Best Hot Dog Ever
The cabin we are living in while we wait for our house to open up is delightful. It really feels like we shrunk down small enough to walk into a Lincoln Log Cabin. It's large enough to not feel like a hotel room but small enough to feel cozy. A great transition home.
Since our stuff is all in storage and we should be moving into a home in a coupe of weeks, we are living simply.
Minimal things in the fridge.
A few favorite books/movies.
A handful of kitchen supplies for cooking.
A basket of toys.
Living out of suitcases.
I'm only getting food we can cook on a stove (no oven) and we only have two pans, so aside from several trips out to eat, for dinner, we have fallen back to college-like eating.... Ramen...Mac-n-cheese... Hot dogs... Pancakes...
Fried hot dogs always bring me back to Maine...
I was in sixth grade. We had 13 acres. Our house on Porter Road was on a hill. From the back deck you could see most of the acreage, a huge field that was surrounded by woods. It was beautiful, especially in the fall, when the tractors came to harvest the hay and the foliage was the perfect blends of reds, oranges and yellows.
But as a kid, my favorite season on Porter Road, was winter, and all that snow.
Since we lived on a hill, when it snowed, we had days of sledding. Dad taught us how to make the perfect path with saucers and walk up a different path so one stayed smooth for sledding and the other was bumpy for an easier time running back up. Then the path would freeze hard over night for the fastest ride ever. We got so good at it that we rode to the middle of the field. Best sledding of my life.
But some days we didn't want to sled, we didn't want to fort build, we didn't want to go outside. In Maine we got a lot of snow and after a while we were bored with it. Coincidently, on these days, Mom and Dad were insistent that we go find something to do outside.
One day this happened, and we begrudgingly layered up and waddled out and plopped into the first snow bank.
Bored.
A little while later, Dad comes outside with a plastic bag full of stuff. He had on his beanie and leather gloves, so we all assumed he was going to start a snowball war or do some shoveling... He never wore real snow clothes.
But why the plastic bag?
"Get off your lazy butts and come with me." He tried to sound upset but we all saw a twinkle in his eye and none of us knew why.
Boredom and curiosity pushed us up off the snow bank as we followed Dad.
We had over a foot of snow on the ground, my brothers were all under 7 at the time and just skidded over the top layer of ice over the snow, and I could too if I was really careful, but most of the way, we crunched through the ice and snow and had to lift our feet up.
Sink down, liiift up. Sink down, liiiiift up.
It was exhausting, but curiosity is a strong motivator. We walked all the way through the 10 acre field to the edge of the woods. A little ways into the woods we found one of those beautiful New England rock fences that are crumbled around various properties, like historic ruins.
Dad started pulling rocks off the wall to form a circle and told us to find branches as thin as Patrick's finger and as tall as Kevin. (Two of my brothers) Once we got back, dad had a little fire going and a package of hot dogs next to him in the snow.
He whittled the edge of each of our branches and explained to us how these branches were alive and harder to burn so they made the best kind of hot dog stick.
He put me on bun duty and Leanne was in charge of mustard. And then stabbed the hot dogs and we each got to cook our own dogs and watch them bubble in the fire.
I will always remember that first bite. The warmth from the steaming hot dog went all through my freezing cold body. It was totally burnt but the best hot dog I have ever had.
We threw snow on the fire, and made sure it was soaked and cold. Put our sticks on the rock wall and made our trek back up the hill to the house. This time no curiosity but a full tummy and a fun adventure under our belt.
(Ooo. Fancy-shmancy.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone)
Since our stuff is all in storage and we should be moving into a home in a coupe of weeks, we are living simply.
Minimal things in the fridge.
A few favorite books/movies.
A handful of kitchen supplies for cooking.
A basket of toys.
Living out of suitcases.
I'm only getting food we can cook on a stove (no oven) and we only have two pans, so aside from several trips out to eat, for dinner, we have fallen back to college-like eating.... Ramen...Mac-n-cheese... Hot dogs... Pancakes...
Fried hot dogs always bring me back to Maine...
I was in sixth grade. We had 13 acres. Our house on Porter Road was on a hill. From the back deck you could see most of the acreage, a huge field that was surrounded by woods. It was beautiful, especially in the fall, when the tractors came to harvest the hay and the foliage was the perfect blends of reds, oranges and yellows.
But as a kid, my favorite season on Porter Road, was winter, and all that snow.
Since we lived on a hill, when it snowed, we had days of sledding. Dad taught us how to make the perfect path with saucers and walk up a different path so one stayed smooth for sledding and the other was bumpy for an easier time running back up. Then the path would freeze hard over night for the fastest ride ever. We got so good at it that we rode to the middle of the field. Best sledding of my life.
But some days we didn't want to sled, we didn't want to fort build, we didn't want to go outside. In Maine we got a lot of snow and after a while we were bored with it. Coincidently, on these days, Mom and Dad were insistent that we go find something to do outside.
One day this happened, and we begrudgingly layered up and waddled out and plopped into the first snow bank.
Bored.
A little while later, Dad comes outside with a plastic bag full of stuff. He had on his beanie and leather gloves, so we all assumed he was going to start a snowball war or do some shoveling... He never wore real snow clothes.
But why the plastic bag?
"Get off your lazy butts and come with me." He tried to sound upset but we all saw a twinkle in his eye and none of us knew why.
Boredom and curiosity pushed us up off the snow bank as we followed Dad.
We had over a foot of snow on the ground, my brothers were all under 7 at the time and just skidded over the top layer of ice over the snow, and I could too if I was really careful, but most of the way, we crunched through the ice and snow and had to lift our feet up.
Sink down, liiift up. Sink down, liiiiift up.
It was exhausting, but curiosity is a strong motivator. We walked all the way through the 10 acre field to the edge of the woods. A little ways into the woods we found one of those beautiful New England rock fences that are crumbled around various properties, like historic ruins.
Dad started pulling rocks off the wall to form a circle and told us to find branches as thin as Patrick's finger and as tall as Kevin. (Two of my brothers) Once we got back, dad had a little fire going and a package of hot dogs next to him in the snow.
He whittled the edge of each of our branches and explained to us how these branches were alive and harder to burn so they made the best kind of hot dog stick.
He put me on bun duty and Leanne was in charge of mustard. And then stabbed the hot dogs and we each got to cook our own dogs and watch them bubble in the fire.
I will always remember that first bite. The warmth from the steaming hot dog went all through my freezing cold body. It was totally burnt but the best hot dog I have ever had.
We threw snow on the fire, and made sure it was soaked and cold. Put our sticks on the rock wall and made our trek back up the hill to the house. This time no curiosity but a full tummy and a fun adventure under our belt.
(Ooo. Fancy-shmancy.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone)
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