Partying with Panettones

Saturday rained and showered and poured, and the winds howled and blowed and roared. Apart from working out in the morning I spent the day, much to Rosie Lee's delight, sitting on the sofa, covered with a fluffy throw, watching movies and reading. Rosie Lee sat on top of me the whole time, under the throw. And in the evening I went to Bill and Jen's Epiphany Party. Not wanting to hoist the big Sony camera around in the damp outdoors and having destroyed my small Canon, the iPhone had to be responsible for images, and poor they are...
I had made a huge apple pie, the filling was thick slices soaked in brandy and  the pastry was loaded with plenty of Irish butter. I'd also taken 2 cans of Ambrosia Devon Custard, but was rather hopeful that one of them would accompany me back home, since I've discovered most Americans haven't latched on to this delicious dessert, and also because it's $5 a can.

 It was dark and dreary when I arrived at the party house, hundreds of white Christmas lights brightly gleaming around the porch, and thankfully the rain had stopped. I deposited my offerings of pie, custard and beer in the kitchen, hugged hello's to guests and then trudged, or rather squelched, my way over to the abandoned Log House, where Bill and a few friends were gathered around the hearth upon which three large cauldrons of beef stew were bubbling and emitting a mouth watering aroma. We chatted and chugged on bottles of beer while we pondered on how we'd get the three pots of stew to the main house. I held a flashlight and shone the way while Chris walked behind me with one large black bubbling pot held aloft on a plank of wood. I don't know how the other two pots made it to the kitchen as I got waylaid by tempting dishes that had appeared in the dining room along with more guests.

 The beef stew was amazing, I had a huge bowl. The meat fell apart as I scooped up mouthfuls of gravy and carrots. I really wanted to eat straight from the cauldron and wave away any other interested parties, I wanted it all for myself, it was that good. Luckily for the other guests my good manners won the day and I reluctantly backed away once my bowl was filled, and found some crusty French bread to dunk in that tasty herby gravy. And then I discovered another delicious delight. The scent of pears had been wafting across to me and I'd tracked it down to a bottle on the table with undecipherable writing. But there was an empty glass before it and feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland I poured myself a tot and sipped. And then gulped. This stuff was incredible! Thank God it wasn't that magic diminishing potion or I would never have been able to reach for a second pour. This was a pear brandy that Jen had made from the pears in their back garden. I had amazing stew in one hand and delectable brandy in the other, I was in heaven! Thankfully these wonderful hosts readily gave up both recipes during the evening to any who wanted them. And I actually ended up giving out my apple pie recipe to a few folks also, since I'd had so many compliments. I had rather hoped that since it was so big I'd be able to sneak a piece to take back home but no such luck. It all went, with Jen snatching the last piece because Bill hadn't had any yet, so of course I wasn't going to argue with that. But I did take home the second can of custard. As suspected the first can had barely been touched, so the remaining can was all mine.

  Outside Bill and a friend were preparing for the annual Panettone Toss. I had no idea what this would entail but was curious to see torches were being lit with a strange metal grid in between them. A huge fire was blazing, which gave off welcome heat, it was so cold, with winds picking up. The ground was sodden from the heavy rains we'd been getting and I could feel my feet were getting wet.

Lighting the torch with a flame equivalent to a lighter wasn't working but Bill's flame thrower soon had them flickering brightly. The scene reminded me of something from Game of Thrones and I fully expected to hear the clang of swords clashing at any time.

The panettones were small bread like round cakes in which we stuck a glowstick, simply so it could be seen in the dark. There were a few of these and we reused them as often as we could. The idea was to hurl the panettone at the metal grid using a lacrosse styled stick. If you managed to hit the grid, the impact would set a curtain of sparks to fall from the torches and you would be a winner. Most of us failed abysmally at this. The glowsticks were particularly useful as these little cakes bounced like rubber when they hit the ground, so we were constantly running after them. Admittedly I only had one go, but I was too cold to push for another shot and the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves too much for me to butt in. Jen, who was by now, thoroughly warmed up with her pear liquor, managed to hit the grid first time, but I wasn't sure if this was due to her practicing all afternoon or the 'loosening of limbs' effect from her wonderful beverage. It was very cold out there and I had stiffened up considerably, while my poor feet seemed glued in place. I tugged my boots from the sodden grass with loud sucking noises and warmed my hands at the fire, which the winds had fanned causing huge flames to lick upwards and sparks to sprinkle about us.

