Be our guest
...welcoming family and friends to our rural abode
“The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
When I began to share the news with family and friends that we were moving to Vermont, I told them they needed to come and visit. Pronto. For as long as possible. Perhaps even join us and create a commune.
Some smiled tepidly. Others reassured me they’d do their best. Several promised they would definitely visit. Knowing that we were hardly next door, but rather 3000 miles across the country, this was a big ask. To my great surprise and delight, we’ve had a stream of guests since the beginning of summer, with more to come this fall. Many thanks to everyone who has made the trek! It’s really brought Drew Road to life.
Our summer began with my parents visiting, which was amazing considering the fact that they drove from Ohio and managed to find a place for their giant dogs to board (they have a Great Pyrenees named Geddy and a Berner/Newfie mix named Nita, aka Nita the Destroyer).
“You’re really in the boonies!” said my dad after driving the last hour through country roads to get here.
Yes, we are. Tunbridge probably doesn’t look a whole lot different than it did in the 1800s, perhaps with the exception of electric wires and solar panels. And paved roads and modern vehicles (especially Subarus, the unofficial state car of Vermont).
I made sure we balanced excursions to towns like Woodstock, Montpelier, and Burlington with farm visits, including those to Goat Ridge Hemp in Vershire (now abounding with calves, kids, piglets, bunnies, and ducklings) and Billings Farm & Museum, founded in 1968 by Laurance and Mary Rockefeller to preserve the historic farm and grounds.
In addition to the majestic animals (including a two-day-old calf) and bucolic setting at Billings Farm, we watched a film on its fascinating history and the profound environmental impact the Billings family had on conservation and forest stewardship efforts in the U.S.
As we circled back to the visitors’ center, we discovered that the entire second floor was filled with dozens of handcrafted quilts, from a photorealistic rooster to a bookshelf showcasing the works of Stephen King. The patience, creativity, and precision required to produce these quilts is truly mind-boggling.
Another highlight during my parents’ visit was the Shelburne Museum, comprising of 39 distinct structures on 45 beautifully landscaped acres. The docents at the entrance allowed Izzie (a registered therapy dog) to join us, and she turned out to be a main attraction for the visiting school groups. Ironically, one of the special exhibits was called “Pet Friendly,” which made for excellent photo ops with Miss Izz. The exhibit featured sculptures, wood block prints and children’s books by artist Stephen Huneck.
The last night my parents were here was a Monday, and they kindly offered to take us out to dinner. The only problem was that most places are closed on Mondays (since Covid and the subsequent worker shortage). There was one restaurant in the nearby town that was open, and while the food was decent, it seemed to be inhabited by a bunch of inebriated, foul-mouthed, less-than-healthy–looking folks. One man was particularly loud, spewing F-bombs over the streaming music.
I know I shouldn’t feel responsible for the behavior of others, but this wasn’t exactly a great impression of the locals. David said he’s been to that restaurant several times and has never encountered this swath of patrons.
I think the rule is that strange people come out of the woodwork when your parents visit, like the time a woman pulled her striped tights down to pee against the tree in the front of our flat in San Francisco. I never once witnessed that. But it was the first thing my mother saw when she arrived.
Still, I think my parents enjoyed the peacefulness, the nature, the animals, and history here. My mom especially loved the 300-year-old cedar in front. Her favorite photo, she said, was of her hugging the tree. Yes, we hug in my family. Even trees.
When my sisters came to visit a week later and met Brenda, they both gave her a hug. I’m not sure Brenda’s used to so much hugging. “We’re huggers,” said Wendy, sensing her surprise.
Brenda took us on two awe-inspiring hikes while they were here, one to a natural waterfall in nearby Strafford and the other to see Lady Slipper orchids, found in fens (another new term), “peat-forming wetlands” that are increasingly rare and elusive.
While taking Izzie for a swim in the White River in nearby South Royalton, Wendy found a piece of pottery that allegedly dated back to 1800s Scotland. Missy found something that her Google app claimed was a bison tooth from the 1700s. Brenda took a look at it and said it was probably a cow or deer tooth from who knows, 2021?
If you drive along the roads here, you’ll see a profusion of orange daylilies in bloom, both along the road and in residential gardens, including ours.
“Do you think they were planted here or are wild?” I asked my mom, who has served as my personal dictionary/encyclopedia for much of my life. “I think they were planted,” she said. I mentioned the lilies to Brenda, who added, “Yes, they were planted, but probably back in the 1800s. Those things like to grow around here.”
Near South Royalton is a family-owned farm called Hurricane Flats, known for their red, white and blue popcorn, as well as fresh local produce. We picked up a crown of butter lettuce, looseleaf spinach, ruby-red strawberries and two bunches of carrots after seeing the owner’s son Emile chomping on them. Ashley, one of the owners, went out and picked some carrots for us. Doesn’t get any fresher than that.
I bopped around with Wendy, Missy, and Izzie in Montpelier, where shopkeepers not only welcomed Izzie, but also offered her a treat. “How much does she weigh?” asked the merchant at a store that sells CBD products. “67 pounds,” I said, prompting her to give Izzie two small treats. Izzie fell sound as sleep as soon as we got home.
The artists’ collective in Montpelier is filled with an array of talented local artists and craftsmen, including illustrator Shawn Braley and woodprint artist Matt Brown, who uses the Japanese hanga method to re-create East Coast landscapes.
