Everyone should possess at least one special body of water in their lifetime. A watery place that you have grown up with, return to, know the feel and smell of blindfolded. When I was growing up, that was Lake Champlain, an almost-Great lake that forms a wide swath of the border between Vermont and New York, narrow in our own patch in Addison County, Vermont then broadening out in a wide bay all the way to Canada. It was at least three lakes to me in its vastness: one, of my earlier childhood, and two in my teenaged and young adult working lives. Someday I will write about the working lake, the lake of summer camp adventures as a “kitchen girl” and then a cook, but for now, the summer childhood lake is on my mind.
My uncle Jim had a “camp” (in this context, a small cottage) on the lake that we visited often, and my friend Sandy, one year my senior whose family owned the camp next door, was my constant companion those summers. Jumping off the dock into the chill and often weedy water, venturing out in the leaky rowboat, or just sitting for hours on a ledge of the shaley shore sharing secrets, partially hidden from the outside world (and her pesky siblings) by scrubby trees. The lake had an earthy and tangy mud smell. The swimming area started out painfully rocky, and then progressed to a soft, squishy muck that you wanted to get out from under your toes as soon as possible. Kids accustomed to pristine swimming pools would not have set a foot into this sometimes slimy watery playground, but to us it was heaven. We would stay out in the water long after our fingers wrinkled, haul ourselves onto the dock to sunbathe awhile, then jump right back in for more.
The lake water lapped the shore gently, in a reassuring way, on lazy summer days. But, it could also get riled up during wind and rain storms, being almost-Great, throwing wild white caps into the air and beating the shore in a primordial fury. I loved the lake in its many moods and I loved having a friend to share it with. I know The Lake (there was no other in our lexicon), and this friendship revolving around it, helped shape my future self in ways I cannot fathom, like the unfathomable depths of Samuel de Champlain’s “discovery,” which is in my mind truly is a great lake.
South Carolina. None of them were Southerners by birth, but no matter. There seem to be many more relocated Northerns (like our family) or Midwesterners than actual natives in HHI these days, since the original 
ora and fauna. Or go kayaking, parasailing, paddle boarding, etc. etc. We went on a very nice sunset/fireworks boat tour with my sister’s Rotary Club members. Dolphins obligingly made an appearance, as well as the full moon. It was a good respite from the Washington, DC area swelter – which comes for most of us without a beach and/or our own swimming pool – and work. From sunrise (which I always try to get up in time for, and usually don’t make it) to sunset (which is great from the water), HHI is a nice place to visit.
f so, it is all we will be eating for awhile I guess. Send me some squash recipes just in case!
First up, 
therwise totally bad for you just as authentic ethnic food usually is. First, they go grocery shopping. Then they start cooking. If the recipe calls for booze, Mr. Gale always needs to sample some of the rum or vodka liberally. Some singing and dancing usually occurs as well. The grandmas seem to love him, although I have to say I think he is slightly creepy. He does manage to sneak in a pretty good oral history interview during the cooking, though, which along with the recipes makes this a folklorist-approved show.
The tent might even be gone by now, and the only remains will soon be a very large circle of dead grass and a few crayon and colored paper bits ground into the hard-baked soil. But my 2016 summer interns and I will remember the moments of joy, frustration, laughter, disappointment, and exhaustion that made it an area where we hope kids had fun and learned something about cultural traditions.
One of these activities was Basque Number Bingo, which I generated from an online template that allows you to turn just about any string of related words or images into a bingo game for kids.
These wet and wild gardens are one of those hidden gems in Washington, DC that you can easily miss – in fact, we did the first time around because there is no sign (and apparently no exit off Kenilworth Avenue) if you are heading north, and we had to turn around at the 
Well, anyhow, in the afternoon my good friend and colleague Elaine Eff and a young and enthusiastic representative from the Highlandtown Business Association (Amanda, I never caught your last name, sorry) led a tour of the painted screens of the neighborhood. What, you never heard of a painted screen? Well, luckily, Elaine has written the
Jennifer, the intern from the Netherlands, wanted to do the iconic 
Despite the cattle-like treatment of the blue plastic line-up by the staff handlers (“Move up – move along!”) and the rush of teenagers to the better viewpoints, I have to say the experience was still awesome. Especially when you get to the base of Horseshoe Falls and the cold mists hit you full force. This makes you abandon your camera and just live in the moment (because you can’t see anything through the viewfinder except water, for one thing). I have to admit, I got a little choked up – the majesty of nature and all that.
Last Saturday, we had a drama unfolding in our backyard with a cast of thousands. Thousands of our neighbor’s honey bees, that is. According to 
om outside, even from within the screened-in deck.)
I have been in Armenia on a work trip for the past week. (Yes, I am only planning to go places that begin with “A” from now on.) It’s been an amazing experience. Since one of the focuses (foci?) of the project we are working on is food, eating has been a big part of the trip. Since I am planning to write a work blog about “Armenian Snickers,” I will not mention them here, you will just have to wait for that. But, we have been eating a lot of delicious food. Yoghurt (madzoon) is a whole new experience here. Each morning at breakfast at our hotel, I try another combination of nuts, jams, and honey (and even corn flakes) with this thick drained version of yoghurt – think the best Greek yoghurt with no sour “bite” to it. Also, it is made into soup called “spas” with grains and a particular type of herb (it looks like tarragon in the soup, though I am sure people use different types of herbs. 
Then tea or strong Armenian coffee and “gata” (cake). This was after visiting one of the most spectacularly situated historic monasteries in the country, called 