Memories of Mom for Mother's Day

On Mother's Day, 1986, my mom went into labor, and hours later, at 1:08pm (?) on May 12, I was born! She always commented on a specific piece of classical music that was playing on Blue Lake Public Radio that day, and though I can not remember what that piece was, the association of my birthday and Mother's Day each year always comes to mind. After church on Mother's Day our family would go home and enjoy the day outside doing yard work in the sun while mom laid out in her lounge chair, there was one year where I think our intentions of good will toward mom went a little awry. We usually got some hanging flower pots for my mom with a card, but this year, on top of the flowers, we went to Wendy's, of all places, for a Mother's Day lunch. It was something she never let us forget and in the days leading up to subsequent Mother's Days, would remind us that she did not care what we did as long as it did not include a lunch at Wendy's!

So this year, I thought I should dredge my memories for some times spent with mom that meant more than a lunch at Wendy's:

The Basket

In the summer of 1994, my family took our second annual summer road trip. I had just finished second grade and our destination was New York City. We made numerous stops along the way such as Hershey Park, Gettysburg National Military Park, Johnstown Flood National Historic Site, the Liberty Bell, and Independence Hall in Philadelphia. We never really were inconspicuous travelers on these trips. The five of us - Dad, Mom, my brother Ryan, and my sister Lizzie - were crammed into our Chrysler or Dodge mini-van, usually with one or both of my grandmothers. The trunk was packed with a few suitcases, pillows, bags of food, and backpacks, and on the roof of the van was our trusty car-top carrier, filled with more suitcases, toiletries bags, and any souvenirs we happened to pick up along the way (usually Christmas presents our parents did not want us to find while snooping through the trunk for snacks). On this trip, my Grandma Portenga was in the car with us and sat in the middle seat with my sister and my brother and I fought for space in the back seat.

One of the lesser stops we made was at an Amish marketplace as we were driving through Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. I learned about the Amish before and we saw many of them riding their horse-and-buggies on the country roads, but the marketplace was where I saw their amazing furniture and wood-working craftsmanship. We did not have much room in the car for extra items, but there was one thing Mom saw that she just had to have: a basket. Now, this was not your run-of-the-mill basket. This was was made of twigs. It was wicker-like in that the twigs were sort of woven in and out of each other, but the thing that made this basket special was that the ends of each of the twigs was sticking out half a foot from the basket in a sort of spiral pattern. What really only needed to be an 8-inch wide basket you could easily pack in a car became a 20-inch wide, very fragile, piece of art.

While Mom never really ever wanted anything from our trips except books and music, there was the occasional item that when she decided she liked it, she would get it and there were no questions asked. Back at the car, with the stick-basket in hand, there was an argument because the basket didn't really fit anywhere in the car: it was too big to fit in the space between the driver and passenger seats, my sister was too little and rambunctious for it to be near her in the middle seat, my brother and I were not going to have it anywhere in the back seat, and Mom would not let Dad put it up in the car-top carrier. But we had to put it somewhere, and Dad arranged for some of the luggage to go up into the car-top carrier, and so for the rest of the trip - at least until we dropped my Grandma off in New York City - the basket sat on top of a picnic basket of food in the trunk, the sticks poking my brother and I in the head each time we tried to take a nap.

Mom got a lot of grief on that trip from us all for buying that damn basket, but she was steadfast in her decision to purchase it. I am amazed that we actually got it home in one piece! The basket is still around to this day and it was used constantly at home as a flower vase of sorts where it sat perched up on a wooden pedestal in our dining room. And while that basket caused us so much grief over that trip, I am glad we still have it as a reminder of all the good memories my family shares from our trips.

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The Chair Lift

Mom was deathly afraid of heights. She was one of those people who could do fine in tall buildings and elevators and even roller coasters and airplanes. But she could not handle the kinds of heights where you were just dangling or moving slowly or felt even somewhat insecure. For these reasons, in the summer of 1995, on our summer road trip out to Jackson, Wyoming, she decided that she would accompany my brother and I in hiking up the mountains at the Jackson Hole ski resort instead of riding the ski lift to the top.

Dad and Lizzie (and Grandma Portenga, too, I think) took the ski lift up and waited for Ryan, Mom, and I to hike up. Well, Ryan kept going, but my Mom and I decided that the hike was going to be too much work, which left us with one option: the ski lift. For a few years, Ryan and I learned how to ski with my dad at Crystal Mountain in northern Michigan. While we hit the slopes, my mom stayed back at the condo undoubtedly enjoying her magazines in the jacuzzi tub while listening to Interlochen Public Radio. I still think she would have enjoyed skiing, but she would never try because the ski lifts were too high. But in Jackson Hole, I am sure she was conflicted. She was not going to miss out on the opportunity to get to the top of a mountain and view the valley from up high, but in order to do that, she was going to have to face her fear of heights and take the ski lift.

