A TRIP TO CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA AND MONTREAL

I am home. I have been to central Pennsylvania, to Montreal, back to central Pennsylvania; I alighted in Fairwater for a day and a half, then went off to Baraboo for two days of the Wisconsin Writers Conference where I did two readings from my farm writings and twice made my presentation on "Lorine's Toolbox." And now I am home.

Here follows a report of my travels east. Truth has many faces: you can check my version of events against reports from Rachel, Lorianne, qB's photos, Leslee, Leslee again, mole, mole again, and Dave.

As always, it was good to travel, it was good to come home.

I was one of a swarm

of bloggers who showed up in Montreal on or about June 2-4 for a meet-up. That's what you call it, I guess, when a group of bloggers who know each other over the internet get together for real-life-face-to-face conversation, a blogger meet-up.

If I have to explain it to you, why I drove to central Pennsylvania to pick up fellow blogger Dave Bonta and his friend The Sylph and why together we headed north to Montreal - if I have to explain it to you, you won't get it. Either you understand, I've found, or you don't. Explaining it won't enlighten the unenlightened. It's that you get it, or you don't get it. And admittedly understanding doesn't necessarily prove one is a better person; nor does not understanding prove otherwise.

I arrived in central Pennsylvania early enough that Dave and I had a day together to spend exploring Plummer's Hollow where he lives, and Tyrone, and State College. Dave showed me the power pole where the local bears communicate with each other; I did not actually get to see a bear, but Dave and his niece did, after I'd returned to Wisconsin. Dave showed me the vernal pond that was now a dry depression in the woods. I saw the trees that an ice storm brought down a few years ago. Dave regularly writes about Plummer's Hollow on his blog, and in my mind I had formed a picture of the terrain. Now, having walked ridge and meadow, I know Plummer's Hollow in my very muscles. My knowledge of the landscape of Dave's home is different now, fuller, though not necessarily any better. A writer brings particulars into sharp relief on his blog: reading Dave's, I have seen Plummer's Hollow in sharp relief; now I have also seen it in its variegated green entirety.

On our way north to Montreal, Dave and The Sylph and I camped Thursday night at Letchworth State Park in New York. The gorge is said to be the Grand Canyon of the east. It is a grand old gorge.

We put up our tents at our campsite and Dave got scolded by a pair of Cooper's hawks. We walked park trails. We watched the lower waterfalls. We saw Ma Merganser and four little merganserlings swim against the torrent of the waterfalls, to feed on rocks nearby. We visited a Seneca meeting lodge on the grounds, and the cabin that had belonged to the daughter of Mary Jemison - Mary Jemison being a white woman held captive by Indians, who lived out her life in that culture. We got dampened in a bit of drizzle during supper, as darkness came on. We slept.

We arrived at the edge of Montreal about 5:30 p.m. Friday evening. There was plenty of traffic, but not much in the way of road rage. Oh, we did see a fellow shake his fist at someone who cut him off - it was just like in the movies - and a bird got flipped in return, but that was about the extent of it. We weren't in Los Angeles.

We discovered that the youth hostel where we intended to stay had lost our reservations. One doesn't always recognize good fortune in the guise of such a predicament, I know, but this was good fortune. The woman who told us they didn't have our reservations and didn't have three rooms for us called to a "sister" youth hostel down the street, which did have three rooms, with a separate entrance, with a bit of a living room with couch and table and chairs, with its own bathroom. It was on the ground floor, and you entered beneath the concrete stairs that led to the rest of the youth hostel above. It was as if the Clan of the Cave Bear had been offered its own private cave. We got what we wanted and didn't know to ask for.

We were late getting to the hotel where we were to meet up with the other bloggers and look for supper. Those other bloggers, they were very patient folks and waited for us to show. Or was it, as was the case much of the weekend, bodies at rest tend to stay at rest? In any case, we were not too late for supper.

Where would we eat? We swarmed the Latin Quarter along Rue St. Denis and found The Thai Restaurant. That was its name - The Thai Restaurant. It was upstairs and they had a table for the ten or eleven or twelve of us outside on the patio. They had beer and coffee and wine to fuel our conversation. I ordered Pad Thai, which dish, you know, is humankind's single greatest culinary achievement; or else I was Thai in some previous incarnation. (I would have Pad Thai again on Saturday and once more on the drive back to central Pennsylvania from Montreal. This, I've been told with some assurance, is a clear sign of a complusive personality - Pad Thai three times on one long weekend.)

The Thai Restaurant found a table for the ten or eleven or twelve of us, as did several other restaurants over the course of the weekend. The waiter or waitress cheerfully brought us individual checks. I fell in love with every waitress I saw - oh, speak French to me. That French attitude you hear so much about? We didn't see any evidence of it, not in the restaurants, not in the stores, not on the streets. Montreal was a lovely place for a blogger meet-up.

Saturday was rainy, which did little to dampen our spirits. We swarmed the Old City and found a place under an awning that would let us sip espresso or latte or tea while it rained, and nibble Indian fry bread with cranberries, and talk. We were served by a fur-trader's wench, in costume.

