Boulder, Colorado

Welcome to Boulder, Colorado!

Boulder, Colorado is a mix of all sorts of things, but most of them have to do with being outside. This is a town where one can buy oxygen*, grass (wheatgrass or marijuana), and water at exorbitant prices, but can also be immersed in all three for free in any of the more than 40,000 acres of protected green space in and around the city.

Perhaps the most iconic symbol of Boulder is the image of the Flatirons, rock formations located just west of town. Named by pioneer women who thought they looked like irons (not especially creative, but an apt description), they are conveniently located a few minutes from downtown. The Third Flatiron stands 1,400 feet tall, and was first climbed by Floyd and Earl Millard in 1906, the earliest recorded rock climb in Colorado. Since then it has been climbed thousands of times in a number of fashions, including by two men wearing roller skates, by only the light of the full moon, and naked.

The Flatirons

The Flatirons

Boulderites like to play hard. The city hosts a “robust biking culture,” and many take advantage of the roughly 300 miles of bike lanes and paths, which are used year-round. On an average day, city employees counted 3,574 bikes in the downtown area. About 15% of the city’s annual transportation budget goes towards bike programs, and about 10% of all work commutes are made by bike, almost 20 times the national average.

The first people to live in the Boulder area were Native Americans of the Arapahoe tribe. Then in 1859 came the white men and the Boulder City Town Company, who divvied up the land into parcels and sold them for $1,000 per lot, later lowered to attract more buyers. The Territory of Colorado itself wouldn’t be established for two more years. Prior to 1861 Boulder was part of the Territory of Nebraska, which probably has nothing to do with the University of Colorado Boulder Buffaloes / University of Nebraska Cornhuskers football rivalry. The University of Colorado has been up and running in Boulder since 1877, and today hosts about 30,000 students.

The University of Colorado Boulder campus

The University of Colorado Boulder campus

Without Pearl Harbor, Boulder might not have grown into the town it is today. During WWII, the US Navy located its Japanese school at UC Boulder, which brought people from all over the country to the area. After the war, many of them came back, increasing the population by about 10,000. The 300 days of sun a year probably had something to do with it. Today, the population is just under 100,000.

According to a mile-high list of publications, Boulder is an ideal place to live if you are: a woman executive, innovative, a biker, happy, a foodie, well-read, an in-shape baby-boomer, educated, brainy, raising an outdoor kid, an artist, someone who works for a technology start-up, part of a LGBT family, or someone who likes trees, among other things. Says one local, “I love Boulder, sure there are a lot of people who are weird as shit (last night I had a 50 something hippy tell me she could teach me yoga while having sex with my girlfriend) but that’s half the fun of living here.”

Frosty Flatirons

Frosty Flatirons


10 Things You Didn’t Know About The Third Flatiron. By Amanda Fox, Climbing Magazine.

The Best Bike Cities in North America: Boulder, Colorado. By Sarah Ripplinger, Outside Magazine.

The Best Cities to Raise an Outdoor Kid: The Winning 25. By Jason Stevenson, Backpacker Magazine.

Boulder, Colorado: The City Everyone Loves to Love/Hate. By Ryan Krogh, Outside Magazine:

Boulder, Colorado USA (Boulder Conventions & Visitors Bureau):

*Boulder’s Tonic Oxygen Bar goes ‘herban.’ By Alicia Wallace, The Daily Camera.

City of Boulder, Colorado Homepage:

The Gore-Tex Vortex. By Marc Peruzzi, Outside Magazine.

Mountain Project Boulder page, submitted by John McNamee:

Oxygen bar’s clients are encouraged to inhale. By Barbara Hey, Denver Post.

Wikipedia: Boulder, Colorado.,_Colorado

Wikipedia: Colorado-Nebraska football rivalry.

