A lesson in letting go at a vacation in isolation
The town of Murphys in Calaveras County has a population of 2,213 humans and one celebrated frog. In 1848, two brothers, John and Daniel Murphy, founded Murphys New Diggings, a goldmining town, but they made more money selling goods to other miners than they ever did mining. Turns out they needed that cash. The town burned down three times (in 1859, 1874 and 1893) but survived. These days it bills itself as “the Queen of the Sierra,” making it the perfect vacation spot for the FisherPaulsons.
You can walk through the town in about 10 minutes; that is if you don’t stop anywhere to sample a flight of wine. Once you get to the end of the main street, you find Murphy’s Old Timers Museum. On the western wall of the building, one stumbles upon the Wall of Comparative Ovations.
This is the kind of stuff Crazy Mike loves. It’s a bunch of pictures and plaques maintained by the Grub Gulch chapter of the ancient and honorable order of E Clampus Vitus, a fraternal organization. Turns out that the members, known as the clampers, had their own pennant, a hoop skirt with the words, “This is the flag we fight under.” Their meetings were conducted in the Hall of Comparative Ovations, mostly the backrooms of saloons that had not yet burned down and were held “at any time before or after a full moon.” Led by the First Noble Grand Humbug, the motto of this chapter is Credo quia absurdum: Because it’s absurd, I believe.
Here’s some more history from this area: It was around here that Samuel Clemens failed as a miner and took a job as a journalist. His first big break was a short story,
“The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” under the pen name Mark Twain.
Into this idyllic setting came the Sasbs and the FisherPaulsons. The Sasbs consist of our friend Stephanie; her husband, Mordecai; and her relatively neurotypical children, Elijah and Dempsey. Stephanie had rented a house on top of a hill, with a view as far as Yosemite National Park. We actually have no idea what Yosemite looks like, but we reasoned that the halfdomed mountain in the background must be in a national park.
We did, by the way, meet one frog in the woods, although he did not demonstrate any celebrated jumping skills.
Stephanie and my husband, Brian, had no more ambition than to let the kids swim in the pool while they assembled jigsaw puzzles and sampled the local viticulture. For this reason, Brian is better at vacations than I am. Brian immediately takes time off as time off: Once unpacked, he does not vacuum. He does not do laundry. He does not count calories. He does not get in his 10,000 steps.
Me, I still putter. I organize the spice rack in the kitchen we rented. I still helicopterparent: “Aidan, have you finished your summer reading book?” “How much bug spray did you put on?”
No wonder Aidan gravitated toward Stephanie as she taught him how to grill hot dogs and listen for coyotes under the waxing moon.
It’s been happening a bit lately.
Terry Asten Bennett taught Zane how to broil hamburgers. Ms. I volunteered to teach Zane how to drive. I’m grateful for the strong women in my sons’ lives, but there’s a part of me that feels inadequate. At what age were they supposed to learn how to dust? How to start a barbecue? How to write thankyou cards?
While the women around us teach my boys, they also teach me a few lessons, like how to go on vacation. Sometimes you have to leave the outer, outer, outer, outer Excelsior to walk away from the daily routine. Stephanie taught me that when we’re on vacation, it’s OK for Aidan to play on the iPad all day and eat ice cream at 3 a.m.
Me, I still have to work at relaxing. So, on the second night, I cooked chili. Aidan watched as Brian and I sauteed the peppers, onions and garlic, simmered the pork, boiled the beans, crushed the tomatoes, stirred with the cinnamon stick. He watched as we made a separate vegan batch for Mordecai.
It takes two villages to raise my sons. In their teen years, they don’t want to learn anything from me. It’s not my job to teach Zane or Aidan how to grill a frankfurter or how to operate a stick shift. My only duty is to teach them kindness. Quia beningus est bonum: Because it is kind, it is good.
We have no idea what Yosemite looks like, but we reasoned that the halfdomed mountain in the background must be a national park.