I remember we got in line and as our chair swung around to pick us up, she mentioned to the operator that she was terrified. So he stopped the lift to ensure we were seated properly and lowered the safety bar, telling her to hold on to that if she got scared. With those instructions, she gripped the bar, and we were off. Now, anyone who has been out west knows the mountains are very high and ski lifts in the early 90s were not the speedy-powerful lifts like they have today. They were rickety, swayed much more, and bounced a lot as you went past a post. I wanted to look around so badly because the views were fantastic. I think I managed to squirm around to get a view of the valley lowering behind us before I felt a firm hand grip my leg, saying, "Stop. Moving." It was then I realized Mom had not loosened her grip from the safety bar and though her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, she was crying. This was new to me. Mom never cried. She was a strong, independent, woman, firm in her beliefs, and daringly aware of the world around her. She also had a stubborn Irish pride and bold Polish countenance that was not to be messed with. So when I saw tears streaming down her face, how could do anything but sit still, hold her hand, and tell her that everything was going to be okay? I explained to her that lots of people rode the lifts every year in all sorts of weather and they were all right. It was sunny and not windy and we were going to be fine.

Soon enough we had our feet back on solid ground and Mom could not have been more happy. At the top of the mountain, we had beautiful views of Jackson Hole (the name for the valley itself) and the town of Jackson in the distance. Our excursion was in the later afternoon, and by this time, the sun had started to set and the valley was just alive with colors and a few shadows from the clouds swept across the grassy floor. Finally, Ryan made it to the top and we stayed up there as a family for a while longer before having to go back down. My mom met another woman at the top of the mountain who, like her, was afraid of heights. This woman, though, was also a skier and was able to manage ski lifts. So she gave my mom a few tips for the ride down the lifts - mainly, to keep her eyes looking straight out in front of her and not look directly down. Mom chose me to ride back to the bottom with her and I do remember she was remarkably more calm on the way down. She even talked a little bit. I am just glad she was able to enjoy the nature of the mountains because she had a passion for this Earth and I can just imagine the regret she would have had to live with if she had not gotten the full mountain experience.

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So on this Mother's Day, I look back fondly on a few of the many, many moments I got to have with Mom on our different adventures. Mom was challenged frequently in life, and whether it was, as mentioned here, for having to defend and put up with the criticism of her stick-basket purchase or coming to grips with her fear of heights and refusing to let regret be an emotion she ever felt, she persevered and ensured that she was in control of her life. To this day, I try to follow in her footsteps, and when faced with a decision of right or wrong, I try to choose right; when given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I take it; when I see something I like or want (within reason), I get it. It is the simple things in life that when added together, make a memorable life-story. Mom had a great story, and I can only aspire to make mine as good as hers.

And now, since the weather is beautiful here in Burlington, I am going to go outside and enjoy it!

Collecting Rocks in the Appalachian Mountains (Part 4)

Charles and I had three full days left before having to return our beloved Chevy Cobalt to the rental car agency at the Baltimore Airport, but we still had a lot of ground to cover. We were mostly done with collecting samples for him, so the days were mostly mine. Tensions were still riding high as we moved into the Susquehanna River Basin in Pennsylvania, but luckily my sampling sites would not be too far from the road and we could literally park, walk to the rock, chisel off some pieces of it, and get back into the car. I think it also helped that Charles had collected most of the samples he wanted to get, so he was no longer worried about missing any of his sampling sites.

We started driving around Tuscarora State forest, just east of State College, PA. Our first site was on a great little trail (Rim Trail) which led us down into a cool, damp hemlock forest. Not knowing what type of rocks we'd find, we took anything that could possibly turn out good results for my research. Our next stops in the Forest were the Round Top Trail, just up the road from the Rim Trail, and the Pine Ridge Trail, an open forest setting in a valley between low-lying hills.. If you live in Pennsylvania and ever need a place to go commune with nature and get away from things, the state forests are amazing! Many of the roads are washboard dirt roads so traffic is never too heavy meaning you probably won't run into too many other hikers. Unfortunately, I do not have any scenic photos of these places worth sharing...

This region of the Appalachian Mountains is known as the Valley and Ridge Province and gets its namesake from bands of narrow ridgelines running parallel to narrow wooded valleys and wider farmland valleys. The area would make for a perfect Sunday afternoon drive! This part of Pennsylvania is also well known as being Amish country and Quaker-central, so things can kind of get religious. This worried me just a little as we were driving over one of the ridges and I saw some perfect rocks from which I could sample. The only problem is that the location was called Prayer Rocks and a little shrine was situated near them where people could come and offer prayers and thoughts to God. I took the rocks anyway, but we got out of there quickly in case what we were doing was considered sacrilege.