Picture Attributes: 

Boulder postcard:

CU Boulder campus:

Flatirons images courtesy of the author

If you have 18 hours in: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

sketchy part of Kuala Lumpur

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

– spend 2 hours running after your friend (literally running, dodging and weaving through crowds of late-night shopping families and groups of Malaysian adolescents, and belatedly hoping that no one thinks you’re a purse-snatcher because getting arrested in Malaysia is not on your list of things to do today) around the malls (of which there are many more than one would have thought necessary for any one country, let alone one city) looking for a camera accessory that no one has and that you were pretty sure wouldn’t be available in stores yet anyway.

KL noodles

Noodles from a street vendor for dinner.

– spend 2 hours eating (dinner and breakfast).

– spend 8 hours sleeping in a cockroach hotel (there was a cockroach scurrying across the blankets on the bed when we checked in, and I’m not sure what happened/who was brutally murdered in the shower before we got there, but it was not properly cleaned afterward. Don’t be deceived by the pleasant-looking exterior- Hotel Mexico is not a good choice).

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Lanterns in the street outside our hotel.

– spend 2 hours checking email and Facebook (priorities, and confirmation that those you left behind on the other side of the world do in fact still exist).

– spend 4 hours semi-patiently waiting, in transit to and from the airport, and for a departing flight to Thailand.

Max catching flies

Despite what he might tell you, Max does in fact sleep on airplanes.

– spend at least 3.5 hours of transit and time waiting for flight to Thailand wondering: what the city of Kuala Lumpur is actually like; what it would be like to live here; why people live here; at the differences between Kathmandu, Nepal (where we had just been trekking) and KL; when I can go back to the Himalayas and see a yak; what Thailand will be like; what everyone is doing at home; how best to take a sneaky picture of Max sleeping in his seat with his mouth gaping open catching flies; wondering when you can next take a real shower and wear freshly laundered clothes.

– spend the remaining 1/2 hour waiting in line for the restroom, at least twice. 1 minute spend taking care of business, 29 minutes trying not to gag at the condition of the squatty potty.

A Night In Hue, Vietnam

We went for dinner at a fancy vegetarian restaurant by the river, set back enough that we couldn’t actually see the water. We sat outdoors, as everything in Vietnam is open air. All around was metal curlicue trellis work, plants grown over everything, with strings of lights around the edges. A romantic setting, perfect for making eyes at your lover (or, in my case, your vegan Indian friend) over a steaming plate of tofu. Just don’t order the hotpot or you may lose your eyebrows– the flame underneath is strong enough to roast an entire tofurkey. A hotpot is a pot that is hot (if you couldn’t guess) filled with broth, noodles, suspicious-looking green plant parts that taste bitter and kind of make you gag, mushrooms, okra, tomatoes, tofu, and probably a few other vegetarian things I’m forgetting. I learned that in India okra is called “lady fingers.” There must be women with pretty strange-looking fingers in India.

After our dinner splurge (143,000 dong) and the usual after-dinner life conversation, it began to rain. We wanted to wait it out, as it was pouring down, but the staff were making closing-time preparations, so we braved the drops to make our way back to our hotel. We walked, dodging bicycles and motorbikes, passing street vendors and customers sitting at tiny plastic tables on the sidewalk, stepping in puddles, trying to read the street names and not get hit by a bus, hoping the rain doesn’t come pouring down harder until we made it back to the hotel.

Walking along a wet street after it has just rained at night is a magical feeling, because everything, even the trash in the gutter, seems cleaned and glossy and there is potential just waiting in every puddle. Walking down a street in Hue after dinner, after the rain, being passed by rain-ponchoed motorbike drivers, passing food vendors selling what is definitely not tofu chicken body parts, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. This moment is brilliant– the lights from shops reflecting in the million tiny pavement puddles, the sounds of wheels splashing through, the smell of rain in the city– not dirty, not offensive, just the smell of rain on pavement and plastic.

This is Vietnam.

Back in Hanoi

Hey Mom and Dad!

