room, Reed clapped his hands together and cheered "Yay, Daddy went pee pee!" We worked as fast as we could to get him out of there and get breakfast, only to discover that the only place in town didn't open until eight am. So we strolled around town, and this is what we found.

The Cheat River flows right below Thomas. I thought this view of it looked very southern.

Although Thomas has a small, but thriving arts community, there are parts of it that look like a ghost town. It is an abandoned coal mining town. There are cute old buildings like this just waiting to be revitalized. Caleb and I fantasize about turning one of those buildings into a printing press. I guess that will have to wait until we make our millions.

Apparently, Thomas has some conflict between the hippies and the rednecks. They also have some literacy issues. I found this carving on an abandoned door.

It reads: "Thomas WV: World Center for Militant Apathy." Then below that, someone else carved: "This Hear Town Don't Kare and Nobody Can Make Us To!"

The Purple Fiddle is full of hippies in the truest sense. I don't see real hippies around much anymore. Caleb and I have speculated that maybe being a hippie has gone out of style We both get a little nostalgic, Caleb, for the old hippie days of Morgantown, and I, for the hippie days of Missoula. When we got back to Morgantown, my money smelled like Patchouli, and I was immediately transported back to Butterfly Herbs in Missoula when I was 18 and drinking coffee all day with Cassie. Of course, we made fun of the hippies back then, but now I kind of miss them. Also, hippies love kids, which I like.

We also went to the Dolly Sods Wilderness area for a picnic and little hike. It is 4,000 ft high, which is really high for around here, and the country is absolutely stunning. It looks like this:

One our hike, we found a bog absolutely full of huckleberries and wild blueberries. We picked as many as we could without straying off the trail. It's dangerous to stray off the trail in the Dolly Sods because of the live bombs. Yes, that's right. Live bombs. The Dolly Sods used to be a live training area during World War 2, and they warn that there is still the potential for live bombs in the area. Caleb thinks that is a metaphor for West Virginia. It's wild and wonderful, but there are live bombs around, so you can't enjoy it too much. As I'm sure everyone knows, West Virginia has a history of terrible exploitation of the natural resources. I could go on about that forever, but I won't. Instead, I will post this picture that illustrates my point:

But Reed had a great time. He loved being out and picking berries. Then he figured out that he could eat them, and he ate more than he picked. We all had a wonderful time.

Yet another toddler story. Sorry folks, but this is our life.

This story was relayed to me by Caleb over the phone. I, unfortunately, was still in bed when all of this happened. Reed likes to get Caleb up at 6:00am. I say "Caleb," because I have never been, nor ever will be, a morning person. I thought having a child would make me a morning person. When Reed was a baby, I even willingly got up every two hours to nurse him and stumbled blindly through my classes. However, when he reached 12 months and started sleeping through the night, I blissfully slipped back into my old habits of sleeping in, except that now, "sleeping in" means 8:30am instead of 10:30am. Luckily, Caleb is a morning person, so we have a sort of understanding about this.

So anyway, this morning, Reed came into our bedroom at six, went to a drawer, picked out a pair of Caleb's pants, handed them to Caleb and commanded "Pants On!" This is code for "Take me downstairs, feed me breakfast, put on Sesame Street, and then nap on the couch for another hour while I watch Big Bird." When Caleb got downstairs, he realized that Reed's clothes were still in the washer from last night, so he put them in the dryer while he napped on the couch and Reed watched Sesame Street. When he took the clothes out, Reed wanted to put his shorts on, but Caleb said "No, you can't, they're still too hot." Thankfully, Reed is very cautious about hot things, and we don't have to worry about the stove, but we do have to put every meal he eats in the fridge to "make cold" whether that meal is actually hot or not.

So Reed didn't want to wear the "hot" shorts. After they cooled down, Caleb tried to put them on him, but Reed kept shaking his head saying "No, too hot." "No, too hot." Finally, after multiple failed attempts, Caleb put Reed's shorts in the fridge.

Yep, that's right. The fridge. This is the kind of negotiating we do on a daily basis. He then pulled the shorts out of the fridge, let Reed feel how cold and crispy they were around the edges, and Reed put them on. Then, when they were ready to go (Caleb to work and Reed to preschool), Caleb slung his bag around his shoulder. It's sort of a briefcase, sort of a leather messenger bag. When Reed saw the bag, he shouted "My purse!" "My purse!"

"I----Want----A----Purse!"

(I should confess here that, sometimes, I let Reed carry my purse. He likes to sling it over his shoulder on the way from the car to the house). But, now, he apparently thinks that Daddy carries a purse too. Isn't that called a murse (man-purse)?