Talk. That's what bloggers do when they get together, you know, these strangers, these virtual friends. They talk, and they become face-to-face friends. We are born into certain families and as much as we might love them we didn't have much choice in the matter; we fall in among friends in our communities, often from a limited selection to choose from. But a blogger meet-up of this sort is like attending a happy family reunion with a family you have carefully chosen for yourself.

How do you know these guys aren't axe murderers, some people might want to ask. I don't know. How do you know the guy you're going to see about the used car he's advertising isn't an axe murderer? You don't. You make your choices and take your chances.

Meeting face-to-face with a bunch of the bloggers you read regularly is everything like meeting a bunch of your friends for a few beers after work. Except that we who have never before met probably know each other better than you know your friends. In person, these bloggers are as they appear on their blogs, only more so. More intensely so. More profusely so. More colorfully so.

So what do you do for a whole blogger weekend? You eat. You talk. You sip espresso. You walk in the rain. You talk. You eat. You watch other bloggers take photographs. Not photographs of normal, ordinary reality. Photographs of patterns of shape and line and color. Of disembodied reflections in store windows. Of staircases and naked mannikins. You talk some more, eat some more, have more coffee. You laugh. You laugh a lot.

And, damn, all of a sudden it is Monday morning and time to face reality. Time to head back to central Pennsylvannia to drop off Dave and The Sylph. Time to think about heading for Wisconsin, about going home, back to that other reality. Saying good-bye is difficult. You've got to do it, and you do. With promises of another meet-up, some other city, some time in the future.

Watch for us in your neighborhood. You'll know us when you see us. We'll be the swarming bloggers.

Dave Bonta on swarming here. So different from our adventure, yet so much the same?

Comments

[qB]

This is absolutely wonderful. And I so agree about the way people are like they are in their blogs only more so. Perfect.

[Tom Montag]

qB, thanks so much. It was perhaps you, most of all, that I was thinking of being like your blog only more so. I'm think of the lilt of your language actually in my ear, rather than merely imagined....

[leslee]

Well captured. Thanks for bringing back the memories - and filling in on the days before you guys arrived. To the next blog-swarm-family-reunion!

[Tom Montag]

Thanks, Leslee! I have updated my post to include a couple of yours about Montreal, and a couple of Dale's too. If nothing else, a lot of wonderful photos have come out of the meet-up....

[Rachel]

What you say about knowing Plummer's Hollow now in your very muscles makes me wish I could go there someday, too.

I love the way our words bring our weekend to life -- and, for that matter, the way our embodied realities bring our words to life. We knew each other first as words, and while there's some wonder in that, I found so much more in the realities of our faces.

[Tom Montag]

Well, you know, getting to walk Plummer's Hollow is not such an impossibility.... I know someone who knows someone.... :)

It was terrific putting faces and physiques and expressions with the words. Like walking Plummer's Hollow, knowing in a different way.

I hope your caterpillar infestation has subsided!

[Marja-Leena]

Oh my, what fun! I do wish I could have been there too! Thanks for bringing it all to life with your great descriptions, Tom.

[Dave]

Tom, I think one of the distinguishing characteristics of our little blog community is that few of us strive for instantaneity, and quite often - as here - the one who blogs last, blogs best. As Lesleee says, you really captured the trip well. I was honored by your visit and generous offer of transport, and needless to say, I had a blast! Now I think we should all give serious consideration to Madison as the next place for a blogger swarm. (Funny, I've just been writing about a swarm, too. I'll have to link back here.) But in the meantime, folks are more than welcome to visit Plummer's Hollow.

[dale]

God, I had such a good time. Thanks, Tom. Reading this put a huge grin on my face.

[Tom Montag]

Hi, Marja-Leena--About you being there - maybe next time? What I said to Rachel might apply: "I know someone who knows someone...." Maybe someday a swarm in Vancouver?? I'd love to see that city....

[Tom Montag]

Dave--I have linked to your swarm, too. You know, our swarm was different from the swarming bees, but it wasn't ALL that different.

Yep, a blogger swarm in Madison sounds terrific. State Street will never be the same.

I had a blast, too. Thanks for the guide service for Plummer's Hollow and central Pennsylvania. I appreciate it.

[Tom Montag]

Hi, Dale--finally having time to think and write about the experience put a grin on my face too. You know, one of us ought to write a movie about the experience and be ahead of the curve....

[Natalie]

Tom, thanks so much for adding your report. Now my mental picture of the Montreal meet is almost complete and it's as if I had been there. Don't exclude London from possible locales for the next one...what's a little ocean among friends?

The photo of you through a glass brightly is even better bigger.

[Beth]

The best, honey-est, and least-stingy swarm I've ever been privileged to be part of. You've got it down, Tom, and we miss you all up here already.

[Tom Montag]

Hi, Natalie--Thanks for the good words. Yes, London would be a lovely spot for a blogswarm, though I don't know how soon I'd be able to make it across the big pond, and I don't know how I would handle the language barrier (now that I have heard the lovely lilt of qB's speech). :)

[Tom Montag]

Thanks, Beth. What a terrific visit we had. I really miss the late night hot chocolate in that place along Rue St. Denis. And I miss the laughter, all the laughter....