Most of the others had by now also congregated by the fire which was putting out an extremely welcome heat. Bill handed out sparklers that we all busily waved about. I stood and sniffed, not from the cold but from that lovely sulphuric scent that comes from sparklers or matches. It wasn't long before people slowly sidled out of view and scuttled back to the warm house, to begin another devouring of the food. The panettones were abandoned on the grass and would become breakfast for the crows, who Jen said, would wake her up in the morning with their excited, 'Caw, caw caw!!' cries. I did spot Bill munching on one but never tried one myself. I snacked on a few more dishes myself before I realized how late it was, and then drove home, an empty pie plate beside me and one full can of Ambrosia Devon Custard.

A Toppled Train and Hotel At Harpers Ferry

Early Saturday morning there was a train accident at Harpers Ferry. Thankfully it was about 03:30 so there were no hikers crossing the bridge and nobody was injured. The train cars that toppled into the Potomac were also empty, incredible that no lives or cargo was lost. I had too many errands to run on Saturday that prevented me driving to Harpers Ferry to investigate, rushing back and forth to grab last minute presents and ensuring I was fully stocked with provisions for the Christmas break. So on Sunday I drove out to see the damage for myself and also to look at the Christmas decorations in the town itself.

 I found an empty space in the two tiny parking lots for the Maryland Heights trail. This is a hike that I plan on doing this winter. I've hiked the other side of the valley but this one has been on my list for a while. But today, although perfect weather for hiking, it was not going to be that hiking day. I'd left home way too late and wanted to be back early. But it was lovely to stroll along the C and O canal path down to the bridge, wrapped up against the chilly air, but the sun warm on my face. The above photo shows the bridge in the distance with Maryland Heights looming over the empty canal below and the abandoned Lock House 33.

This tow path is also an excellent view point to observe the damaged Hilltop Hotel perched high on the other side of the valley. I've been in there a couple of times since it was abandoned and when it was a thriving hotel in which my parents once spent a weekend when visiting from England. It saddens me greatly to see this once famous landmark slowly crumbling. It had definitely been salvageable in 2012 when I had explored it inside and written a blog, but I can't see that it can be saved now.

I climber the iron steps up to the bridge and discovered the footbridge had been closed. I had guessed this might be the case but had inwardly hoped we might have been able to cross the bridge to at least the halfway point and then find it barricaded. I leaned over and across the barrier, squirming to try and obtain a better view point, but to no avail. I could only zoom in and see the workmen with my camera, who were only visible because they were wearing safety jackets, so resignedly plodded back to the car to head into town.

 I drove to The Hilltop Hotel, so I could see firsthand how badly the old hotel had declined and also to see the bridge from this outstanding viewpoint. The poor decrepit hotel looked beyond help. The inside was slowly collapsing in on itself, the external structure visibly deteriorated to the point of almost no return. There is a website with an impressive artists rendition of the new project, but no work has begun yet, despite the project presumably being completed in 2022. This obviously isn't happening. Thomas Jefferson had described the view of the water below as being “worth a voyage across the Atlantic” Ocean. It was tragic that as I stood looking across the valley and admired the panorama before me I was also acutely aware of the desolation of a once beautiful hotel slowly crumbling behind me.
There were a few others there viewing the bridge scene below with cameras and binoculars. At first it had seemed a macabre fascination, being so absorbed in an accident, but since not one person had been hurt, I felt my nosy interest was acceptable. I kept thinking how terrible this could have been, especially so close to Christmas. It was a relief to be able to discuss the ongoing repairs without worrying about the recovery of victims.

I then drove down into the town, hoping to get even closer to the scene, and once again, my parking fairy was sitting on my shoulder. After cruising round the full station parking lot and around the block, I found a car pulling out of its spot and quickly took it, not even minding that I had to pay a parking fee on a Sunday. I strolled along the track and down the steps that led to the footbridge but alas, that was blocked. I could see the workmen and a crane but had no view of the bridge itself. It was very frustrating to be so close and yet see nothing. As I stood looking up at a stone bridge pillar and wondering if I could possibly clamber up just a couple of feet to get a photo, a park ranger came up to me explaining that I could see much more if I followed the path he pointed out. I gratefully thanked him and walked around to the water's edge, where a handful of other people were standing on a very muddy bank with a perfect unobstructed view of the damaged bridge.

