Waking up at Tristan's house in Louisa is worlds away from waking up in my cave-like Brooklyn apartment.
First, there's the flock of sheep outside the window. Just doing their thing. Being fluffy.
And, a bit to the right, Colin in a hammock petting Hoppy, the family dog.
And, in the kitchen, farm fresh eggs (cooked by Olivia!), homegrown tomatoes made into a Caprese salad, and raspberries...not from the farm, but still awesome. My frequent eating out prevents me from keeping much food at home—my fridge is where anything perishable goes to die. Slowly. The Jones family kitchen is full of food, and when it's being raided by five 20-somethings, everything gets eaten.
And perhaps a smidge longer. The distance was the same—it just felt longer because of Tristan's gross underestimation of how long it would take to reach the rock slide. "Another 30 minutes," he responded when Olivia asked how much further it was...and then he's repeat the same answer after 45 minutes.
After what felt like two hours, interspersed with many, "OH GOD, TRISTAN, ARE WE THERE YET?" and him going, "YEAH I THINK ...no, not yet," we finally reached the holy land of The Slide. Like last year, I didn't actually go down the slide because, like last year, the water was brain numbingly cold. Although I wore my bathing suit I pretty much just sat on the rocks with Olivia and Veronica and soaked in the peacefulness of our little spot of nature as the boys did their macho thing and freeze their asses off. I'm not ashamed of being a wuss. A wuss who likes her skin's temperature to stay fairly constant.
This is Colin before going down the slide.
This is Colin after. Quiet, violently shivering Colin.
Tristan went down a few times. He deserved his fun after having to hear the rest of us whine during the hike. Perhaps mostly from me.
On the way back to Tristan's house, we stopped at a supermarket...conveniently located next to a Tastee Freez. Which meant I was gonna eat some soft serve.
I got a chocolate dipped cone—a rippled tower of vanilla soft serve (that's some quality soft serve-pulling) coated in a hard chocolate shell. The soft serve doesn't taste like anything special, but it's a fulfills the desire of something sweet, cool, and creamy, accented by something sweet and crisp. It's a no-fail combination.
Back at home, we reveled in the beauty of the sunset.
Except for Colin since he had a headache. We didn't even know where he was until, while walking outside, one of us said, "Where's Colin?" and we heard a low moan of, "I'm heere," come from the tent.
We picked a bit of apple mint from the garden to make cocktails with (it really does smell like apples and mint...durh).
And awwww, look at Tristan and Hoppy. They're meant to be together.
For dinner, Olivia made us a huge ass frittata made with 20 or so eggs from the farm.
With Colin's help, the frittata was set free from the iron grip of its...iron vessel. Free to enter OUR MOUTHS.
The frittata had a nice crispy bottom (or top, rather) and was full of tomatoes and peppers...and things. I don't remember exactly; I just know it was fat, fluffy, and delicious. We ate it with vegetarian chili, brown rice, and cooked spinach, surely making it the healthiest meal I had eaten in a long time.
- Time to go outside and sit around this concentrated source of heat. (Extra dude on the right is Fletcher, Tristan's brother.)
And then I undid the healthiness by eating some s'mores.
Or just one s'more—the combination of graham crackers, chocolate slab, and gooey marshmallow is fairly gut-busting. I ate one full s'more and then one gimpy marshmallow-and-graham-cracker version before calling it a day.
Epic sleepiness allowed me to drop dead in the tent that night.