Pooja and I got in to Hanoi via the overnight train about 2hrs ago. Right now we’re sitting in the lobby of the hostel waiting for our room to open up so we can take showers and put on some clean clothes. We spent the last two days (one night) near the mountain town of Sapa, where we were trekking with a local guide. Her name is Kuli, and she was recommended by Max. We took the overnight train out to the town of Lao Cai, then a bus to Sapa where Kuli met us to begin our trek. After paying her ($50 for the two of us for 2 days trekking, a homestay, and all our meals) we followed her to the market, where she bought food for lunch that day and dinner. Wandering through markets is always really interesting, everything crowded and dingy, and you can buy just about anything you could want to eat, as long as all you want to eat is meat, local veggies, coffee, tea, and noodles. And Oreos, those are everywhere. Oreos are vegan, so we eat them a lot. Pooja is vegan, so she’s been dragging me all over the place in each city to find vegetarian restaurants. I don’t mind because the food is usually excellent. The other day we had garlic -roasted eggplant, it’s making my tummy rumble just thinking about it. I’ve also now been up for two hours and haven’t eaten breakfast yet, which doesn’t help. Anyway,  back to Sapa.

After the market, we headed out of town towards Kuli’s house, where we ate lunch. We started on the paved road, which turned into a dirt road and a steep, rocky dirt path. Two other local women followed us, Kuli ‘s daughter -in -law (with her baby strapped on her back) and another woman from their village. There are something like 300 villages in the mountain valleys around Sapa, and most are their own tribe, with a unique language, way of dress and culture. The women are there to give you a hand when the way gets steep, slick, and muddy, which is often. After about 2 hours we arrived at Kuli ‘s house, where she lives with her husband, son, his wife, and their two children aged 6mo and 2yrs. Kuli is 38, and a grandmother. She cooked us lunch herself, tofu in tomato sauce, noodles, rice, cabbage. It was delicious.

Everyone in the villages farms rice, and while we were waiting for lunch we watched Kuli ‘s husband and son bag rice in 50kg bags, which they would then transport into town by motorbike. Pooja told me how they separate the chaff and impurities from the rice by holding it up to a fan. The good rice falls to the ground, while the waste parts blow farther and are swept up separately. This is something you learn in primary school in India she said. I remember vaguely learning how the Native Americans planted corn and beans I’m mounds, but we never learned any farming methods at Sharon Elementary. I feel my US public schooling has left we woefully unprepared for the world sometimes.

After lunch we continued trekking a few more hours to a different village where we spent the night in the home of another family. They are set up to accommodate trekkers, and have maybe 15 beds, a hot water shower, and a western flushing toilet (that was actually clean. I’ve learned that squatting over a hole in the ground is much preferable to having to hover over a questionable seat, which describes maybe 25% of the toilets here. The other 75% are completely disgusting) . We met two other trekkers, very friendly girls from England, and their guide there and had a very pleasant evening with them and the family. Dinner was another feast, prepaired by Kuli and the other guide. We ate beef and onion, chicken and some green plant, tofu, rice, vegetable spring rolls, and fried bamboo. I can now see why panda bears are so enamored of the stuff- it’s scrumptious. After dinner the guides (both women, as most of the local guides are) broke out the “happy water “– rice wine, which is a strong, clear alcoholic liquid I’m fairly certain could strip paint. Tastes awful, though luckily you take it in shots so it goes quick. Unless you’re me and cant do shots, so it takes you three sips to get it all down. I had to eat a few more of the fried bamboo shoots to wash the taste out of my mouth.
We slept on mattresses on the floor upstairs in a loft, under heavy comforters and mosquito netting. Mine, as usual, had a hole in it. Not quite as large as the holes in my net in Ecuador (which I could climb through, which makes me question the effectiveness of said net. But I think the bats that flew through the cabin and pooped on my bed each night kept most mosquitoes away.) It was a cool night, so there were minimal insects and the heavy blankets were welcome. It was very peaceful, to lay in the dark under a warm blanket and listen to the sounds of the river flowing nearby, and the occasional creak of the wooden walls or floor. I fell asleep in about five minutes.