  I stood in between an 81 year old marine and an equally elderly lady, who both chatted to me simultaneously so that my head was constantly whipping from left to right so I could contribute to both conversations. Thankfully this didn't go on for too long as we were distracted by the crane dropping pieces of masonry into the river, creating large splashes. I wished I'd captured this on camera but my two pals had kept me busy with their chatting. Once the crane slowly rolled its load back to solid ground we realized there wasn't much to watch now so we scrabbled on the muddy bank to retrieve our steps. I grabbed the hand of the marine as he looked a little perturbed by other people slipping but his hold was firm as I gentled hauled him up to terra firma. We all wished each other a Merry Christmas after which I then climbed the steps to the church, hoping to get another perspective of the damaged bridge.

I was disappointed to find the church closed, especially on the last Sunday before Christmas. The Christmas decorations I'd seen about town hadn't been that stunning so I'd been expecting to find the inside of the church beautifully adorned with firs, poinsettias and candles. But the doors were locked, so I turned to the view. And was astounded when a CSX train came clattering onto the bridge, its whistle shrieking loudly. It was two engines with no carriages and rode past the damaged sector, continuing along the tracks. I snapped a few more photos and then descended into the town to explore the shops. I had been impressed with the work already done on the bridge. There were multiple crane trucks parked all along the river banks that had evidently been used to haul the fallen train back to solid ground, and today showed that the workers had already removed much of the debris. It looked like it had only been the walkway that had sustained most of the damage. Bridges were built solidly 100 years ago and I was fascinated at how 7 derailed grain cars with 2 of the cars hanging down towards the water had seemingly only damaged a small portion of the bridge. This footbridge is also part of The Appalachian Trail so is causing a disruption to through hikers, yet at this time of year those should be few. Time will tell, but I'm sure these workers will have the bridge reopened in a very short time. I only wish the same forecast could be given about The Hilltop Hotel.

A Slight State of Madness at Margie's

Sunday was a sunny and only slightly cold day, perfect for hiking, but instead I was going down to DC for Margie's annual holiday bash. I'm always reluctant to be out anywhere late on Sundays as I have to work on fortifying myself for another week of 'way too early' starts at work. But Margie's parties cannot, and must not, ever be missed.
I picked up Rob on the way down, which was nice having some company and someone to enter the house with, and as every time I visit Margie, I found a parking space near her house immediately. I swear to God I have a Parking Angel that looks after me, because I even told Rob this would happen, and have to admit I didn't even think I was jinxing myself.
We entered her home to find a good crowd already in attendance. It's always lovely to see people you recognize and every time I look out for the regulars, particularly the faces I only see once a year at these parties. Margie had told us that her invitation list had been thinned down a lot so I was curious to see if anyone I knew was missing, and I was pleased to note that all the folks whose company I enjoyed had made the short list.
I plonked down my homemade sausage rolls and brandy chocolate liqueurs on the dining room table, grabbed a beer, and began my hello's.

 Someone had brought this very impressive chocolate Capitol Building. A lady was about to embark on pulling it apart but I convinced her that it should left alone for a while so people could admire it. There were a lot of photo opportunities here. But it was tempting to hammer one's fist down on that dome, just to hear the satisfying crack as it collapsed. and everyone wanted to know how thick the chocolate was.

Even though Margie has thinned down her guest list, it was still packed. Richard and Emily were already here, poor Richard shooting me a 'rescue me' look as he faced a woman whom I shall call the Plastic Lady, since her face had been pulled so tight it was as smooth as a sheet as plastic, her features also stretched back, so far, that if she laid on her back it would likely look like her face was melting. I had to shuffle sideways to get anywhere, but resolutely pushed my way through to the kitchen, where I knew the turkey and stuffing would be. Grabbing a plate of food I headed back to the dining room and Emily, where we began a discussion on how to rescue our friend. But within a few seconds he was working his way over to us, a relieved look on his face, and he described his ordeal in which she'd been very openly chatting him up and just horrifying him in general. Pleased he was back on safe ground we turned our attention to the food, particularly to the brandy liqueurs and some lime and ginger cookies Emily had made. I was in the process of stuffing one of these into my mouth, in a hurry, since the base was breaking up, cookie crumbs and lumps were dropping onto the chair just to the side of me, which was then suddenly occupied by a lady in a skirt. I helplessly looked at Emily, unable to talk with no words being able to pass the huge mouthful I was working my hardest to reduce, and also, because of my sticky fingers, full of crumbling cookie, I'd been unable to clean the seat. I looked at Emily and looked at the lady, who by now was deep into conversation with another guest, and had to back away. There really was nothing that could be achieved at this stage, the damage was done, and so I took the coward's way out. But I didn't hear any woeful exclamations so can only hopefully assume the lady's skirt escaped unscathed.

