Grinding It Out In Kent, OH

Oooh, it’s uncharted territory! A new fence means a new perimeter to patrol. When we last left our fearless Aussies in Akron, they were protecting a postage-stamp sized yard. When Alice saw this new yard, she nodded her head and said, “now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, people.”

BALL LOOSE IN THE WEST QUADRANT! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! RAMPART 151! Must. Get. Wild. Ball. Alice chases the wayward tennis ball while Macy retrieves and returns hers.

Whew, that was a close call, said Alice after she successfully nabbed the ball. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” said Alice to Macy as she trotted by. “I remain the greatest of all time.”

La-la-la catch the ball! I like yellow balls! I hope my butt doesn’t look too big in this picture! La-la-la la-la-la!

‘No, seriously, we’re protecting the entire yard from this comfy little spot here. I can see all the way down the street, I promise. We’re not resting or anything. We’re not tired at all. Macy, put your ginormous tongue back in your mouth, you look like a dork.”

“I can’t help it,” said Macy. “I’m hot after all of that ball chasing.”

“You know what they say, if you can’t run with the big dogs, don’t piss in the high grass.”

“That’s not the way it goes,” said Macy.

“Whatevs,” Alice yawned. “I’m gonna nap in this here ivy all day long.”

Alice’s glamour shot. Her comment: “Yeah, I was kind of hoping for a different backdrop, you know, maybe like a brick wall or a steel mill or an alley with graffiti but I guess I look pretty good au-naturale and all that. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride.”

Macy’s glamour shot. Her comment: “I think green leaves bring out the color of my eyes.”

“You look like a dork,” said Alice.

“Shut up or I’ll tell mom you’re making fun of me again,” said Macy.

“Dork.”

After a rough morning yoga session, the dog says “too much down-facing dog.” We call this the I Want To Be A Dog In My Next Life Pose, the perfect pose to ready you for a day of squirrel watching, mail carrier barking, and generally guarding up the neighborhood.

Okay, so I’m sort of a junk food junkie. Potato chips, popcorn, the occasional cheese puff. I like ‘em all. But there’s junk food and then there’s bakery goodness that doesn’t feel so much like junk food even though its name could technically put it in that category. It’s called the pretzel. Not the Rold Gold crunchy kind but the soft, chewy, warm it up in the toaster oven kind and be sure that some baker sent from heaven has sprinkled salt on top of it.

So, in Cincinnati, there’s the Servatii pretzel. My family knows it well and purchases the pretzels for many family events. In fact, we sort of all hover over the dish and pretend we’re not devouring the pretzel, when really we’re like a pack of hyenas making sure we’re getting our fair share. And  that 6-lb. pretzel on their website? Been there, ate that. You just can’t pass the food table without dipping a piece of the pretzel into the cheese sauce. Who cares about the big Christmas dinner when you’ve got a plate of pretzels?

Anyhow, I didn’t think the Servatii pretzel had any sort of competition. If it were in the Tour de France, it’d be wearing the yellow jersey of Pretzeldom. If you asked me, “Servatii pretzel or my favorite potato chip,” depending on the day, I might choose pretzel. I know, I know, a shocking revelation here at The Grist Mill.

So, last Saturday we head down to the farmer’s market in downtown Kent. It’s a lovely little affair near the train tracks and we’re loading up on all sorts of good-for-you items like sweet corn, blueberries, garlic, basil, lettuce when I spy a sign that says “The Backerei”. The “b” in the name is in the shape of a pretzel. This is something that demands investigation. My junk food radar goes into overdrive. I casually approach the table, trying not to go into hyena-predator-circle-the-kill mode. I mean, this is like putting a vampire in front of a glass of blood. There, on the table, in plastic baggies are all sorts of soft pretzels shaped in circles versus the regular pretzel shape but I can still sense their inner pretzel-y goodness. There’s also homemade bread but who needs bread when you can eat a pretzel instead?

I choose the gouda pretzel and the red pepper pretzel that is also topped with some sort of gooey baked cheese. It takes every fiber of my being not to open the bag right there and eat the whole thing. We get home, put our healthy goods away and dive into the gouda pretzel. It’s small and it’s gone within two minutes. There’s the distinct taste of salt along with the chewiness of a fresh soft pretzel along with the tart and smoke of gouda. It’s also to die for.

Is it Servatii level? Hmmmm….or should I say mmmmmm-good? It’s not Servatii’s, it’s just different. But different, in this case, means really super fantastically good. The big pretzel taste test will come in August when my mom and sister visit. I’ll take them to the Backerei (on South Water Street for those of you looking for them – no website at the moment) and we’ll see what they think. Until then, you’ll find me circling the table at the farmer’s market every Saturday morning. I’ll try not to drool on your sandals.

We have Week One in Kent, OH under our belts, and what a week it’s been. On the front end, we met some great neighbors, took in the Heritage Festival, and unpacked box after box – in my case, desperately searching for my cellphone charger because I couldn’t remember which box I’d put it in.