The next day, after a breakfast of crepe -thin pancakes with bananas and honey, we continued our trekking. We only went about two hours, but the going was much rougher. It was substantially muddier (as in both Pooja and I were covered, while the locals somehow managed to stay relatively clean) . It was also steep, and steep muddy mountains are not easy to navigate. Doesn’t help that most of the rock is white marble (extra slippery when wet) and that the dirt is clay (extra slippery when wet, and likes to adhere to everything) . I was very proud of the fact that I only fell on my behind once, and it was only awkward because the guide who was holding my hand helped me to brush off my butt after. I tried not to pull on the guides too much, because I am a good head taller than all of them, and while they are stronger than they look I definitely would have taken them down with me in an inglorious muddy heap. After much slipping and sliding we did eventually make it to the waterfall, where we washed off our shoes and legs in the cold clear water and sat and enjoyed the view for a long time. I cant wait to show you pictures, the country around Sapa is breathtaking. I wish the paths had been easier so I could have looked around more while walking, but we did stop enough to get pictures.

We were not able to go too far, as we were on a short trek, but you don’t have to be very far from the central square in Sapa to be overwhelmed by the views. Everywhere around are mountains, impossibly steep-looking and a vibrant, verdant green. Houses are scattered along the mountainsides, strung out along muddy meandering roads and paths. Terraced rice paddies are in sections all over the place, like someone took a giant broken plastic comb and dragged it along the mountains. The terraces make the view look orderly from a distance, because the jungle that is the rest of the foliage is blurred into a solid green mass, all you see are the straight lines of rice, curving with the mountain contours.

Max spent two weeks here, and I can see why he was reluctant to leave. It’s a beautiful place, a much-needed breath of fresh air after all the cities we’ve been to. I like to visit cities, but I need my wide-open wild spaces to feel right again. Pooja is a city girl born and bred, so she’s taken charge from the get-go, showing me how to ride buses and trains, how to bargain and how to get hotel rooms. While I do want to learn how to do those things, I don’t really want to have to do them all the time. I’m a slow person- I eat slow, I walk slow, I like to look around. I like to be able to walk around and not have to worry about getting run over from eight different directions at once (they drive like Pirates of the Caribbean here: the driving laws aren’t really laws, they’re more like guidelines. It’s perfectly acceptable to drive on the wrong side of the street or on the sidewalk as long as you beep.)

I felt so much more at peace in Sapa than I have anywhere else in Vietnam. This is a lovely country, I’m just not used to being around more than 10 people or so in a day. Hanoi is definitely not McBee SC. However, there are a great deal more birds to see in South Carolina. I’ve only seen about three different species here in Vietnam, where most birds seem to be either caged or chickens. A friend of Max’s said she has colleagues who study birds down in Ho Chi Minh City, so I may make Max take me down there when we come back to Vietnam to collect his things.

Pooja and I head to Halong Bay tomorrow for an overnight stay on a boat in the bay, and then back here to Hanoi to do laundry and shower before parting ways. She heads home to India, and I fly to Singapore to meet up with Max, our mutual friend Joby, and Max’s friend Mallory. The plan is for the four of us to make our way to Nepal for some trekking. I’ll keep you posted.

Tell everyone at home I say hello!
Love, Lauren

First impressions of Vietnam

Currently, I am occupying space in the city of Nha Trang, Vietnam, in the apartment of my friend Max. His apartment is a couple blocks from the beach, which looks exactly like how it did in the pictures. The sand is grainy, like coarsely ground salt, and the water is turquoise blue, except when the river stains it brown with sediment from the mountains, as it did yesterday after a heavy rain. There are islands out in the ocean which rise up directly from the water, like steep-backed turtles, giant rock chunks with no sloping beaches. It looks surreal, and, as I did when I visited the Galapagos Islands, I feel like I’m in a dream where I fell into a National Geographic spread and it’s all going to disappear any second when I wake up.

Nha Trang at night.