 After a couple of hours Rob and I walked to Stanley to see if he needed to be moved. I'd parked in a 2 hour zone so we studied his tires to see if any markings had been made by sneaky traffic wardens. It was also the perfect opportunity to smoke a cigar, which I hadn't done for a couple of years. We puffed and chatted, admiring the intricate brick designs of the homes around us, and I spotted this cat sticker on a car. That's a lot of felines in one home and we couldn't work out why there was a headless one, unless The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland lived there also. We were also stunned to spot roses in bloom as well as a yellow flowering trumpet vine, no frosts yet in DC, obviously. Back at Margie's it was wonderful to enjoy her small patio, the sun shining down and the temperatures easily in the upper 50's. She feeds the local birds and it soon became apparent that they liked to hang out on the patio also, directly above our heads. We soon became nervous after a couple of 'missiles' narrowly missed us and decided to take refuge in the house, and leave the patio to the birds, who were definitely not going to move from their territory.

I managed to find an empty spot in the living room and snapped a selfie, smiling at the beautifully embroidered jacket flung over the back of a chair. I couldn't be sure if it belonged to a guest or was part of Margie's eclectic decor; it could so easily be part of either scenario. The tree was resplendent with small and very thoughtful gifts underneath that Margie had wrapped for her friends. I loved mine, a pottery plaque with the phrase, 'There's nothing like coming home to a loved one and hearing them meow', and two small cats painted on it.
The Plastic Lady had found another young lad to entrap. I purposefully have not included any photos of her, just in case of the very unlikely event of her reading this, I wouldn't want her to recognize herself. Jose seemed to be entranced with her despite the 50 year plus age gap and I watched them with amusement. But she was a little unsteady after a couple of hours and amazed us all when she decided to drive home. After walking the whole length of the street looking for her car, she found it, right in front of Margie's house. A very expensive Mercedes sports, which she trundled off in slowly, just as Jose, who'd been changing from shorts into trousers, came rushing out, distraught that he'd missed his opportunity of an expensive free dinner and Lord knows what else. We consoled him as best we could but he seemed annoyed more than upset and returned to the party with renewed energy.

I sauntered back to the kitchen to see if any new food had appeared and was met with three guests staring into the depths of a dark empty oven. I watched them curiously. Was this a primitive Christmas ritual? They were so engrossed with no words being passed among them that I hated to shatter their silence, and after observing them for a few seconds, regretfully left them to it, intending to return shortly and see what all the fuss had been about. But of course I forgot...

... because I spotted Jose and his new conquest. I watched them for a bit but it all seemed very low key and non-interesting so a commotion in the dining room drew me in there.

The State Capital was about to be demolished so Richard took a quick snap of me pretending to take a bite, and then declared he'd be Photoshopping something else in the picture later, drawing a barrage of expletives from me. Someone else posted a shot of Margie with the building and its generous donor, and then it was broken into. And the chocolate was delicious, dark and creamy. I usually prefer milk chocolate but this was divine, and must have cost a fortune.
Sadly I had to leave early. Having parties on a Sunday isn't fair, and with my long drive back home and unearthly start in the morning, I had to take my leave. My maps app was telling me that with all the Sunday evening traffic it would take me two hours to get home. So we all had a toast with Margie's traditional Santa cups, the only time of the year when I consent to drink out of plastic willingly, and then I began the long trawl back home. But as I always say when I leave these parties, "Roll on next year!"

Abandoned Turkey on Icy Peaks

On Thanksgiving Day I wrapped up warm and drove out to Bill and Jenn's house. I had decided against cooking at my house, it was too expensive to cater for a group of guests this year, and an e-mail from Bill saying they were cooking turkey stew in the fireplace of the abandoned house on their property sounded absolutely perfect. An urbexing turkey dinner, couldn't get cooler than that! I had been cooking an English style stuffing to take with me, but unfortunately, because I'd been on the phone while it was in the oven, time slipped by and the damn thing burned. So I loaded up with additional beers plus a bottle of dessert wine to make up for the lack of a dish and drove over.
I had assumed we'd be eating outside or in the old store so was totally unprepared to step into their house and find a beautiful long table set up with 11 places. Jenn's parents, whom I'd met a few times previously, and Jenn's old school friend plus her family were in the house when I arrived. It looked like I was the only straggler and my heart went out to them for inviting me. But I had to see what was going on in the old house, so grabbing a beer, and after a quick cuddle with Mr Snuggles, the geriatric feline, I scooted over to the derelict building.

