Ice Cream

I am developing a new strategy to achieve world peace.

Ice cream.

Carol and I stopped into Beech Hill Farms on our way back from walking the grand-dog last weekend.

BHF is one of Carol's favorite places in the world, other than the opium den she frequents when I work late shifts.

They make high quality ice cream - the kind that immediately clogs your arteries. You notice, as you lick your way to the nearest bench, that you are suddenly a little shorter of breath.

But it's worth it.

The place is cool because you got the ice cream, you got the farm thing going on, you got animals, you got plants and flowers to buy.

You got people.

Ice cream is the universal experience. If you tell me you don't like ice cream you are immediately suspect to me.

Which reminds me of the scene in "Good Will Hunting" where Ben Affleck sits in on a job interview for Matt Damon. He offers the interviewer a bribe or something, I don't remember the details, but Affleck ends up accusing the guy, yelling "You're suspect."

It's the way he says it. Check it out. It is excellent.

I don't trust people who say they don't like chocolate either. These are the same people who claim they have to be busy at work. "I just can't stand around. I have to be busy all the time."

Bullshit. Your lies don't fool me.

Anyway, back to BHF. Saw an old guy, a very old guy, wearing suspenders and denim, being escorted to the ice cream counter by a human around my age I assumed to be his kid.

Very cool. I loved knowing that at his age ice cream is still a treat. And that taking Dad to BHF was a family thing, a thing to keep them close.

There were little kids. Lots. A family of about 137 sat at the table next to ours. The parents allowed one dude to smear his ice cream all over his face. Chocolate. He ate that treat and dug it, and in the process ice cream painted his face.

Carol and I dug it because his parents allowed it. They didn't fuss over him, wipe him off or lecture him. When he was done he and his dad got up, the dad saying "There is a hose outside where we can clean you up." They walked out together to a cleaner, neater day.

Parents with young kids, laughing with the animals, playing in the sand pit, eating ice cream.

Parents and kids being families on a beautiful summer day in a slow moving, natural way.

We checked out the animals too. There were three new born goats. Absolutely hilarious, amazingly cute. Playing with each other, chasing each other around. The funniest thing was the way they jumped.

Straight up into the air. Like they had not yet mastered the jumping process. Even as they ran they would suddenly jump straight up in the air. Laughter from the adults and kids watching the show.

We strolled through the plants and flowers and crafty things and Carol did not spend a dime.

Must have been difficult.

Our summer has been punctuated by bold events. Red Sox game, Fishercats games, Ray LaMontagne, Blues festival, Gregg Allman for me and my brother.

Beech Hill Farms was no less a high point than any of those.

A leisurely visit to a beautiful place on a summer day with my amazing wife.

Peace, man. We are all looking for peace. It is a little easier to find in the summer because we slow down and actually see.

I liked what I saw at BHF. Liked how I felt. Love that it was just me and Carol.

This summer is one for the books, baby.