The best way to get around Nha Trang (in my opinion) is by motorbike. There are easily four times as many motorbikes as cars on the road, everyone seems to have one. By law only two adults can ride on a motorbike at one time, but seeing entire families, two parents, two or three children, crammed on one bike is common. I’ve seen a man on his motorbike balancing 6 boxes on the seat behind him, the bottom one a flat screen TV, some in the middle other electronics, and on top a 24 pack of beer cans. Nothing was strapped on, he casually rested one hand on the top of the stack to steady it. Another man rode along with chickens, probably destined for one of the many food stalls that line the roads, strapped to every possible surface, so that from a distance it looked like his bike was covered with a giant feathery skirt, floppy chicken heads dangling like pom-poms.

Motorbike Max.

Max has a rental bike, which we use every day to explore the city. He picked me up from the airport on his motorbike, which was an experience. I had just spent the past 2 days traveling, which totaled four flights, the shortest being 1 hour, the longest 12 hours and 40 minutes. It was dark and rainy when I arrived, and I had to empty most of the contents of my backpack to find my raincoat before we left the airport. It was wet outside, and he had parked in a puddle, which I realized after I stepped in it and soaked one sock. He handed me a helmet, showed me where to put my feet and where I could hold on, and away we went. I’d never ridden a motorbike before, and this certainly was a memorable first time. It started raining once we left the airport, but stopped after maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Luckily, I had only one backpack, so I could hold on with both hands to the bar behind me. The ride to his apartment was about 45 minutes, but the roads here are generally in good condition so we made good time. It was beautiful, watching the lightning periodically illuminate the ocean on our right and the mountains in the distance, though I didn’t realize I had a death grip until we stopped to eat some noodles close to his apartment. Now, after a few days, I can jump on back and, after strapping on my pink helmet with a cartoon dog on the side (Max picked it out, I had no choice in the matter) take pictures with one hand while pointing out some interesting sight with the other. Max is an excellent driver, and I’ve yet to witness any accidents.

The city feels safe, and I don’t worry that I’m going to get mugged or kidnapped or even run over by a bus, though my friend Pooja and I did almost get run over by a front-end loader the other day while walking down the street. The streets are generally pretty clean, even though everyone throws their trash into the gutter. Max told me that the government pays the poorer people to clean up the trash every night, which gives them a job and keeps the streets semi-litter free. The buildings are chaotic-looking, and I get the impression you could easily find anything you could ever need in the open-air one room stores that line the streets. We eat most meals at street vendors, sitting at kindergarten-sized tables on stools that bring my knees just about level with my chin. Most of these places are where the locals eat, and serve only one dish. Most of the time we walk up, Max says something in Vietnamese to the woman sitting behind the table, and in a few minutes a freshly made plate of something delicious is set in front of us. Most dishes contain either noodles or rice, some kind of meat, and all sorts of amazing flavors I can’t start to describe. Usually spicy, always mouth-watering. The only thing I’ve had here and wasn’t a fan of was the avocado and coconut shake, which had too much avocado and not enough coconut for my liking. The color was a little off-putting too, a light yellowish green that reminded me of slightly off pea soup.

One of my favorite things to do is have Vietnamese coffee in a small glass, strong and dark, mixed with condensed milk and sugar, ice added. Coffee here takes hours, though the glass is only about the size of my fist. This is a savoring experience, both of the coffee and the company you are with, be it new Vietnamese friends, communicating with broken English about our lives in different countries, or old friends, sharing memories and dreams. I will miss this when I go back home again, where coffee seems to usually be a rushed affair, at most half an hour, surrounded by people who are in a hurry to get somewhere they think is important. No one here seems to be in a hurry, though I don’t think that anyone is usually late. Even the traffic seems calm, no road rage, no screaming, cursing drivers when the tall, white foreigners wander blindly into traffic and everyone swerves around. Even in the city, there is an underlying sense of calm, a deep peace like the ocean that sits next to everything.

Vietnamese coffee and an excellent view.

I think Pooja, another friend from OWU who is out here to travel with me for a few weeks, will be leaving for parts unexplored soon, heading north to Hue, Hanoi, Halong Bay. We plan on taking buses and trains, another new mode of transportation for me. I’ve ridden on both before, but never for more than an hour or so. Most trips here take a good 10 or 11 hours, so luckily the seats are comfortable and the views entertaining.