 Bill and Jenn's dad plus her friend's husband, (God forgive me, I spent an amazing day with these people, but I've forgotten all of their names), were bent over the fireplace. Two iron cauldrons of turkey soup were cooking, bubbling deliciously over the flames, making my mouth water at the fragrant aromas of meat and herbs.

 I was very impressed with the cooking techniques used. Prosciutto was chopped and cooked in bacon fat on a lid with hot coals underneath while brussel sprouts and bacon sizzled in another cauldron. This would have pecans and maple syrup added, while the Prosciutto would be added to the top of homemade mac 'n' cheese. There were a lot of old recipes on the walls of the old building for hog feed and mash, dating back to 1931, and I was very grateful that our dinner was comprising of much more palatable ingredients.
My job was to lay the table and before long we were all seated and tucking into salad, turkey soup, turkey breast, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, mac 'n' cheese, green beans, brussels and some superb fresh cranberry relishes. I tried everything, it was all outstanding. Wine was poured, and because I was enjoying myself so immensely, the meal swept by in a wave, including dessert, because all I mainly remember was the laughter. We talked and mostly laughed throughout the whole dinner. As I said my goodbyes late that evening, armed with a container of turkey soup for the next day, I remember my tummy and face were aching, not from eating too much, but from continuous laughing It had been a perfect evening.
Saturday was a bad day. I locked myself out of my house in the morning with just a thin sweatshirt on and had to wait over 90 minutes for the locksmith to arrive. My spirits lifted slightly when he admitted he was having a problem breaking into my house. Taking note that breaking inmy own house was obviously something I couldn't do in the future I ordered an outside lock box to lock a spare key in. Upon entering my house and warming up I then discovered my kitchen sink was blocked and despite various methods of supposed 'instant unblocking' the standing water refused to budge. Completely exasperated I left it, grabbed my camera and headed for the mountains, which thankfully are only a few minutes away.

I wasn't in the mood for hiking, especially as I still hadn't warmed up from being trapped outside. The park was closing early due to an ice storm coming in. The Skyline Drive has its own weather system, which although amazing, can be frightening if you're caught in the middle of it. There were few people up here and it was eerily quiet, apart from the winds blowing cold blasts across the roads and scenic outlooks. I took a few shots of the Blue Ridge Mountains and then headed back to my blocked sink.
I don't like failing at tasks so I wasn't in a good mood when I had to face the blocked sink yet again on Sunday morning. I finally had to admit the job was beyond me and resigned myself to shelling out another substantial wad of cash to get another person out to help me. I sat and watched a movie while mulling the dilemma over in the back of my mind, and when that proved ineffective I once more headed to the mountains. In less than 15 minutes I was driving high in the park, once again noting the absence of tourists. But today there were no vistas to be admired. The air was dank and cold, with a thick blanket of fog rolling through the trees, occasionally a small window opening up to allow a view of the valley below.

Then as I got higher the fog was joined with ice. The wet leaves on the ground were bright bronze, copper and chestnut, patches of green grass poking through.

It was cold up here but evidently still above freezing as the road was littered with piles of crushed ice that had fallen from trees. It crashed against my windshield like a spattering of bullets or as if someone had thrown a bucketful of ice directly at me, the impact loud and brittle, causing me to study my windshield closely each time it happened, fully expecting to see cracks. Every form of vegetation was coated in ice, like a wonderland, but today the ice was like curled up like ribbons on the branches, which I'd not seen before, swathes of curls suspended in the trees, hanging from rocks and weighing down the blades of grass. It was beautiful and I stopped often to take photos, or simply just stand and listen, relishing the icy desolation, damp, cold fingers of fog brushing against my cheeks.
Back in the car, after another mile or so, the elevation dropped and the temperature rose slightly, the icy suddenly absent from the world, so quickly that it seemed I'd been in another world. It was difficult to see a few feet ahead in the dense fog, it was a real pea souper, as we'd say in England. I was driving less than the speed limit, crawling along, which was fine since I was in no rush. The trees stretched across the road, their branches softened in the dense thickness, and appeared like huge cobwebs arching across the tarmac.

I left the park, waiting behind two cars at the junction, who seemed to behaving problems reading the signs across the road. The fog was still very thick and white, with visibility almost at none. As I zig zagged down the mountain the fog lifted, but looking back once I was in the valley, thick clouds still billowed over the mountain tops, occasional gaps in the white haze breaking open to reveal brief glimpses of a blue sky and the golden hues of a setting sun. I'd managed to forget the blasted sink for a while, but was now resigned to calling out the experts and parting with yet more money. C'est la vie...