Preview of The "Two Nichols Make a Dime" Blog

"Manly"
I believe that Claire would concur that she and I have gotten ourselves in some of the most awkward situations. Many of these situations have been products of our "volunteer experiences." These experiences were required of all the summers I remember since I became a teenager. Actually, I remember being quite young when my mother would take us to bring sugar cookies, in the shape of flowers, to the residents at our local nursing home. I remember walking down the halls with the taste of sugar-cookies in my mouth and a very distinct smell enveloping my nostrils. I was always glad to be home afterwards. But it sure felt good to talk about what a good person you were by telling them what you did with part of your weekend. Telling people this, especially as little girls always made a good impression. This experience that I shared with my mother and sister is good, at least what I can remember of it, maybe that's the point.

At any rate, Claire and I had to come up with places, each summer, to volunteer. This is the part of the summer we dreaded. We were in charge of our own destiny, we were able to choose where we would spend the humid hours of the summer in Northern New York. Deciding on a place entailed much heavy sighing and rolling our eyes. The end product is "yes it was a good experience," but knowing what lies ahead, or rather not knowing what lies ahead but knowing the amount of time that will go into it is a daunting feeling.

Almanzo Wilder. He is known for being married to the author, Laura Ingalls, and his childhood remains in the memories of many, because of her book "Farmer Boy." If you have visited us in Malone, I am sure we have brought you to his homestead, which is now a historical site. It is a quaint red house with white shutters and it also has a barn that had to be rebuilt because it was struck by lightning. Archeological students from a college nearby found the original foundation of this barn and they created the barn based on Almanzo's drawings. Apparently, he was only a few inches off of the measurements he gave from memory. There is a little bookstore/museum that is next to the farm. The Wilder farm also is the site of Civil War re-enactments every summer, where people get to play dress up. Of this Claire and I are guilty. There are photos that document this point of our childhood when we simply didn't know better, but we should have. All I have to say is that these pictures are perfect blackmail, if my parents were ever looking for it.

Why, you might ask, do I know so much about this quaint little home in Burke, N.Y? It is the site of our volunteer experience in the summer of 2003. This was a nerve-wracking experience, to say the least. Claire and I were unsure as to what our duties would entail. Cleaning, cash register, research? We walked in the first day, and got a private tour of the place (A tour we have taken every summer up to that point, at least twice.) At the end of the tour, our tour guide informed us that we would be giving the tours that summer, on the three days a week we were there. I'm sure she saw the shock and horror that we felt, because I felt my jaw drop and my eyes widen. The possibilites of embarassment were endless and they were racing through our minds. How are we supposed to remember all of the information? That question was answered immediately when we were given a booklet of information that we were to study (we were not allowed to bring it on the tour). When Claire and I got home we studied quite a bit and we still felt jittery about the next day, where we would be giving a tour.

When we got there, we gave our first tour with our tour guide, we will call her "Ellie," and she supervised it and put in little pieces we missed. All in all, we did a fine job! She was pleased, and so were we. We settled into a routine during that day, in regard to when Claire would speak and when I would speak. It was a good day. The next day, however, did not go so smoothly. It was an early, foggy morning and Claire and I pulled up in the silver van and sat there with our Dunkin' Donut's coffee and donuts and realized the hours ahead would be long, especially with the promise of rain in the foreboding grey clouds. The honeymoon was over. We decided we better go in, after our breakfast. When we walked in we had time to talk with her about the tour times. We both insisted we do the tours together, just incase we forgot anything, the other would probably remember. She agreed, probably more than we knew at the time. So we started off with a group that came from South Carolina. They were not properly dressed for the "summer" in the North Country. The were wearing shorts, tank tops, and parkas. As Claire and I brought them around the museum we heard the wind whistling as it was rushing by the little building. We took our time and indulged in all of their questions as we dreaded the outdoor part of the tour.

It was time. We all went outside, the parkas were sails on a ship during a storm. Then it quieted down as we made our way between the museum and the barn. Claire and I were both, not in the mood. Not at all. Our group was more interested in their next question than our answers. So, it made for a longer than usual tour. It was Claire's turn to discuss Almanzo's ancestors and how they came upon this plot of land and built their home and barn. She also usually went into a bit of the genealogy she had studied from our little booklet of facts. Instead she told the peppy group, "Almanzo's ancestor's came through the... the trees"... and then, in response to the questioning and blank looks on the groups faces and the sheer horror and disgust on mine, she pointed to the woods across the street. There was a moment of silence. There was a point in that moment where I thought about how awful this was and how all of my friends were pool side, sipping on lemonade. Then I decided the tour was mine. Not one word would I let Claire speak. I went through the entire tour as fast as possible. I don't thing our group knew what hit them. When they left, they looked as though they barely survived the storm, with their parka's limp and their faces, sullen.

Claire and I duked it out after the tour, had a few terse words, and then managed to give tours to colorful crowds of people for the remainder of the summer. Yes we survived. The following summer volunteer experience was in California...