Everyday is a new adventure, and I look forward to experiencing what the world next offers.

A Particularly Epic Tuesday

Tuesday evening we made the arduous trek up to Cleveland to watch the Indians play some baseball. Perhaps I should rephrase that– we went to Cleveland to sit at Progressive Field and eat popcorn and hot dogs and watch the people cam on the scoreboard (we had free tickets).
Approaching Progressive Field via the cemetery, which prompted discussion of people who get their ashes scattered at stadiums (so that they’ll never miss another game), and about someone’s ashes that ended up on a roof somewhere in a plastic bag and the cops thought it was drugs until they tested it (Eric contributed that).
Cleveland Rocks!
The Indians, not so much.
We spent a great deal of time trying to take a picture that looks decent. Turns out I’m really bad at the whole hold-the-camera-out-in-front-and-take-a-picture-of-yourself thing.
“Yeah, I like baseball capris better than the long pants too, like on the shortstop. He looks better than the other guys.”
“That’s the second baseman. Generally, the shortstop is between third and second, not second and first.”
“Oh. I knew that.”
“This is why they’d put you in the outfield all the time, isn’t it?”
Eric’s response to the above conversation.
To sum it up: We and negative 13,413 other people (there were nowhere near that many actually present) spent negative 3 hours and 13 minutes watching the Indians not score and lose to Oakland. The Tribe did have 16 strikeouts, which was impressive. And the Indians script looks cooler than Oakland all spelled out in caps. So there.
This face sums up the entire game.
Megan loves Asdrubal! (Primarily because this picture was directly behind our seats while we were leaving).
Some of us are not willing to admit we’re Indians fans.
Photo opt!











And in other, much more fantastic news:

Welcome To the World little Elizabeth Grace Covey! Born Tuesday morning at 9:41 a.m., to proud parents Amanda and James Covey. Little Ellie measured in at 7lbs/9oz and 21 inches long with a full head of blond hair.

Amanda, I shamelessly stole this picture from your Facebook page. I hope you don’t mind.
Little Ellie- someday your honoray aunties Jenna and Lauren will take to you an Indians game and introduce you to the world of Cleveland sports. Maybe by the time you’re old enough to hold up a hot dog they’ll have a slightly better record. Even if they don’t, we’re still going to fill you up with all sorts of yummy stadium food and then send you home to your parents all hyped-up on cotton candy, pop and peanuts. It’s going to be a blast.

What I learned at Penn State

1) That I need a water lily pond like the Lotus Pool at the Penn State Arboretum.











2) That I also need a giant planter filled with succulents. (Would make an excellent birthday gift, though I do admit that it might not be the most practical, since it’s probably not very portable.)












3) That there are Japanese bananas. And that I have never thought about bananas being from Japan.

I forgot to get a picture of the banana plants, so this one is from


4) That the Creamery makes excellent ice cream and has proportions about as large as your head.
It is also advisable to have yours in a bowl rather than a cone, unless you are able to eat large quantities of ice cream quickly and you are also sitting inside in the A/C so your ice cream meltage is kept to a minimum. Not being savvy in the ways of Creamery portion sizes, I had mine in a cone. Still not entirely sure how I managed to eat the entire thing and not explode nor get melted ice cream all over my person. I feel that my twenty-odd years of eating ice cream were just to prepare me for that moment, and that I preformed quite admirably.

I was too busy eating my enormous ice cream cone to remember to take a picture, so this one is from the PSU website 


5) And that Meghan is an excellent friend for introducing me to all these new things.

She is a Penn State graduate and lives in State College, which explains why she knows all these things.
Meghan is a superb American Coot rescuer as well.

