Arden...red, WHITE, and blue

Arden Dinner in White Sparkler Sendoff, photo by Joe del Tufo

I have been lax in my blogging. I have sent my novel off to my agent for review, and as a result I have no novel writing to procrastinate. Hence, no blogging. The effect is multiplied because it is summer, and I am busy, running around Arden in the beautiful weather--summer camp songs of my youth, popping into my head. Something about all the deep green foliage and the twisty roads and trails that conjure my first forays into selfhood. Ah, summer camp.

ACRA's summer program is in full swing now. This week they had an ice cream sundae party and played water "Hunger Games." The program is in its post-July 4th stride now and heading for the home stretch. Three weeks down and two weeks to go. I didn't blog about July 4th, busy as I was with our own doings. This year, Mark and I drove to Lewes where we hiked with our hiking group from Cape Henlopen to Rehoboth beach, ending our eight-mile trek in a glorious mess of marmalade-topped shredded Austrian pancakes at Kaisy on Rehobeth Avenue. Not very American, but a worthy celebration just the same.

Back home in Arden, our daughter Maren and her boyfriend participated in the Arden Games on the Green. With participants ages four to eighty-four, the games reflect friendly competition at its finest. How serious can you get over the sack race or three-legged race or slowest bicycle race? Plenty. The first year we came to the games (which was within five days after moving to Arden) we saw a youth painted to the likeness of Darth Maul from Star Wars I movie. He was killing it at every event. Who is this kid? Two years later, we know him as our daughter's boyfriend. He was nursing an injury this year, but still gave it everything he had. Other Arden teens painted themselves in a more event appropriate red, white, and blue. The games started with the ceremonial running of the torch around the Green.  Last year, our son got to carry it part of the way as part of his involvement as co-outdoor activities coordinator at ACRA's summer program. Arden doesn't have any officially sanctioned firework events in the evening, but those who are looking for a show know where to go unofficially. Invariably the whole town will hear about the debris on the Pettit Green the next day. We had to explain to our daughter that even though she didn't set off any fireworks, if she was part of the crowd who enjoyed them, she was also responsible for the mess and should go help clean it up. Who knows where traditions like these start or how long they have been around?

From longstanding rituals to the stand-alone pop-up event. A week after July 4th, Arden joined in the trend (started in France?) of the diner en blanc. Participants wear all white and gather in a predesignated spot. They decorate a table with white and bring out a prepared picnic. Of course, Arden put its spin on things. Arden Night in White was a fundraiser for the new kitchen being installed in the Gild Hall. Ninety people who bought tickets, including us, met in the Gild Hall parking lot to process to the secret location for the festivities. Here is where I admit that Mark and I knew of the secret location. It was the back yard of our friends Cynthia and David. It is the same back yard where we first got our introduction to Arden back in May of 2009. It is a magical spot indeed, and the weather could not have been more glorious--an unusual July evening in which heat and humidity took a breather. The soundtrack for our procession and dinner was a fitting and quite impressive playlist of artists who had performed in Arden Concert Gild's shows over the years. Everyone got to work, setting the stage. So many beautiful tables. So many artful menus. The costumes were thoughtful and outrageous and a delight. One woman, not from Arden but who somehow stumbled upon promotion of the event, showed up wearing her wedding dress. She and her groom, who was not quite as obvious, had gotten married earlier in the day. They won the prize for best-dressed. How could they not?

While nobody else wore a gown, everybody brought their A-games and ratcheted the celebration to a higher level. I saw trays of cheeses, homemade aioli, lobster salad, white gazpacho soup shots, creme brûlée, appetizers so decadent they need to be eaten in one-bite allotments only-- off of white ceramics soup spoons. Our table featured an Israeli menu we recreated using recipes from the famed Zahav restaurant in Philly, and we served the fare in white Chinese food boxes for added whimsy (and convenience). As for the tablescapes: white crudités platter, lush flower arrangements, bird cages, lanterns, feathers, architectural elements, fairy lights, and textiles. With all the creativity, the prize for best decorated table was not as easy a choice for judges, but they managed to declare a winner.  It was a good thing that Joe del Tufo was on hand to document the glory with his all-seeing camera lenses. That man is a ridiculous light-bender and storyteller in his own right. The event was an unqualified success. Before the sparkler sendoff, we managed to raise about $3,000 for the new kitchen.

I don't know if I witnessed the start of yet another Arden tradition or if, like Brigadoon, the tale of this event will fade into the mists, to be talked about in reverent whispers for the next decade. I'm not sure we could improve upon the perfection that was had. Another possibility that was kicked around was an Arden tie-dye dinner. Something different indeed that would defy comparison. And it was suggested that we should wear the same clothes we wore to Dinner in White, only tie-dyed for that event. That would be a heck of a thing to do to one's wedding gown.

Gallery of photos from the event.

