A couple of months ago, I got Maria a gift of a day spent in the woods with a naturalist and tracker who could teach her about treats, plants, tracking, dyeing wool, and weaving plants into baskets.

She meets him in a forest two hours from here; he is accomplished and well known. They’re spending the whole day together.

I liked him a lot when I talked to him and told him about my gift. Maria has a list of things she needs to bring.

So tonight, we went on one of our first-ever trips together to a mall to buy a backpack and water container for her nature trek into the woods with Zack. We decided to go to Saratoga.

While we were in Saratoga, which is about 40 minutes from the farm, we decided we might as well go out to dinner. They have some great restaurants there.

I was a little down this week (Ukraine and some family sadness) and exhausted. So was she, so we were happy to have a reason for a night out and a good meal we didn’t have to cook.

I’m not sure we’ve ever been to a mall together before. We headed for the Wilton Mall just outside Saratoga.

Maria and I live in our own culture, our world,  and we don’t fit in with many others.

We live differently than almost everyone we know. We are different from almost everyone we know. I felt much more comfortable hanging out with my Amish friend Moise than I do with most of the people I know.

Going to giant malls in a wealthy town like Saratoga is a shock. We don’t fit in; we don’t belong. I see I have class issues around too many rich people, my fur stands up.

My rack track gambling days are over; I don’t even go to the track anymore. And a place like Dick’s is so alien to me. It reinforces a sense of loneliness and outsiderness and makes me uneasy.

There is not one thing in there I would ever want to own and buy there, yet the successful Saratoga one seems as big to me as Yankee Stadium.

It’s the right place to buy backpacks. There were rows and rows of them there. I couldn’t see to the end of the store. The cashier told me on weekends the store is so jammed people can’t turn around.

In the winter, these excursions are essential. We both work at home, work hard, live a small but rich and demanding life on a farm with dogs, donkeys, sheep, mud, and collapsing and rotting outbuildings.

Then there are the hungry blogs, the photos, the videos. And a cold winter. And dark days.

We love our lives and are grateful for them, but when we get a chance to get away for an evening, we jump.   Some days, we just need to get out.

Maria said she wanted to take me out to dinner to thank me for the trip to the woods, and she chose an Indian restaurant in Saratoga called Little India. It turned out to be an excellent choice.

Maria is familiar with Indian food from her trip to India a few years ago; I’m pretty new to it.

I had the most beautiful meal tonight – a very new kind of tomato soup for a surprising and delicious appetizer and shrimp with mixed vegetables in a sauce.

I’m no food critic; I can’t describe the food other than to say I loved it and will lobby to back to the restaurant often.

We were both stunned by the size of Dick’s Sporting Goods Store, and Maria, as out of place as I was,  was stunned by the price of a backpack and a yellow water bottle.

I wondered how such a vast store could make money. That’s how I guess.

Maria almost returned both of them, but I urged her to get them, she needs them for Saturday and Wal-Marts is the only option near us (I’m going to spend the afternoon watching the new Batman movie, The Batman.

I see every Batman movie and love most of them.)I started reading the DC Batman comics and the Dark Knight series when I was nine.

I’ve never stopped loving it.

The restaurant had the most beautiful atmosphere – cozy, friendly; the good was excellent. Saratoga, a wealthy New York City’ish town, is gorgeous, with almost all the buildings lovingly restored. And very highly-priced.

The rich love to come into funky and artsy stores, but up every building in town and restore them, and then ruin what made the place so special. And there are so many of them.

The rich are different from the rest of us. There is no getting around it.

Maria and I never tire of each other or run out of things to say, and that’s a good thing because we are so often together.

We watched as a stream of yuppies came in for their pick-up dinners.

We had the most excellent time; Maria received the $60 bill for her backpack and water bottle. She is not much for shopping.

The exceptional meal was substantially less. But I won’t lie. I feel like a stranger there and in most of the places where we go. But I want to go back, and often.

We are always happy to get back to our home, animals, and farm. We needed to get out and were glad to get out, but one of the best reasons for getting out is discovering how happy we are to come home.

That makes me happy and sad at the same time if you know what I mean.

It’s too late now. We couldn’t live anywhere else.