My Gay Adoption Day 14 :: The List of 15

Hey adoption fans... as always I want to start by thanking everyone for reading, for their comments here, on Facebook and in my email box. And yes, I did totally intend to leave you hanging in my last episode. But really; did you think we would be bested by a wayward piece of technology - even something as cool as a GPS? Did you think that we'd really miss our "Get Acquainted Workshop" and have to travel back to Vermont at a later date after being roundly ridiculed by the gals at Friends in Adoption? Did you think we'd just - gulp - GIVE UP?

Not a chance. Where were we when last we chatted? Oh yes, stuck in a cowfield in Southern Vermont, late for the first official appointment with our chosen adoption agency. Our GPS had unflinchingly dropped us off in the middle-of-nowhere and blissfully declared us "arrived at our destination," which, we were quite sure, was not an adoption agency with offices in said cowfield. We'd screeched our car to a halt and stared, dumbfounded and perplexed, not understanding how we city boys could have been confounded by technology in this way.

The history of the world has been written thus; industrialization and technology have so invaded our urban lives that the concept of using our brains for such mundane matters as finding our way from point A to point B seems a colossal waste of time. And I'll answer those of you who have taken umbrage at my assault on Vermont itself in this way: we've also forgotten what it's like to appreciate clean air and the raw beauty of our world. It's not only to be found in tall skyscrapers, but also in tall trees and mountains. Were it not for the adoption proceedings, Kevin and I might not have relearned this.

But a more pertinent concern was seeping into my consciousness: if such a tiny hiccup in our quest for babydom could so easily upend our intellectual and emotional faculties, what kind of parents would we be? Images of Kevin hysterically crying when the diaper falls off the baby because we rushed through the changing process, poop all over the kitchen floor, the water boiling off the stove and both of us handing the little one back and forth in a vain attempt to keep clean our Diesel clothing - was this where our little adventure was heading? What happens when we hit a real speedbump? Like, I don't know, puberty?

Brushing those thoughts aside for the moment, I reoriented myself and thought logically: we'd passed a small town a few miles back, surely therein we might find a helpful soul to point us in the right direction. Kevin stopped hyperventilating long enough to agree to this plan, and we doubled back. When we approached the town, Kevin's sharp eyes picked out a small sign on a large white house, and he hollered with enough volume to displace my hair in the next seat, "Friends in Adoption! Pull over!!!"

I complied. Screeching to a halt in the driveway, I told Kevin to go on ahead of me while I parked the car. Which I did, approximately four feet away (we're serious about time). When we entered the home of Friends in Adoption - aptly called due to the fact that the agency is situated in a beautiful, oversized colonial in picturesque Middletown Springs, we were greeted warmly (albeit with a wink) and told calmly to take a seat in the large, central room where nine other couples were waiting. Sheepishly, we hustled to the back row, then calmed ourselves as we then witnessed three other couples arrive after us.

And then the bomb dropped.

Friends in Adoption was founded by Dawn Smith-Pliner in 1982 in an attempt to disseminate information about how couples who could not conceive a child might successfully adopt - irrespective of stigma such as social backgrounds, financial situations, or the length of someone's hair (all biases she and her husband had encountered). As the "Get Acquainted Workshop" began, Dawn herself took the stage, strapping on a colorful cooking apron and pulling up a large whiteboard. She briefly introduced herself and welcomed the thirteen couples to the workshop.

"We don't usually start this way," she then said with a grin, "but apparently, certain bloggers believe that all we do in Vermont is sit around, bake things and throw hoedowns."

Oh shit.

"So," she continued, "the girls and I sat around at lunch this week and came up with a few suggestions of things to do while you're here."

Kevin jabbed me in the ribs.

Aw crap.

You see, it never occurred to me that, in the space of the two days since I'd written chapter 1 of this series on our gay adoption, FIA would get wind of it. They did: in fact, it took all of two hours for an alum of the program to send it directly to them. I knew I'd get a negative response from Verhicks (see definition in episode 1) who took offense at my witty criticism of their rural ways - but how would our chosen agency react?

Herewith is their list of "Fifteen things to do in Vermont." And because I'm a responsible journalist, and it's likely there are impressionable children reading, not to mention others who will likely follow our path in the future, I'll respond with a few caveats here and there regarding the risks of said activities. I'm not trying to be snarky, I'm simply trying to - what's that phrase the kids say? Oh yes, "keep it real."

1. Jump cow patties barefoot (four seasons a year)
I must admit that cow dung, in general, is quite rich in minerals, and there would in fact be certain advantages to accidentally smearing yourself with bovine fecal matter. Not only is it an effective insect repellant, but often is used for fuel, for stacking mud bricks in third-world homes; in fact one woman in Bulgaria claims that boiled dung has medicinal properties (she's a village witch, of course, so her testimony is suspect, particularly since her daughter, who provided this information, herself has quite the potty mouth). But the recommendation here is not to step in cow dung, but rather over it. Given the native insect population of Vermont, including the prevalence of ticks, it's hardly advisable to walk anywhere without appropriate footwear. Sneakers and boots are the mainstay, unless it's summer and you're a vacationing lesbian, in which case your Birkenstocks should do nicely.

