Saturday, 6/15/02- (Mini) Vacation Begins! I don’t turn down the hot water heater but I DO stop the newspapers. We’ve had a big trip planned since last winter to go southward to celebrate the celebrated Baaka’s 80th birthday this weekend. My original fiendish plan was to possibly leave on Friday night and catch an Orioles game in Baltimore on the way; I hear that Camden Yards no longer sells out every game due to the O’s onfield woes. This brilliant scheme is derailed when I find out the location where the Birds are roosting this weekend: Broad and Pattison in Philadelphia. Oh well, I don’t think we could have pulled it all off anyway.

We get an “OK” start out of the house: about 11 am. These days of the kids flopping around watching TV while Sally and I scurry about as we pack for trips are hopefully going to end soon. They DO manage to bring their sleeping bags down, however. Off we Go!

Somewhere around Wilmington Sally realizes that she forgot several key elements of “Mommy’s Makeover” (previously described). I’m made to PROMISE to stop at a drug store BEFORE we arrive in Purcellville. We keep heading south and finally reach Baltimore. Everyone enjoys traveling through the engineering marvel Ft. McHenry Tunnel but traffic is a bit slow so the “tunnel noises” really begin to wear us out. We stop in Ellicott City, Mud for gas/food/make-up.

The Burger King Corporation gives us a few more little horses on plastic stands which double as stereoscopic viewfinders (promoting whatever this year’s latest “kid horse movie” is). We finish our errands and reach P-Ville at about 3pm, slowing only to wonder why Brunswick, Mud has gone “traffic circle” crazy.

When we arrive at Maple Avenue we are surprised to find only Charlie in residence. Can’t Aunt Bix ruin her ENTIRE day hanging about the house so she can cheerily greet her brethren from the north? It works out well because in the grand scheme of things Brad really only cares about Charlie’s whereabouts anyway.   All of our boys have a great time playing out on the custom built playground equipment and even Sally enjoys hopping up and down on the Haack’s trampoline. As we are playing we see a suspiciously familiar silver vehicle pull up in the driveway. Hooray! It’s Aunt Mary Ellen and Uncle John!

We get in touch with Baaka in Winchester and decide to ditch our children with willing aunts and uncles. Sally and I buzz across the mountain to retrieve Baaka, our trip boasting an eerie (for us) kid free element. John and Charlie throw Brad about 2000 wiffle ball pitches and he impresses them with his hitting prowess. We zip up to pick Baaka up in her apartment and find that the place is really beginning to resemble Hyslip Avenue South. Almost every vertical AND horizontal surface has been knick-knacked, and I must admit that it DOES rather feel like home.

Our party returns to Purcellville where Mary Ellen prepares a fabulous salad and Nancy cobbles together a wonderful impromptu meal (although I don’t actually remember any cobbler). We watch the Phillies beat the Orioles on the O’s telecast as we force Aunt ME and Baaka to read the “night-night” story: in this case the bedtime classic “Do You See A Mouse?” We all troop off to sleepyland as Brad even gets to sleep in the Haack’s “Baaka Bed” on the second floor.

Sunday, 6/16/02- Father’s Day 2002: We all (Morbecks at least) wake up and are treated to a delicious breakfast of eggs, cereal, and toast toast toast. As usual, the true Morbecks among us (Nancy, Rob, Ben, & Gabe) munch on scrambled eggs while the alien creatures (Stan, Sally, Brad) stick to cereal. Brad is driven crazy by the teenage propensity to “sleep in”. Both Jeffrey and Charlie continue to snoozle in the back bedroom while there are perfectly wonderful video action games to be played if only they were awake.

Meanwhile........It’s Fathers’ Day! Brad especially enjoys a very fancy card Uncle Stan receives which trumpets on succeeding pages : “Here is your Father’s Day Card! (flip) This is the Inside! (flip) This is the Back!”

I receive a veritable treasure trove of gifts, one of which was actually a delayed birthday present I picked out myself with my mother’s birthday check. A large tee shirt plastered with the imprints of various colored small hands leads the holiday charge, and I also receive a succession of VERY tasteful drawings.