An Evening At the National Hamburger Festival

Our evening in photographs:

Don’t worry, Eric brought appropriate reading materials for this festival.These are the last two burger halves from Menches Bros, which Eric (after some prompting)  promptly ate.  Eric is our resident plain burger connoisseur. I believe he said these landed somewhere near the top of his list of favorites. Also note the Football Hall Of Fame t-shirt, which has nothing to do with burgers but is always an appropriate shirt to be wearing.


Beautiful Lock 3 Park, in the wonderful city of Akron, Ohio!
We did not try any of the Max & Erma’s burgers, since we’ve eaten there before and already know how good they are (which is quite good). And those are lights, not barbed wire. I checked.
STD burgers. They do in fact brand each bun with the STD logo. 
“Dad, you ruined the brand!”
This STD had onions and a spicy chipotle sauce on it, absolutely delicious.
Marching off to the next burger stand.
Megan spins the wheel in hopes to win a fabulous prize!
Instead, she wins a bottle opener and a coozie.
New word of the day: Grillebration.
Also: Whitney, you might be receiving a coozie care package in Kentucky sometime soon… we might have gotten a few more of these than we really know what to do with (which would be 3).
Green means go! We’ve got more burgers to consume!
Ah, the Civic Theater, the site of many years of dance recital memories. Almost makes me want to dig out my old dance shoes and bust out some lyrical moves, of which I remember about five. Lyrical is a mix of ballet and modern dance, for those of you who didn’t know. Which is usually about everyone.
All in all, and excellent way to spend a beautiful Sunday evening in Ohio. Sorry Dad, but your burgers at home just can’t compete.
If you’re interested in actual information about the National Hamburger Festival 2012 and all of the deliciousness you missed, here’s the website:
If you’re interested in reading the book Hamburger America, or watching the documentary (of course there’s a documentary, and yes Eric does own it), here’s the link. The author also has a burger blog.

Festival Fun in South Carolina

Last weekend was exciting. Instead of spending all my time in the bunkhouse baking bread (what I did the weekend before), Whitney (fellow intern), Jake (her boyfriend), and I hit up two local festivals: the Pine Straw Festival  in Patrick and the Strawberry Festival at McLeods Farm just outside of McBee.
First up was the Pine Straw Festival. We drove all the way to Patrick, 20 minutes away, for this.
The Pine Straw Festival did have a bouncy slide, which I suppose was pretty exciting.  I don’t know they would have let us on, though. Maybe if we had a small child they would have, but there weren’t any around we could borrow.
Small line-up of old cars and some people I don’t know.
Don’t have booths like this at home in Ohio…
We spent about four minutes walking around because I wanted to take pictures of pine straw (of which there was none). Pine straw is fallen pine needles that are gathered up and used as mulch. You would think that if the festival was named after pine straw there would be some there, an informational booth or something at least. But no. I was disappointed.
I soon got over my disappointment when we headed back to McBee and McLeod’s Strawberry Festival. A much better festival, primarily because we ate peach enchiladas and ice cream (makes my mouth water now just thinking about it) and they also had a booth for Carolina Sandhills Refuge, wagon rides, cornhole, and kids crafts. And strawberries, peaches, and other fresh produce.
I bought a basket of these delicious strawberries, some of the best I’ve ever had. And now I have a sweet white plastic basket that says Mac’s Pride.
Yummy-looking peaches. Haven’t had any yet, but the peach ice cream was good.
They also have a small museum with all sorts of neat random old stuff, including cars, artwork, cash registers, cases of old knives, a row of rocking chairs, and these decoys.
Wall of tools and things.
One of the collection of old fans sitting next to the collection of cash registers.
Whitney and I went to the small McLeod’s produce stand just down the road from the refuge one day after work for peach ice cream. Not a good idea. Now that I know there is homemade peach ice cream so close,   I’m going to be there everyday after work. My entire weekly stipend is going to be spent on peach ice cream.
If you’re interested, here’s the McLeod’s website:
It says they deliver peaches, but I’m not sure how far (as probably most of the people reading this are not in South Carolina). I plan on personally sampling a large variety of their produce, baked goods and deserts in the next few months, so I’ll let you know how everything is.