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June 5, 2017
Maple View Farms sits at the top of one of Chapel Hill, North Carolina’s rolling green hills. It’s a stout little building, legendary for its homemade ice cream. The lines will often stretch out the door, down the porch’s few steps, and out into the parking lot with people waiting in the hot summer sun for a bowl or a cone. On top of the building, there is a resin cow, probably three or four feet in height, with a giant cherry on its back.
It is the best bowl of ice cream I have ever had in my life and Emily and I try to ensure that it is a requisite stop for any visitors to our new home.
The line was short this day, owing to the fact that it was Monday of Memorial Day weekend and many Chapel Hillers were in the throes of their three-day weekend, likely on the beaches at Wilmington or Carolina Beach, the Outer Banks or Bald Head Island.
We lined up at the glass encasement that held the myriad wonders of Maple View and I encouraged my father to try a few different flavors before committing. The teenager behind the counter obliged with a smile as she scooped small helpings of three or four different flavors out with the plastic tasting spoons they had stocked behind the counter.
He settled on his favorite flavor, regardless of locale, and ordered a bowl of butter pecan with whipped cream and melted caramel topping. Emily and I led the way out the back door, our own bowls in hand, up toward the small collection of picnic tables on the hill next to Maple View.
We talked idly for a moment, too enamored with the perfection of the ice cream to muster any semblance of meaningful conversation when I began to explain to my father what I wasn’t looking forward to, should the pregnancy hold.
I explained my loathe for the people who become sudden experts in birthing and child-rearing after their first kid and how I appreciate the parents who readily admit that they have no idea what they’re doing. I explained how it angered me when new parents complained about their lack of sleep or about how much work it was to have a new baby.
“Just do me a favor,” I joked to my father. “If you ever hear me talk down to someone who doesn’t have a kid for being tired, smack me.”
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