 The gift I arranged for myself is of the “dream come true” variety. All my natural life I’ve coveted having a watch which also doubled as an altimeter; NOW I have one (“Once I culd not spel the word Corrections Officer: Now I are one). I unwrap it and soon realize that I will have to attend hours of Casio watch seminars before I can even find out what time it is. I put it down and start to get ready to rejoin polite society (read: take a shower). When I emerge from getting clean I find Nancy out on the back deck immersed in the tiny little timepiece instruction book with USGS topographic maps strewn about.

Nature or Nurture? I’ve been reading the two “Twins” books I gave Sally in the last few weeks since her birthday and have been repeatedly interested by humankind’s genetic predispositions. Having grown up together in a very similar environment, I find it impossible to draw any inferences about the following coincidence: It seems that having an “altimeter watch” must be Nanc-o’s “dream come true” as well.

We finally receive a reading from my new watch that we are both sitting 860 feet above Mean Sea Level (I don’t like being in the “mean” laboratory). Hey, wait a minute! The topo map says that 231 Maple Avenue is only 560 feet above the “Osh”! Nancy and I both try to hide our disappointment.

“I didn’t see any way to adjust it when I was reading the book,” she announced sadly. I riffle through some of the postage stamp size pages and miraculously find the holy grail: the page entitled “Calibrating the Altimeter”. Hooray! I really didn’t want to put a damper on our whole vacation but it was clear that a 50% error rate for this timepiece was COMPLETELY unacceptable. We reset the altimeter and I’m eager to see what happens when we start to get up into the mountains. Speaking of the watch instruction manual, you should see the warnings that come with this electronic jewel. You would THINK that you were buying a piece of heavy farm machinery. DON’T use the altimeter for sky diving or scuba diving. DON’T look at your watch while you’re driving a car. And DON’T even THINK about wondering what time it is when you’re on your bicycle!

We bustle our family about en route to a luncheon date with our more senior relatives in Winchester. We arrive at Westminster Canterbury and are instantly mesmerized by the view from Baaka’s balcony. My watch dutifully notes that we are 40 feet higher than we were on the ground floor - very impressive. (Editor’s note: At Capon Springs Uncle Chuck told me the scientific process to determine a tall building’s height using a barometer:

1) Go to the top of the building

 2)Tie a string to the barometer and lower it down to the ground

3)Pull up the string and measure it with a measuring tape.)

We all split up; ME and John go out to the local  to buy lunch stuff, Sally and Brad stay to visit with Baaka, and the smaller boys and I go hiking. The Westminster Canterbury nature trail is very nice and our party is especially enthusiastic about the wood benches created by nailing heavy boards between tree trunks. Our picnic friends return and we timeshare the nice outdoor table with 4 chairs as Sally and Mary Ellen munch on yummy looking salads.

After lunch we help Baaka get sorted out and we hop in two vehicles for the 40 minute trip down to Capon Springs and Farm Resort. We cross the mountains on the west side of the Shenandoah Valley and are instantly transported back in time to rural West Virginia. We arrive at Capon Springs just after the official check-in time (3pm) and Aunt ME checks us all in with our pre-registration card which heralds our group as the “Morbeck Family Reunion”.

Even before we get up the steps to view our total of 6 reserved double rooms in the “West Virginia” cottage we are inundated on all sides by groups of vehicles and people who look eerily familiar. A harangue (I was going to say “gaggle”) of Haacks and Haydens surround us and the long weekend of cousin shenanigans begin! Brad instantly engages some of his male cousins in a little wiffle ball practice and he finds time to play a game of volleyball with his most loved (and most hated) female cousin Julia. Although it’s not exactly warm out we all put our bathing suits on and stroll over to the pool area. Even Brad doesn’t stay in that long due to the low temperatures and I’m very impressed that Julia and Aunt Nancy spend a good bit of time paddling about being polar bears.

Presents, Presents, Presents! I didn’t know we were going to get Presents! A very tasteful artificial (at least I ASSUME it’s artificial) bearskin drapes itself over two chairs (a gift from Aunt Bix Crozet division). Aunt ME has supplied us with a bunch of excellent bubble related paraphernalia and has also included some handy books about birds and bones. We visit with Julia and discover that she is about to propel the junior generation of our clan back to the elevated status of our youth: Her newly purchased house actually has a PAVED driveway. I realized when we were visiting the Haacks yesterday that there isn’t a paved driveway among ANY of the four members of my generation. I’m VERY impressed by this upwardly mobile ascent: much as tavern keeper Moe on “The Simpsons” was impressed when Homer bandied about the term “garage” instead of the more colloquial “car hole”.