2. Kiss the farm animals
Ironically, while domesticated farm animal shit is relatively good for you, domesticated farm animals themselves are a hodgepodge of dangers and possible forms of dismemberment and death. Each year, animal-related incidents are the leading cause of non-machinery deaths on farms in the US, and they are related to 1/3 of all injuries on farms. Bulls, horses and cows are the foremost culprits, but you should not overlook the scratch of a chicken's claws or the venomous spit of a llama (OK, I'm making that one up). The fact is, most farm animals in fact not only don't wish to kiss you, they don't wish to kiss at all. If you've ever seen two such animals doing the nasty, you've realized quickly that penetration is aggressive and usually to the rear; there's no time or interest in kissy foreplay. If you attempt to mack it with a pasture pansy, you get what you get: most likely a split lip or a broken leg.

3. Go for a long Sunday drive - during an ice storm
If you've ever driven through an ice storm, you already know that the nice ladies from Friends in Adoption are trying to kill you. Ice storms occur when warm air is trapped between two layers of cold air, resulting in frozen precipitation thawing as it falls, then freezing again close to the ground. If the freezing is cold enough (say, 0 degrees celcius), the drops become "supercooled," meaning they turn into freezing rain, or an ice storm. What does all that technobabble mean? Car crashes, pileups, and cold sores (the cold sores aren't actually related to ice storms, but studies show there's a curious connection between the two). If you must drive during an ice storm, you should absolutely not do so on Sunday; the prevalence of octogenarian drivers, even in Vermont, offers a whole new meaning to the phrase, "What the fuck?"

4. Cow tipping
OK, so everyone talks about this little rural pastime, but few actually understand that cow-tipping is, in fact, a myth. Cows, contrary to popular belief, are not stupid. Nor do they sleep on their feet. The theory that a sluggish, sleeping bovine can be pushed over by a human being is ridiculous. It would take two strong men (or three lesbians, or sixteen gay boys) to actually topple a cow, an animal which usually represents a half-ton of weight and is nearly impossible to sneak up on. The cow will most likely attempt to shift its footing, which means you'll then need about four strong men (or three lesbians, or eighty-two gay boys) to ultimately push it over. Good luck.

5. Drink sap from the spout of a maple tree
Apart from the fact that maple sap is usually tapped in late Winter (making this a non-starter for us), most modern sap-collection taps are made of metal; it's not advisable to put your tongue (or any other body part) to anything metal in the bitter cold. Secondly, you'll notice that when sappers tap a tree (related to Kappers tapping a keg, but the end result is noticeably different), they hang a bucket from the tap. Why? Because it takes a friggin' awfully long time for any significant sap to drip out. Attempting to "drink" from the spout itself is inconceivable. This is a formula for extraordinary boredom followed by extraordinary disappointment. (In case you wondered, this is in fact one of the only suggestions Kevin and I followed, which is why I'm so bitter.)

6. Teach a child to make a fern house
First point: we went to Vermont to try to have a baby. Ergo, we don't have one to teach, and thanks a lot for reminding us (*sniff*). More importantly, I have no idea what a fern house is. I mean, is it a house made of ferns? Seems impractical. Go ahead: look up "fern house" on Google. You'll find a West Palm Beach drug & alcohol rehab residence, a few B&Bs, and a whole lotta useless information on ferns, whose leaves, if you have a house like ours, rapidly become millions of small cat toys. I'm guessing the ladies at Friends in Adoption are not telling us to check into rehab, nor grow ferns. So this mysterious suggestion must represent a Verhick thing. Those of you who know what a fern house is, could you please add its definition to the comments below? Thanks.

7. Attend the annual burdock festival
Each year, Vermonters gather together to celebrate at the annual Benson Burdock Festival and Family Days. For those of you not in the know (and I'm betting you aren't), burdock is a weed. A really ugly one, with burrs that stick to everything, and an apparent determination to survive the apocalypse. It's nearly impossible to kill - mow it over, whack it down, attempt to assassinate it with poisons. It just springs back up. Burdock gatherings are similar: rustic and difficult to kill. Here you'll find food, fun, campfires, music, art, parades and incredible assortment of beatnik personalities all communing with nature. It's not entirely unlike a celebration of the Radical Faeries, but with less glitter.

8. Videotape fisher cats mating in the spring
For those of you who think this is likely to be something you'll want to share with your grandkids someday, let me set the record straight. First, fisher cats aren't cats; they're weasels. Nasty, brown, hairy weasels. And they eat carrion (dead things), which means their breath stinks. Now ask yourself, ladies and gay men: the last time you had sex with a nasty, brown, hairy guy with bad breath, was your first impulse to reach for the camcorder? The prosecution rests.

