We were driving down Route 5 from our campground to downtown Brattleboro when I saw it. One of those small signs sticking out of the ground that usually announce politicians or lawn services. This one was advertising a blueberry festival at the local First United Methodist Church.
Did you see that, I asked Jeremy, my voice quavering with excitement. The hours were from 7 to 2. Do you know what that means?
My husband stared at me, wondering what exactly he was missing here. I clarified. Seven a.m. That means…PANCAKES! Blueberry pancakes at a church in Vermont. It just seemed so sweet and perfect.
I have dragged my family along on some pretty unusual vacation activities, but I am so glad I pushed for this one.
My everlasting admiration is extended to the lovely people of this church who did not blink when our ragtag group barged in on their breakfast. We stopped in our tracks when we saw the tables laid with china, but the ladies ushered us in and set to work bringing us plates of fruit, hash browns, bacon, sausage, and blueberry pancakes. They filled our coffees and juices and offered us more and more and more.
After eating we wandered around out back where there were tables of local jams, chocolates, and dish clothes. The hot pepper relish was a camp favorite that got slathered onto many a meal over the next week.
So the church festival is now officially in my traveling bag of tricks. I have a feeling, though, that the Methodists are going to be a hard act to follow.
