Recovering from a whirlwind weekend, as we embarked on yet another trip in the Columbia. This time the destination was Massachusetts, to spend a weekend with Issac and Olivia.
The trip over was uneventful, with tailwinds hurtling us east at ground speeds approaching 220 knots at times. Issac was recovering from Lasik surgery, or whatever the latest variant might be, and poked at his mom when he got out of the car at the Lawrence Airport by feeling his way down the fender after he alighted to greet her. As he observed, the joke would've carried more punch if he had let Olivia drive.
Friday night featured a gourmet supper prepared by Olivia, complete with a rhubarb and strawberry dessert. The house was filled with family and laughter and stories, the sort of evening we've missed over this last pandemic year.
The next morning Peg continued her tradition of fixing Eggs Benedict for the household whenever she's in town, washed down with the champagne PT had left in the fridge when we were there for Easter. Now full and happily buzzy, we piled into the back of the car for the 90 minute drive up to the Reeve family cabin just outside of Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. Driving through the town, which was packed with day trippers and motorcycle herds on a perfect summer day, we realized we were woefully mis-clothed for a day on the lake, and spent a few minutes wandering the boutiques in Wolfeboro's toney shopping district in search of shorts and flip flops.
The cabin, like the kids' house in Andover, was alive with family. Olivia's brother and housemate Peter arrived a little ahead of us along with his squeeze Liz, and Olivia's father Chris was stretched out on the couch, half watching soccer with Peter while pecking at his laptop. Issac and Olivia took their giant and hyperactive Swiss Shepherds, Rocko and Tayla, down to the lake for a swim.
P and I just enjoyed the pine scented, cool air out on the deck.
Then we hiked down to the dock, deciding the water was a little too cold for two Southerners to take a dip.
Have I mentioned that Issac and Olivia are budding real estate moguls? They drove us later that afternoon a few minutes to the northeast to walk their latest prospective acquisition, a dozen acres on a mountainside overlooking Lake Wentworth and the mountains that ring it and Lake Winnipesaukee just to the west. With the advent of remote work and decent rural internet connections, it wouldn't surprise me if a few years from now we're visiting them up here on the mountain, taking our coffee in the morning with spectacular New Hampshire vistas as far as the eye can see.
Late in the afternoon Peg's friend Laura, who was with us last weekend, arrived from her place outside of Nashua. The two of them ventured off for a walk while Peter fixed burgers and dogs on the grill, and I wandered down to the dock to take in a spectacular sunset and call my dad for Father's Day.
Father's Day has become a source of grief for me over the years, with the loss of my grandfather now fourteen years ago, my father's failing health, and the silence from my own sons whenever the holiday has come around over the last three or four cycles. My sense is that Issac and Olivia were determined that this year would be different, and did what they could to make the weekend special.
After feasting on burgers and dogs, Issac and Olivia drove back down the hill and Laura headed home, leaving us at the cabin for the night. At nine the next morning the kids returned to find the rest of us out on the deck admiring the view over coffee, and herded us back to the car to beat the traffic that would soon flood the highways heading back toward Boston.
It was hot when we got back to Andover. We ventured out to play a yard game called Kubb, sort of a mash-up of bowling and horseshoes that was complicated by the fact that the dogs insisted on sharing the moment by lying in the middle of the playing field.
After P and I were soundly defeated in the first round, the heat drove all of us back into the house where we could enjoy that rarest of luxuries in New England, central air conditioning. I did a little flight planning for the trip home, and grew concerned over the weather building to the west of Corning. We decided leaving a little sooner than planned would be a prudent move, and if the weather permitted P suggested that a few holes of golf might be in order when we got home.
But first the kids gave me probably the coolest Father's Day gift I've ever received, a 1725 edition of the Book of Common Prayer and King James Bible.
Inside were logged the Tongue family's births and deaths (occasionally on the same day) between 1710 and 1810, written in a hand from another time.
It seemed a pity to hurry off, but that's just what we did. On the road to the Lawrence Airport, I kept checking my phone to see if there was a message from the boys, but came up empty.
The flight home was lovely but slow, as we slogged through headwinds that added twenty minutes to the trip. My only serious flub was forgetting to activate the ILS approach as we arrived in the pattern, and then wondering why the Columbia flew right through the localizer without the autopilot bringing us around toward the runway. Thankfully we'd beaten the weather, so I just flew a visual straight-in to the field.
As it turned out, there was in fact time for a little golf on our favorite local course along the banks of the Chemung River. Still no message from the boys, however.
After about ten holes the weather arrived, with thunder and dark skies just to our north. The course cleared out, and we decided it was time to call it an evening, although the summer solstice might have allowed another hour of play. We swung through the local Indian restaurant for take-out, and then headed back to the Solarium apartment to watch a movie with Dean and Slane. P made sure they also got me a Father's Day gift, this time a coffee mug and computer cord organizer for the mess of cables in my computer bag. I was getting a little pouty by this time, checking my phone every few minutes and wishing there would be something from the Three Amigos.
As I crawled into bed I noticed my phone had lit up with a message. Two actually. From Jim and Drew, wishing me a happy Father's Day. A very good day indeed.
I've already been to the gym and finished my first phone conference this morning. A busy one with prep for hearings and depositions over the next couple days, and a trip to Florida for work and to check on the farm.
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