The Spoffords: More Stories from Growing Up

When I first started this blog, I was chalk full of ideas.  As time has gone on, I have begun to realize why I did not choose a profession as a writer.  I have sat down a number of times and tried to make ideas spontaneously pop into my head, and sometimes it just doesn't happen.  I sat down today intending to write all about Boston and the things I enjoy about living here, but after being unhappy with the initial product, I am going to revert back to talking about the thing I love most: my family!  Here are some more stories from the past:

Josh and I in the fall leaves

Road Trip: Maine--> Vermont--> New York --> Maine

The comedy of errors for this trip started a little bit too early.  In fact, it started before the trip even began.  Like all Spofford road trips, we planned to get on the road early, so we could maximize our time at the destination.  Our destination initially was Burlington, VT.  We were stopping there, because my Mom was a graduate of University of Vermont and wanted my older brothers to take a look at it.  Anyways, our big red van was all packed and ready to roll.  The boys were piled in, excited for a long (reasonably comfortable) trip to Vermont.  We had our movies picked out and we were excited!  Dad got in the van, put the key in the ignition, turned the key... and nothing....  The van didn't start. Of all the things that could go wrong, this was one of the worst.  Dad quickly got the jeep ready to jump the van's batteries in hopes that it was only a light that had been left on overnight.  He got the cables hooked up, started the charge... and again, nothing.  The van's battery was dead as a doornail.  Of course, we didn't have time to bring the car into the shop to get the battery replaced, so we went with the past of least (or most depending on who you ask) resistance.  We unloaded to the van and quickly transferred all of our stuff into the green jeep.  Now in most cases, this switch would have been fine and we would have had a comfortable ride.  But with six family members and only five seats to go around, our drive suddenly became a literal squeeze.  Isaiah and I double buckled in the front, while Joe, Josh, and Mom sat in the back. Instead of a 6 hour ride filled with movies and comfort, I got six hours of lap sitting with Isaiah.  Fun Fact: Nothing brings people closer than double buckling for six hours.  Somehow, we made it to Burlington without killing each other, but the fun didn't stop there.  We arrived in time to walk around the downtown area (which is beautiful by the way), and go find someplace to eat dinner.  As we were walking, a Volkswagen Beetle passed by us on the streets.  Naturally one of us was going to punch buggy someone else.  Josh decided that it would be hilarious to punch my dad in the arm.  After a long day of switching cars and driving, it was not the best idea.  Josh slugged Dad in the arm as hard as he could.  Needless to say, Josh was quickly in the doghouse.  As we walked further down the road, Josh realized that the sun had gone down and my dad was still wearing his sunglasses.  Josh (who was still in the doghouse) turned to my dad and said "Hey Dad, why are you wearing sunglasses when it's not even sunny out?"  All of the boys giggled, but immediately stopped when dad gave us the "If you don't stop now it's not going to be pretty look."  We finally found a place to eat and the mood lightened up.  

The next day, we loaded up the Jeep, this time we decided that instead of going two in the front, we would try four in the back.  Imagine that, four boys all sitting in a back seat intended for three people.  If you thought three boys in three seats was bad, this was a recipe for disaster.  We all sat cramped together, complaining about our lack of space, pleading for the others to move over (but of course, we had no room). Shortly, however we found a way to get our aggression out.  We went one at a time, punching each other in the legs.  The game ended, when all the other boys had dropped out due to pain intolerance.  We were such smart kids...  As I remember, the rest of the trip went really quite smoothly.

Hiking Trip at Gulf Hagas:

From my own personal point of view, this trip was doomed from the very start.  A little backstory before I delve into the actual events that happened at Gulf Hagas.  First, I was going into eighth grade.  As a fourteen year old, I understood that girls existed and my greatest goal (other than becoming a professional soccer player) was to hang out with the ladies (which I was not actually so good at).  Secondly,  I was finally invited to a pool party which I knew was going to be co-ed (YES!). Third, everyone that was anyone was also going to be at said pool party (it was going to be the event of the summer).  Now that you know all of that, I can tell you that I did not in fact get to attend the pool party.  Up to that point in my life, that may have been the hardest pill that I had to swallow (I know... hard life).  Anyways, the day that party was supposed to happen also coincided with Josh departing for soccer camp in Maryland.  My parents decided that rather than just drop Josh at the Bangor Airport and return home (the option that I was pulling for) that they would instead drop Josh off and drag me and Isaiah to edge of the 100 mile wilderness to for a day long hike.  I was miserable.  Looking back, I feel really bad for my parents for having to put up with my attitude throughout the day.  I was being a real jerk.  I also regret not taking the time to appreciate my surroundings, because Gulf Hagas is truly breathtaking.  In other circumstances I'm sure I would have been able to take my blinders off.  Anyways, we arrived at Gulf Hagas.  I cannot recall how long of a hike it actually was, but it was not a hike for slouches. After a few hours of hiking and complaining, we were walking along a narrow strip of land, and I stepped on a wet rock.  My feet slid out from under me, and I began to roll down the hill to my left.  Fortunately, this was not a steep cliff face or I would have been in real trouble.  I rolled for a short time and I settled on a landing just below me.  As I slowed, my leg swung quickly over the top and slammed onto a sharp rock.  At first, it felt like any other bump or bruise that I had gotten in my life.  If the rock had been rounded, it likely would have been just that.  I peered down to assess my injuries and was struck in horror as I looked into a cut that was much deeper than I had seen before.  Right in the middle of my left shin, my leg had been gashed pretty good.  I didn't cry when it initially happened, but upon seeing the results, tears rushed to my eyes.  I climbed quickly back to the trail, where my parents rushed into action.  They applied pressure and got it all wrapped up to minimize the bleeding as much as possible, and we turned back to head down the trail.  The worst part of all of this (other than not being able to go to the pool party) was that the highlight of the trail (the natural water slides) were literally right around the corner.  I hobbled down the trail, where we met the stream that stood between us and our car.  On the way up, the stream was no problem because we all just walked through, but being cautious, my parents did not want my cut to be exposed to the fresh water. Eighth grade Noah climbed onto my Dad's back and we began to ford the stream at the low point to try to find the best footing.  He made it a few steps, but was made nervous by the slippery rocks.  We regrouped on the shoreline to try to find a spot where we could go across rock to rock.  After having limited luck, my Mom decided that we were getting across the stream no matter what.  So, eighth grade Noah climbed onto my Mom's back this time and we started going slowly across the stream.  My Dad (who is known to be stubborn on occasion) was convinced that he could find a dry route across the stream and continued to search the shoreline.  When we were about halfway across the stream, Mom and I heard a blood curdling "OH SH*T" (sorry Dad, it completes the story...).  We turned just in time to see Dad going down, in what seemed like slow motion, and smash his head on a rock.  I am glad that my leg hit the sharp rock and not his head.  So here I was, missing the party of the year, bleeding out of my shin, on my Mom's back, looking back at Dad, who had likely just concussed himself on a rock.  I broke.  The tears rushed down my face and I tensed up so badly.  My mom quickly and calmly said, "Noah, we have to get through this," and in true Kay Spofford fashion, slowly, calmly, and methodically took each step forward and got us safely to the other side of the stream.  Fortunately, Dad was able to collect himself and make his way across as well, but not with sustaining quite the face bruise.  We loaded up the car, Dad half dazed, me with my leg elevated and made the 2.5 hour drive home.  We arrived at the hospital, where I received 6 stitched in my shin.  Dad, true to his nature refused to receive care because he didn't want to pay more than was necessary.  We finally made it home, ordered Thai food, and settled in for the evening.  It was certainly a day I will never forget.  Also, for what it's worth, the friends that went to the party said that it was not as great as I thought it was going to be.

Neighborhood Ordinances:

When I was very small, I lived in Mississippi for 5 years.  I can remember snippets of my time down there. Especially time spent outdoors, playing soccer, and special occasions.  One of the things, however, that I do remember very well was my family's (particularly Dad's) propensity for breaking the neighborhood ordinances.  When we were in Mississippi, we lived in a very primped and proper subdivision.  All of the lawns were well manicured and the people were always polite (good old Southern manners).  Anyways, as members of this neighborhood, we were expected to follow several ordinances set by the subdivision committee.  The following list are some of the ordinances I remember:

• Christmas lights that are hung outdoors must be white lights
• If you are playing tennis, you must play in a shirt
• Garage doors must be closed unless you are pulling your car in
• There are to be no yard or garage sales
• The swimming pool gate must be closed and locked once you enter

I'm sure there are many more, but I can't remember them.  Dad would have much more to say.  I will say a little bit about each of these and how they related to our family.

1. Christmas lights:  I'm not sure if Dad was making a statement or intentionally being obstinate, but every year, rather than hang up the traditionally expected white lights, Dad always hung colored lights.  I know as kids we always encouraged him to do this, because we thought they were prettier.  So while every other house in the neighborhood hung their white lights, our house stood out like a sore thumb with it's bright multi-colored lights.
2. Tennis shirt: If you were unaware, Mississippi is really hot.  My parents played tennis often, and while the expectation was that the game should be played with a shirt, my Dad always played without a shirt.  It seemed every time that they would go play tennis, the "Pool Man" as my Dad called him would come along and look on a politely remind Dad of the policy.  While Mom and Dad played tennis, Isaiah and I often watched or played together on the side of the court.  Next to the court, was a boat marina, which was covered by a tin roof.  On occasion, Mom and Dad's hits would get away from them and the ball would end up on top of this roof.  As the ball boy, I would crawl under the fance, scale the wall and go on top of the roof, where I would retrieve the balls that Mom or Dad hit up there.  I think that we were the only family that practiced this retrieval style, because not only did I get Mom and Dad's balls, but also any other ball that was hit up there.  After the first can of balls that my parents bought, I don't think that they had to pay for a ball ever again!
3. Garage doors:  Other than evenings, I don't remember a time when our garage door was ever closed.  The boys were in and out so often that it would have made absolutely no sense to keep them shut.
4. Garage sales:  A little bit before we moved back to Maine, much to the neighborhood's dismay, my parents held a really large garage sale to get rid of a lot of the stuff we couldn't take.  I remember there was a garage sale hunter woman who arrived at our house around 5 am and made a deal with Mom and Dad to take most of the stuff for a set cost.  She was quite committed to buying our stuff.  She also came the day before the sale as well.  It was so absurd!
5. Swimming pool doors:  We were terrible culprits of the swimming pool door.  We would often invite friends from other neighborhoods to come swimming with us.  Rather than close and lock the door behind us, I can remember sticking a rock in the door so it wouldn't lock so that our friends could come in when they arrived.

Looking back on it, I think some of these rules were so ridiculous, and also ridiculous that we were also always breaking the rules.  We were definitely northerners living in a southern community, and the people around us knew that as well.  I definitely have more to write about living in Mississippi, but I will save that for another time.  

That's it for today! Until next time!!