Looking east over the PA farmlands from Prayer Rock

Sample site at Prayer Rock, PA

Rothrock State Forest proved to be less fruitful and as evening set in our stomachs started gurgling. We drove into State College, where we met up with one of our former classmates, Shay, and her husband. We parked at their apartment and they took us downtown. Zeno's Pub was the place to be and for something like $3 each, we got a basket heaping with the best BBQ pulled-pork sandwich, a pile of delicious french fries, and a pint of beer. To make things better, in the corner was a fantastic live Bluegrass band. After downing a few beers, we headed to the Meyer Dairy Store where you get homemade ice cream, shakes, and sundaes. And since you're in Pennsylvania, you know the milk is probably coming from right out back. Not only was the ice cream some of the creamiest and best-tasting ever, but the ice-cream-to-cost ratio has to to be the highest anywhere!

Shay's apartment was small and stuffed with bicycles, so Charles and I camped outside of town. The next morning we moved up onto the Appalachian Plateau, a relatively flat, featureless landscape where we collected some rocks from the hidden locations of Turtle Rocks and Panther Rocks in Moshannon State forest. The rocks we found here were pretty boring themselves, but the way that they stuck out from the rest of the flat land makes them the most dominant and imposing things around! In fact, we parked the car looking for Panther Rocks and almost missed them in the underbrush. Turns out, we were walking on top of them and their bases were actually a good twenty feet below us! Very cool place to get out and explore for a little bit.

Turtle Rocks in Moshannon State Forest, PA

Panther Rocks in Moshannon State Forest

Panther Rocks

Trillium at Panther Rocks

The day was not over and we made the long drive over to Duncannon, PA, where we collected some samples from a section of the Appalachian Trail. We had seen numerous millipedes on our hikes, but in Duncannon, the bugs were everywhere! I don't know why they were drawn to the openness of the trail; they would probably live longer if they stayed in the brush off on the side!

Duncannon, PA and the Susquehanna River as seen from the Appalachian Trail

The day pressed on and we moved down to the Michaux State Forest and after whacking some rock off of an outcrop in someone's backyard, we quickly hiked the Pole Steeple Trail and got some rocks from there, too.

Rocks at Pole Steeple in Michaux State Forest

Pole Steeple, Michaux State Forest

Pole Steeple

As we headed into Gettysburg for dinner at the Plaza Restaurant and Lounge, I looked down at the gas meter and noticed we were below empty and miles outside of town! We hadn't filled up in a while and needed to get to town, but every single gas station we passed was closed (must have been a Sunday?). We ended up slowly chugging up hills so as not to waste any gas and putting the car in neutral on the way down and coasted as far as we could get before putting the Cobalt back in gear. As the last droplets of gasoline were burned off, we rolled into a gas station minutes before it closed and filled up. I have never, in my life, been so worried that I would run out of gas! Gettysburg is a great historic town and I visited there twice before on family vacations when I was younger. As we drove into town, we passed some of the monuments and memorials in the National Military Park and though I desperately wanted to visit again, I even more desperately wanted to eat.

We had one more full day in the field and as we drove to my final sampling site we took a few detours along the way for Charles to retrieve a few last samples in Maryland. One of his sites was in the rolling hills between Emmitsburg and Taneytown, Maryland. Once again, I was amazed at the rolling, forested hills, dissected by small rivers. The road we were on just wound between these hills, past little family cottages, following various rivers. I really can't get over how nice this part of the country is. It seems to be so unexplored but so settled and peaceful. Definitely a place I could see city people wanting a country home. Some of Charles's other sites were in more open farmlands and since he didn't really need much help from me here, I made friends with the locals.

This idiot cow had its head soo far under the barbed wire just to get a little piece of dandelion...

Finally, we made it to Rocks State Park in Maryland - a seemingly perfect place in the lower Susquehanna River basin for us to end our sampling mission. It was at this site they filmed parts of the movie, "Tuck Everlasting," but I never saw that film so I didn't recognize anything.

Rocks State Park, Maryland

Rocks State Park

Our flight left the next morning so we drove from the state park to the nearest car wash where we cleaned out our little Cobalt as best we could and booked a room at a hotel just outside the airport. The next morning we first stopped at FedEx and made our third shipment of rocks and bags of sand back to Vermont. Each time we sent samples back, the staff at the FedEx centers always got a kick over the fact we wanted to mail five-gallon paint buckets and small coolers filled with sand and rock and duct-taped over and over and over. So with our last shipment sent, we brought the car over to the rental agency, and bussed over to the airport.

Traveling for work can be stressful at times, especially doing field work in a small group, but when all was said and done, Charles and I had a great time in the field and came back with some good stories and memories of terrible sampling sites. Oh! And as it turns out, over the course of two weeks, we kept to our budget! In fact, we came back with $4.75 in change! The Appalachian Mountains are beautiful and a pristine wilderness, a hard thing to come by in the eastern United States. No matter where you are on the East Coast, you're never far from them, and sometimes you just need a break from life, and there is not a better place to wander and explore than these mountains!