Moe

This place is great! Apparently Baaka knows the second generation of Austins who own the place (they’re neighbors of hers at “the home”) and knew instantly it was “our kind of place”. They rely completely on “word of mouth” advertising and I wasn’t able to even access their web site last week because of its semi-secret location (address is based on Capon Springs zip code:   http://www.26823.com). There’s a nine hole golf course for our sportsmen and there is a virtual panoply of shuffleboard, ping-pong, volleyball, croquet, and playground equipment for the rest of us.

 We hear some strangely dirgelike music emanating from hidden loudspeakers about the property which signals meal time. We return to our rooms to “dress” for dinner, the only rules being “No Bathing Suits and No Neckties”. I think we should be able to comply. Our party wanders down to the main dining hall to be greeted by piles and piles of deliciously prepared food. We’re ushered into a specially prepared table for 16 which will be our gastronomic home for the next two days. Holy Family Elixir Chocolate Milk makes an appearance in large seemingly emptyless pitchers. We older Morbecks are all smitten by the choice of dinnerware!

Our cups are EXACT replicas of our family vacation cups which were seen held over so many front seats begging to be filled with water from the jug. Our guys all eat very well but I miss dessert when I shepherd them over to the playground for a little twilight fun.

Ask “Mr. Science”. Actually we have SEVERAL scientists in our midst on this junket. An entry from the "28 President" file last month:     

5/02- Move over, Albert Einstein: All the guys took turns weighing stuff yesterday on our closet scale (it would be a “bathroom” scale, but it’s in the closet). Remarkably Gabe and Ben both came in at about the same 42 lbs - Brad closer to a big guy 60 lbs. I looked over and saw them trying to weigh a succession of unweighable things: my socks, for instance. Everyone was interested when I mentioned that EVERYTHING weighs SOMETHING, even light beams. Brad immediately challenged me, “How much does light weigh? An ounce? A quarter of an ounce? A quarter of a quarter of an ounce?”   Hmmmm. That’s a tough one. Brad’s face suddenly brightened when he realized,

“’Light’ is really ‘light’, isn’t it? That’s why they call it light!”

AND NOW we're somewhere where we  have a few real live scientists to ask! We choose Uncle Chuck, he being deemed the most authoritative and the most likely to at least make up a convincing answer.

Q: Uncle Chuck, how much does light weigh?

A: Approximately 0.00000000000000000000000000000000000001 grams (that's 37 zeroes!)

Here's another subject recently bandied about for which we need closure:

3/02- Brad is laying the educational groundwork necessary to work on those thorny math problems of his future. He tried to put Aunt Bix on the spot by riddle-ing her the following: “If a train filled with ice cream leaves here on its way to Texas (Snakey’s home state) how long would it take for all of the ice cream to melt?”

Aunt Bix immediately asked for more specifics, i.e. “is it winter or summer?”

Now that we have him here, let's ask Uncle Chuck:

Q: Uncle Chuck, if a train filled with ice cream leaves here on its way to Texas,  how long would it take for all of the ice cream to melt?”

Q: What FLAVOR ice cream is it?

Now THAT non-Answer serves only to truly Befuddle us. In subsequent weeks we were informed that different kinds of ice cream melt at different rates, mostly dependent on the frozen dessert's air content. Wow, science can be truly exhausting sometimes.

And now back to reality(?)..........

To my chagrin my energy level is slipping a little; I think I’m stricken with the same bug everyone else in my nuclear family had last week! I retreat to the warmth of my bed and drift off to sleep amid the sounds of happy laughter cascading about the cottage’s long front porch. Brad spends most of his time playing ping pong with various cousins over at the Table Tennis house, after impressing cousin Nils with his shuffleboard prowess. . Someone else obviously reads “the story” and we farm Brad out to the extra bed in Aunt Mary Ellen’s and Uncle John’s room.

