Salami Picnic

Sonora enjoys processed meats--lunch meat, hot dogs, pepperoni, jerky, etc.--so when she expressed reluctance at the idea of riding in the trailer behind me when I went for a bike ride today, I knew how to make her excited about the trip. "We can stop for a picnic on the way and eat some salami," I said, and then she was interested. I really should have prepared a better lunch, but I was in a hurry, so I just grabbed the herb-coated salami and some nectarines and we hit the road.
The route we took wound out of our little town, followed a creek for a few miles, wound through wheat fields for a few miles, then through a small pine forest, then through more wheat fields and then back home. All of the roads are gravel, which made for a pretty slow pace (the trailer felt like an anchor at times).

Along the way, Sonora would point things out to me, and I to her. She thought the town's sewage lagoons were little lakes and I didn't have the heart to correct her. She has developed a fascination with grain silos and wanted me to look at each one we passed. I called her attention to the red-tailed hawk that was screaming at us shrilly from above as she circled the tree her nesting chicks were in. I also pointed out the small grove of trees that stood out like an island in the swaying sea of almost-ripe wheat. In the grove is a picnic table. That's where we stopped for lunch.

Sonora had brought the salami (she wanted to carry it in her purse), but I had left the nectarines in the garage, along with the knife that was supposed to cut the fruit and the chub of salted meat. So we had a lunch of salami and water. Sans any utensils, we just took turns biting into the thing. It was kind of fun, but sort of gross, too; it is awful-looking stuff. After our meal, I picked a head of wheat and dug out a few kernels. They were soft and green. When I bit into one, it was juicy and sweet with a hint milkiness somewhere between coconut and soy milk. As I dug more out, Sonora ate them faster than I could get them to her. "I like sweet wheat," she said.

The rest of the ride went more slowly and was kind of hot. It was still mostly enjoyable for me, but Sonora was bored and tired of bouncing around on the washboard (when we reached a short stretch of pavement, she said, "Dad, let's stay on this road, okay?"). When we got home, we tore into the nectarines; the salami hadn't been particularly refreshing.


About a week ago, just after some random fellow resident slowed down her car to briefly chat with us while Elizabeth and I were jogging, I told Elizabeth I think we are small-town people. She immediately agreed. We jogged over a small bridge that spans a gap through which the stream meanders that Sonora and I followed on our ride. That ride confirmed what I told Elizabeth: I like the country. It's not that cities don't have a lot to offer (I told Elizabeth yesterday that I wouldn't mind living in New York City for a couple of years), but they don't have wheat fields and hawk nests and old silos and gravel roads, and sweet, almost-ripe wheat. Perhaps I'll feel differently tomorrow, but today I liked what I saw.