In all the hectic activity that surrounds packing up a family of five I neglected to take a picture of my momentous accomplishment. I am not exaggerating. So, close your eyes and visualize: a closet full of clothes, a two drawer dresser, winter gear including jackets and boots (that we might need in the mountains of California as it has snowed like never before while we were gone) the fruits of countless shopping expeditions -mostly thrifted spoils boasting a Ralph Lauren logo and my secret stash of secondhand literature that grew larger with each trip out of the house- gifts from friends and items from family, like my grandmother's jewellery box, numerous other miscellaneous treasures that we acquired along the way, nibbles for the plane, food stuffs that we cannot get in Australia, two car seats and a stroller.Now keep in mind that we arrived with three packed suitcases and four carry-ons.The end product was three large suitcases to check (plus an empty one in case my calculations were correct and the bags were, ahem, slightly overweight... which - in fact-they were. So the final tally was four checked suitcases, ten carry-ons, two car seats and a stroller. We shall not do that again. Some things I must learn the hard way. Note to self remember that children will be tired and cranky and in no mood to carry or even wheel any type of baggage anywhere. Which leaves Mehran and I 5 bags each. The airline checked for size of carry-ons but not for weight so naturally in a desperate bid to save a bit of money I packed the heavier things in the carry-ons. While this may be financially beneficial it is not physically helpful, especially when your gates could not be spaced further a part. It also does unfortunate things to your mental state while you try to focus on simply making that connecting flight, finding your way through an unfamiliar airport and keeping an eye on your three children who do not even want to carry their own coats while you are being strangled by a laptop, slowly asphyxiated by countless straps and shoulder sashes and in serious danger of loosing both arms as they struggle under the weight of two heavily laden bags. All the while, keenly aware that your husband, who is trudging ahead dealing with a heavier load than yours, still has enough oxygen in his lungs to mutter a steady stream of curses and ultimatums under his breath. And guess who these choice comments were directed at? Well, I can't say that I blame him, but I can say that I am most grateful he is unfamiliar with the arts of voodoo. Very grateful indeed. On the bright side we did all make it to the correct gate in one piece. Well, it would have been the correct gate 40 minutes earlier when our connecting plane to California was still there. But (because we sat on the runway in Maine for approximately three hours while our wings kept getting de-iced and the pilots waited for clearance in the midst of an approaching storm front) by the time we arrived a flight was boarding to Nantucket, which was not so helpful. Thankfully there was a very accommodating Indian man, who used to live in Iran, noted our surname and decided to help us. This was good because there were no more flights into LA until the following day. He didn't get us to LA, instead he got us to Orange County which was even better as the John Wayne airport is as close as you can get to Disneyland, he even managed to get us seats in the general vicinity of each other, something that we did not have on the previous flight. So Mehran and the girls got seats together and Bayan and I got seats just behind them. The angels in the ticketing office intervened on our behalf and a lovely young gentleman with infinite patience and an easy going manner got the vacant seat beside Bayan. This was most useful because Bayan was tired and very unhappy and apparently quite determined that everyone on the plane should not only know how displeased he was but should also experience a small portion of his unhappiness for themselves. He started with the young man beside us, kicking him repeatedly (unintentionally) as he writhed and screamed and carried on. This continued until well after take off when he finally fell asleep in my arms. Unperturbed by the earlier assault the gentleman showed further magnanimous tendencies as he listened to Bayan's rather one sided conversations with much interest and amusement, repeatedly retrieved trains, cars and other small transportation devices that wound up tucked in his seat, tossed on his lap or trapped by his feet, called him "buddy" and was perfectly delightful, patient and attentive for the entire six hour flight. God. bless. him!
We got into the airport well after 10:00 pm and made sure that we were the last people off the plane. Despite the fact that we were constantly counting children and bags to make sure that we had everything somehow we missed the video camera until after we had disembarked and were on our way to the baggage claim. For security reasons there was no going back and the effort to retrieve it involved Mehran, the police and airport security. Guess who, once again, was so super excited that we had brought so many bags? As far as the luggage situation went things were soon to look brighter (in terms of less) and also more depressing (in terms of convenience). In the baggage claim area we soon located our car seats and stroller and one suitcase. We, eventually, after highly detailed descriptions, sketches and deciphering incomplete barcodes, learned that one bag was still in New Jersey, one had gone to LAX and another was still in the air. The car agency we had booked with did not have a branch at the airport we flew into and of the five agencies that were located there, three were closed, one only had tiny, European, compact sized cars but the last one, well - the last one had Sandy. A wonderful, merciful, fabulous woman who instantly took pity on our bedraggled selves, our exhausted children and our decrepit yet impressive pile of bags and upgraded us to a mini van for the same price as a car. She took care of everything and had us on our way to a hotel and beds and sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep in no time at all. Oh, we love you Sandy!