Monday, 6/17/02- I wake up feeling MUCH better due to the dutiful care I’ve received from my younger associates (who are always quick to bring you another pillow or a drink of water when you’re sick). The early risers among us walk down to the main house to get coffee. Uncle Chuck is slowed down when he can only seem to find a tiny little cup for his morning brew while the rest of us have monstrous “to go” cups imported from elsewhere. We return to rouse our respective families for breakfast, with the exception of some of the late sleeping inhabitants of the “cool room” (Nils, Jeffrey, Charlie).

Our entire entourage (sans sleepers) wander down to the Main Lodge, stopping only as the American Flag is raised over the encampment and the “Star Spangled Banner” is played over the loudspeakers. I saw on the bulletin board last night that there might be opportunities for youngsters 6 through 12 to participate in the flag raising ceremony but Brad doesn’t seem too receptive to the idea so I drop the subject.

Breakfast is fabulous! Now THIS is a real Morbeck-style vacation. An array of cold and hot cereals arrive, followed by heaping trays of bacon, buckwheat cakes, and eggles, eggles, eggles. I have our smaller boys sing OUR family’s national anthem in honor of the Morning Splendor: “Eggle-Weggles, Eggle-Weggles, Eggle-Weggles I LOVE YOU!” I’m not sure anyone but me heard their small voices amid the sound of clattering dishes and food being wolfed down. After Breakfast we adjourn and the golfers among us travel up the hill to play golf. Baaka, Kay, Sally and Julia go motoring about the West Virginia countryside hoping to experience a little local color and perhaps stumble upon a little giftee shoppee in the process. We’re also in URGENT need of various snack foods. Sally pledges to rectify this grievous situation.

We four Morbeck boys choose to accompany John and ME on a hike up our resort’s adjoining hill. We opt for the “White Cliffs” trail, which conveniently leaves our bivouac from right behind the ping pong house. We find a tombstone which heralds someone “with a good heart”; not sure if the current occupant of this piece of real estate is human or canine. Our trail map describes our trail of chosen endeavor this morning very well: Short but Steep. Our boys all show off their formidable hiking skills to their aunt and uncle. We finally reach the top of the rocks and are greeted with a magnificent view of Capon Springs.

 Our binoculars come out and we find that from our scenic vista we can actually SEE various relatives playing golf down on the golf course. We run into another party of hikers and we each take pictures of each other’s group. On the way down the hill Gabriel chats with his Aunt about various career ambitions. His plan: to be a construction worker who goes about re-concreting various slabs that have been ruined by “bad guys” who write their names in wet cement. I think that’s sort of how “Batman” got his start. The descent is a bit easier and we’re back down the hill with plenty of morning still left. We re-group a little bit and Aunt Mary Ellen offers to take us fishin’.

We stop by the main house and are loaned a number of bamboo fishing rods, replete with a little bag of old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to use as bait. We walk down to the fish pond and immediately realize our mistake in not procuring a key to unlock the rowboats. Aunt Bix (Purcellville) and I walk back to the office while Aunt Mary Ellen runs the fishing extravaganza. Our guys don’t catch anything but we do see a fish hauled in by the party next to us. We unlock the padlock tethering one of the rowboats and Charlie leads a cousin-y voyage out on the high seas. Brad helps row occasionally while the little boys slow the ship’s velocity by dragging their hands in the water. I take over from Charlie and bring just Ben and Gabe about the pond on a scenic tour of the waterfall and the bridge.

The automobile touring entourage whizzes by us and slams on its brakes when it sees us. We all visit with our respective Moms down by the waterfront and pause a while to feed a very nice family of ducks. Then it’s back up the road to devour ANOTHER large pile of food commonly referred to in the Hotel and Restaurant Industry Trade as “lunch”. After lunch I’m stricken again with a minor lack of energy so I go take a quick little snoozle while the rest of my compatriots settle for more playgrounding.

Later in the afternoon another hiking expotition is launched. We set our sights much higher than the White Cliffs; our intent is to scale the mighty “Eagle Rock” trail. Hopefully there will be an eagle of some sort up at the top to tell us when we get there. We head south(?) out of our compound on a desolate mountain road scaling the ridge, reaching the Virginia State Line when we get to the top. A slight miscue is made when we mistakenly continue down the OTHER side of the mountain, but wiser cartographic heads prevail and we hang a U-turn at a wide spot in the road. We park at the top of the ridge and our merry band of hikers disemvans (I used “disembikes” in another vacation account). Our party consists of all four Westfield Morbeck children (term used loosely), three Rutledge Morbeck children, Nils and Sally.