On the back end, we got wrapped up in the LeBron James debacle, found the cellphone charger, praised Will Carrier for inventing air conditioning so we could endure the heat wave in comfort, and wondered why Alice decided that a walk is only a true walk if she’s crossed at least four of five streets (the trend began in Akron but she’s kicked it up a notch, actually looking back at us with Disgust – and that’s a capital D – if we lead her in another direction).

I pretty much realized that I’ve never really had an idea of what my dream house would be like, but our new digs are certainly dreamy (and not just because of the air conditioning). This house suits us. Not too big, not too small, it’s just right. We have a sun porch for reading the paper in the mornings, we have a kick-ass stove that I’m hoping will make me a better cook, we have lots and lots of windows, and Dave has a great area in the basement that he’s dubbed the “Elks Lodge.” Now all we need is my Designing Diva sister Mary to visit so she can help us arrange the furniture and hang pictures where they’ll look best. All told, we’re mucho happy in The Tree City.

Here’s a quick wrap-up of our explorations in Kent thus far:

* We were treated to a spectacular home-cooked dinner by our new neighbors, Clare, Zach and Lily, after a long, long day of moving. Never have I been so happy to see a fresh green bean.

* We took in the Kent Heritage Festival, considered the “it” event of the summer in Kent. Lots o’ junky fair food – there were more funnel cake booths than you could shake a black squirrel’s tail at – and lots of people-watching. We also finally met the most awesome Kasha and Jona. Long story short, we met Kasha via email and phone calls when we were considering a house across the street from hers. That house fell through but we picked up new friends in the process, and these friends come bearing gifts of the best fudge you’ve ever tasted, thank you very much.

* We watched the fireworks with new neighbors from the corner of our street. All at once, Kent began to feel like Newport, KY and also Ohio University. Dave and I have lived many, many places and there’s either a strong sense of community or there’s not. Here, the sense of community is strong and that’s a good thing.

* We helped the Girls get comfy in their new digs. Alice took the lead, finding new spots near the fireplace, under a table in the living room, and near the corner of the bed. Macy pretty much finds a spot wherever I happen to be in the house. They’ve both adjusted remarkably well and Alice is getting a swagger in her step. And, for them, a squirrel is a squirrel. Regardless of whether it’s black or brown, it’s still something to be barked at.

* We ate dinner at Taco Tantos with our friend and Northeast Ohio native, Mark, who was visiting his parents in Stow. The thing about Taco Tantos? You can sit outside at The Zephyr, drink a beer, phone in your order to Taco Tantos, and then pick up your dinner at the window on the patio. This is a delightfully dangerous combo. I told Dave it reminds me so much of Ohio U that I might never leave the patio.

* We hear train whistles daily; this I like. Hello, dad!

* I took my first run around campus and, a couple of days later, walked home from school. It’s been 20+ years since I’ve walked to and from class. Wow, did it feel good.

* We ordered the most enormous pizza ever from Guys Pizza. The menu said 12 slices so we figured we’d have leftovers. Who knew the slices would be as big as skateboards.

Finally, I’m toying around with the idea of changing the name of this blog to The Gristmill. Back in 1805, Kent was called Franklin Mills. The town developed due to the potential for gristmills along the Cuyahoga River, and one of the old mills still stands in the downtown area today. And we all know the old cliche about ideas being “grist” (grains, seeds) for the “mill” (brains). Let me know what you think. 

The train whistles are blowing. Time to go for a morning run.

As the saying goes, parting is such sweet sorrow. In four more days, I will no longer be an Akronite. We’ve decided to move the big show to Kent so I can be nearer to campus for graduate school and so Dave’s commute can be accomplished on two wheels (bike) instead of four (car).

Our three years in Akron were grand. We didn’t know what to expect from the Rubber City but it offered up good times,  good friends, good neighbors, good opportunities to create community (like the Akron Writers Group), good grilled cheese at Lockview, and good squirrel and mail carrier-watching for the Girls.

I looked back at the very first Accidental Akronite post I wrote in August 2007. Some of my first discoveries in Akron remain my favorite spots, and I’ve added plenty of others to the fave list since then. Then, I wrote that moving to Akron was a happy accident — when Dave earned his PhD, we had no idea where we’d land. Akron didn’t disappoint and the city provided more than its fair share of happy accidents and happy memories. And it’s not like we’re saying goodbye to the city forever; we’ll be about 20 miles east and there’s nothing that can keep us from the grilled cheese and beer menu at Lockview Lounge.

We’ve moved ten times in our 19 years together, many of those moves to various places in Cincinnati, Chicago, and Newport, KY. When we moved to Akron we vowed not to move again…well…forever. Because, as y’all know, moving is a bitch. When we move to Kent on Friday and we’re standing between stacks of boxes, I’m sure we’ll vow to never move again…ahem…forever.

Thanks to those of you who have followed me over the past three years. It’s been a fun ride. The Accidental Akronite isn’t going away and there will be plenty of Girl Talk as Alice and Macy get settled in a new place. I just need to think of a new name (any suggestions are welcome – Accidental Kentonian doesn’t really cut it for me) and unpack our things and spend a couple of weeks stumbling upon the happy accidents of Kent.