Another item on our list of things we absolutely must do before we leave was to visit Wolfs Neck Woods. So named because the boundary lines look something like a wolfs neck (I think, Michael could tell you more accurate information) and located on the outskirts of South Freeport this pristine park winds its way along the Atlantic coast and offers camping areas, picnic areas, walking trails and endless possibilities for adventure and exploration. It also offers frozen tide pools, 
and the treasures found therein,
beautiful vistas, 
snow covered trails,
quaint bridges that cross moss covered streams (in warmer weather that is),
rocks for climbing,
father/son bonding time,
animal tracks,
and opportunities for extremely cold fathers to bounce their way, like those Russian sword dancers, down the path in a last ditch effort to keep warm.
The kids closely examined them and thought that the splashing they did was fantastic. 
Especially Anisa who, despite repeated warnings, got extra close, until Ruhi in exasperation asked "Anisa, what are you doing?!" to which Anisa responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world: "Ruhi, I'm sharing my love with them." 
but Michael assured us that they had been properly desensitized (though I forget how exactly). I can tell you one thing -the girls certainly loved eating them, 
and having an uncle who knew all the special tricks for getting the meat out of those really hard to reach places, like the tail, well that was pure genius.
and everyone found places of interest in the general vicinity of the land down under. 
and an opportunity to see if you could spot other countries and continents or parents who had absolutely zero desire to climb steps to any height at all.
And sentimental things like making the trip to Yarmouth to see my grandparents old house, the house where my dad spent part of his youth and the same place I remember visiting as a young child. Mehran took the photos for me as it was exceedingly cold and no one was in a raging rush to get out of the car and the driver's seat had the best angle. We were slightly concerned that the current owners might notice what we were up to and be rather vexed that an unknown party in a window tinted SUV were photographing their home with a large camera and a powerful zoom, but no one seemed to take note or care, so while Mehran took photos I remembered eating chewable vitamin c while coloring in at my grandmother's kitchen table and being taken, a rare privilege, to the basement where my grandfather had set up a workshop where he made amazing model trains, many of which are currently housed in museums. I looked at the porch and wondered if this was the same porch that my grandmother had stood on while issuing stony faced ultimatums at her four rambunctious, teenage, boys and telling them that if they insisted on getting into mischief and breaking their bones, well she could not stop that, but they had better bleed on that porch and not on her carpets... as dusk settled behind the house we raced off to tackle the next item on the list.
Once called the Sarah Farmer Inn, currently known as the Green Acre Baha'i School, it still stands as magestically as did over 100 years ago with it's banner of peace waving in the wind.
It was in these rooms that 'Abdu'l-Baha stayed during his visit to America in 1912.
It was in this very grove of trees that he spoke to people about his Father's Faith
We drove on past the playground and into the new parking lot which lies directly in front of a new expanse of buildings. 
These hold offices, classrooms and meeting rooms, a cafe area with charming tables and a fire place in addition to a well stocked bookshop which a very wonderful woman opened up just for us. The building that used to be the bookshop still lies in a patch of pine forest which I always thought gave it a rather enchanted touch. 
Bayan failed to notice my enchanted bookshop nestled in the mystical pine forest and had eyes for nothing but the snow plow that was clearing the area near the side of the Inn.
I love this picture of Anisa standing under the portrait of Sarah Farmer herself, with the sun streaming through the window. There is a simplicity about it that strikes me as being exceptionally beautiful.
We toured the upper floors and sat to say prayers in 'Abdu'l-Baha's room. We stayed quite a awhile and it was only because Bayan had had enough and was very much ready to go that I was finally able to pull myself away. There is so much warmth and peace within those walls that I am quite certain I could have stayed there forever.
The day was fading as we headed back outside and the children dashed down a hill to say hello to a family of wild ducks and pose for a photo or two. 
As purple shadows crept across the evening sky and dusk began to settle on the banks of the Piscataqua we said a quiet farewell and began the long drive home.
just to sit on a train and hear the whistle and feel the movement of the tracks underneath him, why it was so very worth braving the cold for a one time opportunity like this. Everyone had a grand time. Enjoying the scenery,
the ride, (which we experienced in different parts of the train)
the cattails (finally a photo pf these things. Aren't they neat?) 
the history of the local area and specifically of the train line and then a warm indoor museum. 
The kids got to play with toy trains and sit inside child size replicas, they got to climb aboard real trains that would have been used in the late 1800's and early 1900's and see how the people would have travelled, where they would have sat, what they would have brought and how it would have been stowed, they got to play on bits of track and explore where they lead, they got to look at books and crafts and videos.
and also found some new things to explore.
Thanks Grammy and Uncle Michael we had a perfectly spiffing time, except perhaps for the fungus juice- that was a little weird, but thanks all the same.