The trail is NOT as steep as the White Cliffs trail of the morning but there’s a lot more of it. Sally wonders exactly how some heavy looking gates managed to be dragged this high up the mountain. We continue to hike with Nils and Brad leading the way. Nils has my new altimeter watch on so he is a good choice to be the advance scout. Brad just always likes to be first, a personality profile we’re not sure as to its origins. We hike and hike and hike and hike, continuing our ascent. When we are just beginning to consider giving up we’re greeted by the first of several spectacular views of the Shenandoah Valley waaaay below us. Nils and Brad explore a little farther up the trail and find what must actually be “Eagle Rock”. One tip is the “Capon Springs Resort and Farm” concrete bench at the top.

We hold a “death grip” hand hold on our small boys and self titled “Ultimate Climbing Boy” Brad is admonished continually to “stay away from the edge! Brad! Bra-ad!!” We snap a few pictures while we enjoy the view. I mistakenly mention “the quick way down” to Ben and Gabe and they chat merrily about the consequences of a fast acceleration down the side of the mountain from our lofty perch. We start our descent down the trail, finding it much easier then the climb up but still with its hardships. It has been decided that Aunt Bix (Purcellville) will lead the way down and Brad is slightly miffed he is not in the lead. The plan is a good one, however; all we would need is for Brad to get WAAY ahead of us and get lost in the mountains. It would probably put a damper on our dinner plans, what with all the rescue helicopters flapping about.

We drive back down the hill with the intent of ceremonially fulfilling the true purpose of this entire weekend: The official celebration of the fabulous Baaka’s 80th Birthday! We all assemble in the “party room” of the West Virginia Cottage, which some of our relatives have gaily decorated for the occasion with a smorgasbord of gaily colored balloons. I have specially imported from Holmes, Pennsylvania a large collection of “gummy watches” for revellers to wear but they seem to have been left in some Taiwanese warehouse’s blast furnace for too long. Most of them are COMPLETELY useless as party favors as we can’t get their melted remnants out of their plastic cases. C`est la vie! Baaka opens her large pile of presents as we all sip Sparkling Cider and Champagne. We rush her along a bit so as not to be late for dinner.

And speaking of dinner......what a dinner it was! Instead of going to the inside dining hall our supper is being elegantly prepared up in a gigantic picnic pavilion next to the golf course. The Monday Night Chicken Barbecue is one of two biweekly culinary events taking place up on the hill. I make sure to show the boys the fantastic open barbecue pit where what looks to be hundreds of whole chickens (sans heads) are deliciously rotating over the open fire.

We go down the hill for more playgrounding and all of sudden we realize we don’t really know the wheres and whyfores of the “Kids 6 thru 12” softball game scheduled for this evening. We ask at the office and find that the game is “up on the hill, after dinner” so we whisk Brad back up there while Julia watches the small guys.

Sure enough, the bases are being laid out on a small corner of the “Par 3” course. Brad is REALLY excited, hoping that this endeavor might be more of the “REAL GAME” variety than the usual Swarthmore Rec. Association’s undertakings.

No Such Luck. The same murky practices which plague the SRA are in place down south of the Mason-Dixon Line as well. EVERYONE gets a turn at Bat. NOBODY is ever out. NO ONE seems to be keeping score. At the end of the game a “tie” is miraculously called. Our junior sleuth senses that there’s something fishy about this coincidental outcome: “I have the feeling it ALWAYS ends up in a tie up here!” Hmmn, now you’re catching on to the big Adult conspiracy against you all.

Despite all the negativity of the preceding paragraph, Brad DOES have a good deal of fun. He got his hacks in with the bat and caught most of the time eschewing the use of “the tools of ignorance”. What he lacks in baseball skills he more than makes up for in terms of exuberance. We return to our cottage where we find Ben and Gabe having a nice time playing on the porch. I secretly walk Brad down to attend another “6 to 12 year old” event: the biweekly hayride. A pickup truck hauling a wagon appears at the foot of the steps and a small ship’s ladder is installed at its rear end. Brad hops up and settles himself in with the other kids and is whisked away for a ride circumnavigating the golf course.

