Category Archives: One in a Thousand

Gooseberry, Gooseberry, Gooseberry Pie

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oneinathousandlogoby E.O. Schaub

 

“Ask me a riddle and I reply: Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.”

A.A. Milne

 

Confession time: I am a sometime dabbler in the dark arts. Yes, it’s true. I make pies.

 

Okay, maybe dark isn’t the right word. Golden brown is more like it… with all manner of lovely, lava-like fruity concoctions bubbling and steaming just beneath the surface. Name me one thing that’s better about summer than a perfect, freshly-baked pie sitting on the stove to cool- I dare you.

 

Nope, it’s pretty hard, you have to admit. Summer has so-oooo many of these quietly wonderful sensory-overload experiences: baking on a towel in the too-hot sun after a bracing dip in the swimming hole; taking that first, mouth-full-of-sugar bite of a big-as-your-head wad of cotton candy; or that green-stemmy smell of tomato plants, filled with hopeful, yellow flowers, peeking out from leafy hiding places, promising tomatoes to come… But if you ask me- and let’s assume that you did- none of these beats that moment when the hot summer pie is born.

 

Okay, I get carried away, I know. My husband tells me as much when I practically leap out of the car window after catching my first glimpse of a farm stand advertising “fresh peaches!” I can pore over the berry selection at Dutton’s Farm Stand for inordinate amounts of time, shooing the fruit flies and imagining wonderful concoctions, new pies to try out (hmmmm, what would Red Currant be like?), and old favorites to recreate (Strawberry Icebox, Summer Peach of course, and never, never overlook Just Plain Blueberry)… Continue reading Gooseberry, Gooseberry, Gooseberry Pie →

Ambushed by Wallace Nutting

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oneinathousandlogoE.O. Schaub

 

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they’re digging a culvert on East Wells Road today. Yup. So, as the nice man with the mustache and orange vest will tell you, what’cher going to have to do is take Saw Mill to Lamb Hill. That’ll take you right around it.

 

Lamb-Hill-Road
Lamb Hill Road

What the nice man with the mustache and the orange vest won’t tell you is how you think you know a place after living there for twelve years, but you don’t. Right when you least expect it- he will neglect to tell you- an unexpected detour can change your whole outlook on things.

 

Acquaintances who live elsewhere will periodically ask us if one ever gets tired of the Vermont landscape; if, like any house with an especially scenic, or bucolic, or just downright breathtaking view- of the Jersey shore, of the Eiffel Tower, of the polar ice caps- one eventually grows so accustomed to that prized, pricey, location-location-location view that it ceases to enchant, and becomes, for all intents and purposes, invisible. It seems to me, sometimes, as if these folks are trying to justify why living in Vermont is nice and all, but, you know, not really worth the trouble and expense. Continue reading Ambushed by Wallace Nutting →

Adventures in Catsitting

One in a Thousand, ,

oneinathousandlogoE.O. Schaub

 

Pop quiz! How do you know when you’re at the end of a vacation?

 

When your suitcase:

a.) smells like it might walk itself to the laundry room

b.) contains coffee mugs from places with names like “Big Jim’s House of Taco-Flavored Pancakes”

c.) contains a humorous t-shirt that seemed much funnier when it didn’t belong to you

d.) along with its contents is being auctioned off in the alley next to the Best Western

 

Cats-and-Pooh
My cats: trying not to develop a complex

Okay! That was an easy one. Here’s one that is much more nuanced: How do you know when you’re at the end of a relationship with your catsitter?

 

When you come home from a leisurely twelve-hour drive which involved crayon fights and championship whining to find:

a.) a trail of blood droplets leading from the garage to the kitchen

b.) a weird, distinctive, um… smell in your living room

c.) the furniture rearranged

d.) a weird, distinctive, um… guy in your living room (note: he will be the one eating your frozen dinner entree and drinking your beer)

 

Over the long course of my history of feline companionship I have personally arrived home to each of these scenarios in turn; I can therefore assure you with great confidence that each one is a very, very good indicator that the relationship you previously enjoyed with your catsitter is now… how shall I say it?… kaput. The responsible person in whose capable hands you left the care of your furry family members, not to mention every worldly possession you own, has suddenly morphed into someone you might not entrust with the care of your dead ficus plant. Continue reading Adventures in Catsitting →