A Saturday Picnic by the River and Some New Side Dishes

The plan was basic. Ren wanted to get out of the apartment for a few hours, and I had been meaning to use up some of the produce that was crowding the fridge. We grabbed the cooler around noon and headed down to the riverfront. There is a stretch of grass there with a few picnic tables that usually are not too crowded on Saturdays.

I made a pasta salad with bow ties, cherry tomatoes, and some feta that was on sale at the store. The tomatoes were still firm when I halved them, but they started leaking juice the moment the knife went through, so I had to tip the cutting board carefully over the sink to keep the mess contained. Ren handled the sandwiches, which were just turkey and Swiss on sourdough. Nothing fancy, though he did press the edges down with a fork the way his mom always did, leaving little crimp marks along the crust. We also packed a container of the chokecherry preserves Lissa gave us last month. I had been curious about how they would taste on crackers, so that became the snack course. The preserves had a deep, almost purple-red color that stained the spoon when I scooped them out, and the smell was sharp and a little tannic, like over-steeped tea.

Traffic was light until we got close to the ferry crossing. The boat was running every twenty minutes, but we missed one by a couple of minutes and had to wait. It was warm enough that we kept the windows down while we sat in line. A faint smell of river water and diesel drifted in, and every so often a gull wheeled overhead, its shadow flicking across the dashboard. Once we were across we found a table near the path that runs along the water. A light dust was in the air, the kind that shows up this time of year when the wind comes from the south; it settled on the bench seats and made the wood feel gritty under my palms.

We ate slowly. Ren read through some work emails on his phone while I watched people walking their dogs along the path. A few kids were throwing a frisbee near the water’s edge, their voices carrying over the low rush of the current. One of the dogs, a scruffy little terrier mix, kept trying to chase the frisbee even though its owner kept calling it back. The pasta salad turned out fine, though the tomatoes had released a lot of liquid so it was a little soupy by the end; the bow ties clumped together in the dressing and the feta cubes had softened into little salty pockets. The chokecherry preserves were tart enough that we only needed a small amount on each cracker. I tried one with a bit of the turkey left over from Ren’s sandwich and the sweet-sour hit played against the meat in a way that surprised me.

After we finished eating we walked a short loop on the paved trail. There is a small playground at the far end that was busy with families. We stopped to watch for a while, then turned back toward the car. On the way we passed the old Lincoln Park extension, the part they added during his second term. The plaques there always catch my eye even though I have read them before; the metal was warm from the sun and one of them had a small spiderweb stretched across the lower corner, glinting when the light hit it just right. A jogger went by with music leaking from her earbuds, something with a heavy bass line that faded as she moved ahead of us.

Back at the apartment we unpacked the cooler and put the leftovers in the fridge. Ren started a load of laundry while I wiped down the counters. The rest of the afternoon was quiet. I worked on a small fabric sample for a client who wants new dining room curtains, and Ren watched a documentary about national parks. We ordered Thai takeout for dinner because neither of us felt like cooking again. The evening stayed mild. We opened the windows and let some air move through the living room. I watered the plants on the kitchen windowsill and noticed one of the pothos leaves had started to yellow at the tip. I will have to ask Lissa if she thinks it is overwatered or if it needs different light. Around nine we closed everything up and got ready for bed. It was an ordinary Saturday, but the kind that feels useful once it is over.