9. Join the fun in Northern Vermont at the Pumpkin Regatta
OK, so this is my favorite suggestion. Each year in the fall, teams of complete lunatics in crazy costumes hollow out enormous pumpkins (1,000lbs or more) and race down Lake Champlain for charity. You'll also find treats for sale, a pet costume contest, vendors and even pie eating contests. Of course, the timing didn't work for us, but if you happen to be in the Burlington, Vermont area in early October, go! I'm betting this suggestion came from the quiet, intellectually curious intern in the corner - or that Kim suffered a brief moment of lucidity in her (clearly) otherwise depraved life.

10. Drink heavily with the locals
I'm tempted to say that advocating alcoholism is something I expected to be above our gals at Friends in Adoption, but based on our experiences up north, drinking isn't a disorder in Vermont, it's the state's official sport. Having said that, I would highly recommend that if you venture out to VT bars while visiting with FIA, you avoid the following five (extraordinarily vicious, but honest-to-goodness) libations we were offered:
a) The Granny Punch
b) The Duck Fart
c) The Blue Balls
d) The Mountain Dew Me
e) The Adios Motherfucker

11. Snow mobile over ice-covered lakes (or open water at 90mph)
OK gang, this is just not wise. I know there are daredevils out there in my audience (because I'm sure many of you googled the ingredients of the aforementioned five drinks, and in some cases actually called your significant others and asked them to pick up the required supplies on the way home tonight) but seriously - snowmobiling across ice or water is a pretty serious health risk. Remember - you can never be sure how thick the ice over any body of water actually is. Moreover, your snowmobile will have less traction for starting, turning and stopping on ice. Should you ignore my advice and end up crashing through the ice, here are a few simple things to remember. First, you should kick your feet to propel yourself up onto the ice like a seal while making seal pup noises; this won't work, but doing so increases the pleasure of those watching the idiot who snowmobiled onto ice trying to save himself. Second, don't remove your gloves (see prior point about exposing any part of your body to cold substances). And third, just before the Fire Deparment arrives to rescue your scrawny ass from the icy depths, think long and hard about that damage waiver you signed before you rented the snowmobile currently sitting at the bottom of the lake. Enjoy! (By the way, I'm not even going to touch the open water thing. Or shrinkage, for that matter.)

12. Play chicken with a moose in the road
So let's talk about moose. The average male moose is between 850 and 1500 pounds and stands roughly 6.5 feet at his shoulder. In short, he's big. Assuming you're going to play chicken with him on your own two legs, have at - unless it's rutting season (Fall), he's liable to stare at your insane little antic the way you might stare at an Pekingese trying to get up in your grill. He might even laugh diabolically as he calmly lifts one oversized leg and clocks you in the gut. If he is mating, then he'll simply charge you outright. Hopefully he'll be trying to kill you. If he's trying to mate with you, be aware that his penis may be up to three feet long. Ow. On the other hand, if you're playing chicken with your car, he'll certainly react badly - usually by starting incredulously at you until you strike him. While you'll probably have won the game of chicken, here's how things will end up with your car: your bumber will break his legs, and his body will fly up onto your windshield. A thousand pounds on your windshield will render your airbags and seatbelts pointless; he'll crush the support beams in your car like sticks and land in your lap. You'll land in the Vermont State Home for the Criminally Insipid, sucking meals out of straws for the rest of your days.

13. Go muddin' at the Cogman
"Muddin'" appears to be the process of dumping your 4x4 truck repetitively in a swamp, and the Cogman appears to be a creek in Vermont. Kevin and I wanted to give this a college try, but we only had a sedan. Attempting to replicate the experience of "Muddin'" but on the correct scale for a smaller car, we drove through a few dirty puddles. To be honest, we didn't see the appeal. Must be a rural thing.

14. Play ice-hockey with the natives - without a helmet
Hockey is a fun, but high-impact sport. Playing without a helmet is highly discouraged - it can lead to concussions and death, but more importantly, the potential for broken teeth, noses and other beauty-threatening injuries. Such cosmetic afflictions may not impact social status in Vermont (one woman told us that a person's wealth is measured in sheep), but missing teeth is actually a filtering option on many dating websites. Don't be that guy (or gal).

15. When you're done, visit Ben & Jerry's
Good idea! The Ben & Jerry's factory is in Waterbury, Vermont; that's significantly north of Middletown Springs, but if you've a hankering for cool confections, these boys are the best - and they're gay friendly! I'll even offer up the link: http://www.benjerry.com/scoop-shops/factory-tours/

That's the list. A pessimist might suggest that our gals at Friends in Adoption just recommended you head to Vermont, drive drunk through a moose slalom course in an ice storm to tip cows standing in a field of burdocks while videotaping a bunch of weasels having sex among maple trees - and then check into rehab on West Palm Beach. But I like to think they were suggesting we go get some ice cream.

Which is precisely what we did.

Next time: Gettin' Acquainted; or, David's Adoption Blog Actually Has Substantive Information