I wait a suitable interval for the hay ride to be over and return to the Main House with my camera (and flash). When the wagon arrives Brad rushes down the ship’s ladder and up the main steps followed at a high rate of speed by much larger pursuer. I witness him being chased all about the stone patio by what would seem to be a healthy 10 year old. I drag him away and ask innocently, “Why was that big kid chasing you?”

“He didn’t like the things I was saying to him on the hay ride,” our once cute bundle of joy replied matter-of-factly. Oh great, we’re raising a hybrid of Billy Martin and Larry Bowa here. At least the chase seemed mostly in fun. I asked if they sang any songs on the trip and Brad replied, “I sang some songs. No one else did.” Marching to your own drummer, I see.

When we return to the cottage I ask him where he would like to sleep. I think Aunt Mary Ellen and Uncle John have already retired for the evening so the choices are Haacks, Haydens, or mixed. “I would like to sleep in the ‘Party Masters’ Room,’” our impressionable youngster announces. We drag his sleeping bag and pad into the “cool guy” Grandson suite, where he spends the night with Nils Bob, Jeffrey Bob, and Charlie Yo (Jo). We other guys all drift off to sleep and my evening is MUCH better than the night before.

Tuesday, 6/18/02- Last day of (Mini) Vacation! I wake up and wander down to the Main House to try to score coffee and a paper. I meet the Aunt Bixxes coming up the other way! Despite the earliness of the hour they have already been “pig visiting” down at the Capon Spring pig farm. Apparently there is an adorable young swine named “Ben” in residence, as well as a “Ruth”. Our mother will be thrilled.

We finally all muster up for our last big Capon Springs style Breakfast - more of the same fine fare. We’re not sure as to WHAT the names of the pieces of hom (Ham) on our plates were. I am DETERMINED to play golf today. The stars seem perfectly aligned to make my debut on the world’s stage, given the following conditions:

1) Pleasant (and hopefully patient) company

2) Low Greens fees

3) Insanely non-crowded course

Chuck and Stan help me pick out some of the “lender” clubs at the clubhouse and I toss them into a “lender” bag. I’m off!

Our “fivesome” consists of me, Charlie, Nils, Uncle Chuck, and Uncle Stan. Nils, Stan and Chuck are definitely enthusiasts and spend much of their time instructing Charlie and I in the subtle nuances of the game. As we tee off on the first hole I hit the ball pretty well considering the fact that I haven’t swung a golf club in anger since circa 1970.

A older gentleman about to tee off warns me of the addictive nature of America’s second favorite pastime: “Do you know what you should do? Walk up there and pick up your ball. Then put it in your pocket and walk to your car”.

I ignore his sage advice and proceed to careen about the course with little hope of ever even breaking into the “single digits” on each hole. Uncle Chuck is a very good teacher but I’m beginning to discover the “Golfer’s Conundrum”: You can’t think about EVERYTHING you’re supposed to be doing ALL AT ONCE. Even so, I’m glad I’m learning at least SOME of the techniques.

We have a pleasant time but I know that Time is quickly slipping by. We had originally planned to completely leave our resort oasis about 10:30 AM but I found myself still on the 5th Hole. Sally and my sisters entertained the boys but they didn’t do that much “Ho-Ho-ing” around because they thought I might be coming back at any minute. I hear that an expedition WAS made to the Pig Farm, however.

When I returned from my ineffectual “hacking” everyone was lined up ready to leave. If we had known how late it was going to be we could have eaten lunch with the rest of the crowd (sans Jeffrey, who left early) but we had already ordered a “box lunch” to take with us in the car. We stopped to photograph “Ben the Pig” on the way out and we nibbled our way back to Purcellville, munching on our excellently prepared sandwiches, cookies, and fruit. Our car made a quick “pitstop” at 231 S Maple, long enough to use the facilities and scarf an old bookcase which used to reside at 761 Hyslip Avenue. We journeyed north and got caught in a series of very intense “summer thunderstorms” as we motored through Maryland.