Thursday, July 9: NH: Ascutney

Last night, the entire house was plagued by small flying insects that covered the walls wherever there was a light source, mostly upstairs. Hallway, bathroom, bedrooms. Swarming, sticking to things, sticking to us. They were on our pillows, on our sheets. It was truly awful. They weren't as big as flies but were bigger than gnats; they were not mosquitos. Greta was absolutely losing her mind. Who could blame her? 

By morning, they were gone. And tonight, as I write this upstairs, there are no signs of them yet. But it's just this sort of country-life invasion that means it might be time for us to go.

We had a fun day today doing a few last things. We hiked to the top of Mount Ascutney as we do every year, and took pictures from the firetower. The girls bought Vermont State Park t-shirts on the way out of the park. We had ice cream at Frazer's and then headed home.

It was very hot this afternoon and the girls got some good pond time in. I did a quick float on the boat. Andrew took a dip.

Then we put on our rainboots and walked to the creek, where we used to spend so many hours when the kids were little. It's always fun to hike around down there. Farrah loves it too, splashing around and bounding through the woods. The kids and Andrew, as usual, poked around by an old rusted car carcass, finding some glass bottles.

Andrew grilled hot dogs and sausages for dinner but was pummeled by the flying insects, so we ate inside. Then we played gin and Scrabble.

It was a good day. I think the bugs have made the kids ready to leave. They're already moving back into regular life, making plans with friends, looking ahead to the rest of the summer. Not me. I want to stay right here, even though I am sticky with sunscreen and bug spray, overheated, and bug-bitten from hiking in the woods, and there are insects on my computer screen right now, unpleasantly backlit. 

When Andrew and I used to come to NH from California during the years we lived there, I was always horribly upset when it would be time to leave. There were tears. When Andrew would finally tell me it really was time to go, I would say, "Okay...if you can find me," and pretend I was going to run into the field. I feel that way now. Maybe on Saturday the kids and Andrew will pack up the car, ready the pets, then look around and find I'm out of sight.