Solar Eclipse of My Heart

Did you hear that there was an eclipse this week???? (insert sarcasm)

During our last Rochester spring, in the depths of 2023, our local Museum of Science started marketing the Year of The Eclipse. Smack in the middle of the Path of Totality, Rochester was prepared to go big or go home for the Solar Eclipse of April, 2024. My pandemic-altered brain looked at the big banners hanging all over the city and thought “April, 2024? That’s in like… two years.” And then I rolled my eyes. And then I got a new job, packed up my life, and moved to Boston, where just a few months later it was, indeed, April 2024.

So this past Sunday afternoon, I picked up a call from my parents, allowed the awe of the possible experience of totality to sink in far deeper than it had up until just hours before (when I hauled my butt two towns over to buy eclipse glasses at a Speedway), and took the bait. I texted Alex “road trip to VT tomorrow to see totality?” He agreed. Once upon a tiiiiime I was falling in loooove… and now I’m STILL in love because who doesn’t want to sped their life with the person who says “yes” to that request. No buts about it.

I’ll leave the waxing poetic about driving conditions here: the Mad River Valley should be a 3ish hour drive for us each way. We spent 11 hours on the road total. We listened to the entirety of Cowboy Carter, every version of every Noah Kahan song ever released, and an oddly enjoyable AI-created mix of Elton John and… Niki Minaj? And in between, we spent two and a half beautiful hours in the part of Vermont I called my second home for much of my young life – watching a full solar eclipse, conducting the abbreviated driving tour of my favorite spots in the Valley, and noshing.

I closed out my time in the valley with a creemee, THE one and only VT name for what others might call soft-serve. Dark chocolate and maple swirl with maple sugar crunchies. I almost skipped it to get on the road sooner. I almost didn’t wait in line. I almost put it off for “next time.” And goodness gracious am I glad I didn’t. A creemee at Canteen Creemee is perfection. The maple is your already delicious vanilla base mixed with pints of pure local syrup. The chocolate is like fudge. I used to eat this treat before Canteen was a hot spot that made your favorite online publication’s Places To Go list. I used to *sip* this treat from a cup on the days when the machine was old and the sun was high and the freezing mechanism couldn’t beat out the blazing summer heat. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, reveling in cold, maple-y goodness. Chocolate shots (jimmies if not, sprinkles if I must) stuck to my fingers.

When we headed toward the valley from our top-secret-solar-event-viewing-location (random field by our exit), I pointed out the hot dog stand my Grampa used to frequent, not yet open for the season. We drove up the pot-hole ridden dirt road to The Vermont House, and Alex came thiiiiiiiiiis close to getting whiplash from the jostling car (my muscle memory kicked in the second we left pavement). We drove through town and I pointed out my favorite barn with my favorite cows, the field where our usual farmers market takes place, the movie theater where you sit on vintage couches and eat popcorn doused in real, warm, salty Vermont butter.

I haven’t been back to that house in nearly 10 years, but the space it holds in my heart? There’s no changing that. And standing in that parking lot dancing to a Madonna record while I waited for my name to be called? Taking the first lick of that maple creemee? It brought me right back. If I never have another creemee again? I’ll remember the taste forever. The same way I remember the taste of spare ribs at the tiled kitchen table, peanut butter malt balls from the jar by the fireplace, that first bite of a warm chocolate waffle after a long day on the mountain. Even the woody, toasty, dusty char on the bottom of our Flatbread pizza. It’s tasting memories. Tasting feelings. Tasting love.

And boy, does it taste good.

Okay okay I’ll share… you can find Canteen Creemee in all its wonder here.