The Moondance Connection

Before we attended the Games on the Green in Arden, we had other July Fourth festivities. For about ten years, we drove to our friends' retreat in southwest Ohio over the holiday. Our friends--actually the aunt and uncle of our best friends--came to Ohio over the summers to get away from the oppressive heat in Houston, Texas. Susan bought sixty-some odd acres of mining lands a hilltop away from the dairy farm where she was raised and created a summer retreat. This land is in the middle of nowhere. Roads are hilly, mostly dirt and gravel. The nearest big city is Wheeling, West Virginia. Susan and Wayne fly into the area via the Pittsburgh airport. Susan built her "barn" on the hilltop overlooking fields where she cultivates grass for hay and woods where she has carved paths for hiking and driving the Mule utility vehicle. The ambiance of the place is rustic and casual but with an elegance for which Susan is known.

The first year we came to Moondance, our kids were five and eight. They hopped out of the car and claimed immediate boredom. Nothing to do. Indeed, we had left the electronic world behind. They were going to have to rough it out here in Ohio's only hilly region. But then, after a long weekend of riding in the Mule, blowing bubbles, grilling hot dogs over the fire, flying kites, painting pictures, catching frogs, hoola hooping, watching fireworks, hopping hay bales, they didn't want to leave.

We parents didn't want to leave either. We had rainy happy hours drinking Wayne's margaritas--accompanied by Susan's homemade guac and chips-- under the metal porch roof. It only seemed to rain at happy hour, and only for a bit. Then Susan would make dinner in a leisurely fashion. She always wanted to eat by 7, but we rarely sat down before 9. We would set a table outside on the hill and watch the sun slip below the horizon. Everything stopped when the sun was going down. It was must-see. Even the dog faced sunset. Or maybe he was just facing the deer who were scampering in the fields below.

The dinners were not your usual hamburger hotdog fair. We had grilled redfish on the half shell or Pechuga a la perilla (grilled marinated chicken) or Cajun shrimp kabobs. Leg of Lamb, marinated flank steak fajitas, paella. All with a fresh green salad from the garden. We have had some of the best meals of our lives atop that hill. It never hurt that we were always famished from spending time out of doors and from the late dinner hour. The wine never hurt either. We vacationed in California Wine Country with this group, and we all appreciated a good bottle. Wayne and Susan took great care to get us our favorites, bottles we couldn't get easily in Pennsylvania. After dinner, we would work up a good Cinch tournament that would last long into the night.

I used the time at Moondance to read books on philosophy and art theory and journal. Susan has huge  circular wicker chairs that swallow you up. Mark would volunteer for projects around the place. He helped build a pergola and repair a fence. He also lent a hand with the electronics, setting up outdoor speakers so that Susan could play the jazz or country music that were the soundtrack of our balmy dinners. Mark liked doing it. He  was content to be away from the office or cubical and doing things with his hands.

On the actual Fourth of July, neighbors would come on their four wheelers for the huge picnic dinner. One of the neighbors, another summer visitor, had a huge RV. He helped supply the fireworks. The show eventually got so big, he started hiring his own fireworks guy to manage it. Moondance's fireworks show rivaled that of all the small towns in the area. We know. We could see six towns worth of fireworks from our perch. By the last year we went to Moondance, there were probably 100 people and 20 four-wheelers gathered for the event.

Life was genteel. We took Reubens and French potato salad to picnic by the stream to skip rocks or to the pond to fish.  We picked raspberries, and Susan made pies. Jim (of the fireworks fame) would stop over with a batch from the fish fry--whitefish freshly caught in the Great Lakes--for us to devour in late afternoon. We all pitched in with dishes, and when Susan got out the electric broom, she didn't call it cleaning. She was "zenning".  She had built a fern bar  (a wooden bar and seats near a patch of ferns) in the woods where we could sit for drinks. If you found the right trail you would discover a tree house or a rope swing or a watermelon cooling in a natural spring or Susan's half wild cats or just a pair of adirondack chairs in the middle of nowhere, looking out over a picturesque ravine.  The kids received presents from the fairies every night and went on a fairy treasure hunts. Over the years, Susan added to the enchantment. She had a wine cave dug out of one of the hills. Before that she had installed a hot tub where I swear my kids learned to swim. Just as well. They also all learned to drive here on the Mule and subsequent utility vehicles. Eight was the age and a true rite of passage.  I did yoga from the moon terrace and painted in the pavilion. It was magazine living, and it was down-in-the-dirt, backroads country.

Every year, on the five-hour return trip home, I would try to figure out how to capture some of the magic of this experience and infuse it into our everyday life. I was convinced it was possible. You had to be present for the sunset. You had to pick wildflowers and light lots of candles. You had to get dirt under your fingernails and be amazed by a starry night. You had to hoe the garden, catch the frog and then turn around and dress for dinner and not care that dinner was late. I never had it all figured out by the time we reached home, but I had glimmers of what I wanted. Moondance was the start of a conversation that started with the question: How do I want to live my every day life? I am pretty sure that experience and that question led us here to Arden.

Tune in tomorrow when I tell the story of the purple door. Hint: it has to do with Moondance.