A Walk in the Woods
A Walk in the Woods
or SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!
It was a blistering July day. Ken and I got up early to prepare for the picnic and nature walk we were planning to have with the boys. “Preparing” for us included a 9am visit to Whole Foods.
I’ve always had issues with Whole Foods. It has such a bougie rap to it. Growing up on those weird sugary juices in those mini plastic barrels, or having generic cereal (Fruit Circles still hurts), I find it hard to shop in Whole Foods. Surrounded by pregnant straight women and gays with perfect bed head you look around at all the prepared food, artisanal nuts, and hand pressed coconut water and wonder if you’re contributing to the world’s problems by indulging in obviously overpriced food, or helping the world by committing to eating organic. Should I even be here? I used to be sent to the gas station with loose nickels to buy milk. I shouldn’t be here. No, I should, I work hard and live in the city. It’s ok. No, it’s not. Should I be saving money and going to Shaw’s or (gulp) Market Basket? The struggle is real.
Oh, look! An entire refrigerator case full of macarons! Nevermind! All good!
Ken and I perused the aisles with hot gays and pregnant women in yoga pants by first hitting the salad bar. Being healthy. The salad bar at this Whole Foods (near the Ink Block) was at least 7 bars in one. It had breakfast, salad, prepared foods, everything you could want! Of course, they only had containers roughly the size of a shoe box. As what always happens when I hit a salad bar, I created this trough (the only world to describe it) of, hummus, guacamole, chicken salad, roasted eggplant, marcona almonds, broccoli, whole roasted garlic (sorry Ken), roasted sweet potatoes, and topped it off with Mexican street corn, and an assortment of anything else I could find. Is that Hearts of Palm or octopus? Either way, it’s in! Oh, and we can’t forget a minimal amount of greens so it can still technically be called a salad. A real Ellis Island (sorry Trump) of food. Topped it off with full flavor Caesar (really, Whole Foods? No Ranch?), and we were good for a nice hit to my bowels and/or FICA score.
Ken was off inspecting cheeses and parmesan crisps (bless his heart) when I wandered into the previously aforementioned macaron case. All feeling left my body as I inspected this heavenly array. Lavender, mango, lemon, cookie and cream (!) etc. It was amazing. So, what if it was like $30 for a dozen! I have a good job, I live in the city! I used to buy milk with nickels! This was my time! Ken took 3 seconds to agree as we got a dozen macarons for the boys and us. Added the cheeses, nuts, fruit, 2 salad bar shoe boxes, paper plates, wine, champagne, and some hand pressed watermelon lemonade for Ken and we were ready for a nice afternoon picnic that cost almost as much as the refurbished computer I’m typing this on.
The checkout involved two hipster cashiers. We somehow managed to talk about vacations and travelling and it was all fun and games until I got schooled by the bag boy for saying Ottoman Empire when I should have said Byzantine Empire. Only adding to the shame I already felt. But that’s nobody’s business but the Turks.
We drove to Beverly and parked the car while the rest of the group arrived. Adam was kind enough to lend me some sunscreen. If anyone knows how I dress, I went with a simple black tee shirt and surprising white shorts. This will be noteworthy later. When everyone arrived, we started with a champagne and macaron toast (you should have seen the looks by the local Essex County denizens) and as Marco pulled out his map, we went off the road into the woods.
We progressed at a good pace. The heat of the afternoon July sun turned the little North Shore Woods into my personal Amazon jungle. I instantly started to sweat. “You’re sweating” said Ken. Thank you, honey I didn’t notice since I was so hot I had fogged up my sunglasses.
We walked through a nice path, saw some frogs, a snake, and crossed strategically paced logs over streams. So picturesque. We saw a few people on the paths and you do that thing that only happens on hikes and boats where you wave to complete strangers.
At one point, I went off the path to commune with nature. We all noted a colonial home stone foundation around us and wondered what colonial life would have been like. I thought about colonial life, which lead me to obviously think about Battlestar Gallattica. While I walked back towards the group thinking about the Final Five and that time Adam accidentally googled them before we finished the season and his Saul Tigh impression, I trod heavily on the wet leaves and BLAM. OWE F@#K! I had stepped heavily onto a protruding jagged branch on a fallen log.
I hobbled back to the path screaming like I had been javelined, while Peter et al ran over to see if I was ok. Blood was pouring down my foot into my socks. How did I manage to puncture my foot through my shoe? Mike Wake (the consummate Boy Scout) had tissues which I used to stop the bleeding and wad up back into my sock.
We were half way on our 1 mile nature walk. Best to go on. Someone (Bryan? It’s all a blur now, really) made me a walking stick and we moved slowly back. Did I mention I was still sweating? I was bleeding, hobbling, and sweating and we had been on a 20 minute walk. My shoe felt squishy. Even amongst friends, I felt embarrassed.
Peter made a joke about texting his Dad about what happened when of course I tripped on a tree root and feel FLAT ON MY FACE. The sweat soaked black tee and pristine white shorts reacted perfectly to the dirt and leaves like sprinkles on ice cream cone to instantly adhere to all my clothes. I just sat there. Who does this on a one mile hike? Peter, always helpful Peter, started to laugh. Marco filmed me. Ken went to help me up while noting my shirt was wet. Thanks again, honey. I was a wet dirty puddle of my own shame that started with macarons and ended with this.
We finished the hike somehow. Peter suggested that if we ran into staff I should say I fell when I stepped on the stick to avoid (his?) embarrassment. Someone suggested they check out the hedges, but I wanted to go back to the car. Ken offered me his keys. What? You weren’t coming back with me? What if I lost my foot? What if I bled out? How dare you? Gimme them! No, I don’t need you. I’m fine. Mike Wake and Bryan care!
After we triaged and cleaned the wound back at the car, we all sat down in a nearby clearing for a lovely picnic. Peter wrapped my foot in a plastic bag so I wouldn’t offend the other guests. We passed around the cheeses, and some of the homemade items people made and had a rather wonderful picnic after all. I had a few solo cups of rose so that helped.
My Mexican street corn was way too spicy and when I mixed it with the other items in my shoe box salad, it gave it all a somewhat off-putting taste. It was only 15 dollars anyway. Who likes spicy corn? Damn you, Whole Foods.
Of course, in the end, my foot was fine. No infections, no foreign bodies. I did go to the doctor the next day. I needed crutches for two days since the puncture was just in the wrong place on the arch of my foot.
All in all, nothing major, just another day with another “Bob Story” for Jeremy to tell for generations to come. I am now more determined than ever to buy better sneakers, watch where I step, and not be ashamed to buy anything at Whole Foods if I want. Except their Mexican street corn, of course.