We went to lunch at Hippie Chickpea, which lives up to its name. Funky, groovy, and yes, great falafel with roasted veggies (and flamin’ hot, pungent fire cider that’ll clear out your sinuses in a jiffy). All in all, a worthwhile venture.
The following day we ventured to Shelburne Farms, which is adjacent to the Shelburne Museum near Burlington. Originally owned by the Webb-Vanderbilt family, it’s now a nonprofit working farm dedicated to sustainability and education, spanning a remarkable 1400 acres. The barn itself is expansive and magnificent, as is their beautifully landscaped inn, which overlooks Lake Champlain.
I didn’t realize dogs weren’t allowed on the property (the website indicated otherwise), so we left the windows open and a bowl of water for Izzie, assuming we’d do a quick tour. After learning about their no-dog policy, the man at the front entrance instructed me to park on the grass under a shade tree. I noticed him checking on Izzie while we went inside the store, after which time he told us he’d gift us with a parking permit to drive up to the inn so we could take Izzie. Initially gruff, this man turned out to be extraordinarily kind.
The same morning, Logan Farmer, a former state champion snowboarder, came to bush hog the adjacent field and the pasture across the street. He arrived with a fancy Kubota tractor hitched up to his white pickup truck, and deftly managed to mow around the rocks, up and down the hills, and along the sides with ease. The fact that he was a giant slalom snowboarder who had to traverse steep switchbacks without wiping out gives you an indication of why he’s so great at this job. The pasture looks especially serene now that it’s an oasis of green.
I had to hunker down and work the last day Wendy and Missy were here, so they offered to help in the garden, which was so overgrown from all the torrential rain that I couldn’t tell the difference between a vegetable, flower or weed. Thankfully, my sisters are far more adept at gardening than I am, and helped discern what were weeds (mostly everything) from what wasn’t.
David is also a far more experienced and dedicated gardener than I am, but had been gone for two weeks. I’m what you’d call a gardening novice (aka, mildly helpful). I did mow our lawn growing up in the suburbs of Cleveland, both with a push mower and ride-on mower (a major thrill for a 12-year-old), and also used a weed whacker, which, unbenownst to us, could have easily sliced off a toe or two with its blades. And yes, I picked weeds, but my job entailed digging out pricker weeds with bare hands.
I long-associated gardening with the thankless task of picking these deep-rooted pricker plants in the company of creepy-crawly bugs, so I didn’t exactly understand the allure. Here the soil is soft and forgiving (Brenda attributes it to all the “chicken pooey” that the former owners distributed throughout the garden), along with aged (year-old cow manure). Still, I’m learning.
During the summer months, Vermont seems to explode with outdoor concerts, including Feast and Field in nearby Barnard. Every Thursday they feature a music performance, along with locally made beer, cider, food and ice cream from the nearby dairy. What struck me most was the fact that people of all ages mingled together, from families with young children to seniors, all peacefully relaxing, eating, listening, and hanging out.
Another recent observation? It’s not easy to be anonymous here. There are just too few people. I attended a town meeting via Zoom so I could listen in to the trail debate that’s been going on.
“Who’s Elisse Gabriel?” asked one of the men running the meeting. “Do you like the ocean?” Huh?
My camera and sound were both turned off so I could listen while working. My icon is a photograph I took in Hawaii a few years ago (shown below). I quickly turned my camera on, not expecting to be singled out. “Um, yeah, well…” I muttered.
No makeup. Probably the unfortunate below-the-chin view. I got off-camera as quickly as possible, suddenly aware that when you live in a town of 1200, it’s a whole lot different than attending a city council Zoom meeting in Berkeley, where the population is nearly 120,000.
While en route to visit a Berkeley friend whose brother lives part-time in nearby Bridgewater, I popped into the South Royalton Co-op to get a couple of goodies for them. Marion Lent, the artist and co-op store clerk you might have read about in an earlier blog (who used to live in our house), was working the cash register that day. Her husband, author Jeffrey Lent happened to be at the co-op and came to the car to introduce himself.
We didn’t have time for a long chat because I was already running late, but Jeffrey told me that the area beyond the barn that’s now overgrown with foliage and small trees used to be a horse ring, complete with fencing, and also asked if we used the office in the barn (which is where he wrote his bestselling book In the Fall). Before I left, he told me to ask Brenda about “the cow head in the bathroom.”
July Fourth was Brenda’s birthday, and she wasn’t up for celebrating, so I suggested we go on a hike. We drove to a place on a class four (not publicly maintained) road, the property of a wealthy part-time resident who not only has a mansion there but also a landing pad for his airplane. Brenda rode on that plane once, and once was enough. Still, it was a reminder that for all the modest (and sometimes dilapidated) residences we see from the road, that there are also a number of grand, hidden estates, a reflection of the ongoing theme that there is more than meets the eye here (and, of course, the disparity of wealth that’s especially marked these days).
Brenda did share the cow head story. “Was the cow attached to the rest of the body?” I asked, hoping that perhaps a visting cow had poked its head inside the window. “Not attached,” she said.
“I haven’t thought about it for a long time honestly,” she said, since this event happened when she lived in this house in her 20s. Dr. Mike’s teenage daughter had brought some friends here from the wealthy Westchester suburb of Scarsdale, where they lived during the week. The boys proceeded to get not only smashed but also destructive. They started “tearing up the house, cutting the counters with electric knives, throwing mattresses out the window, then threatened me with the knife,” said Brenda. She called Dr. Mike and said she was going to call the police, but he wouldn’t permit it, so Brenda took matters into her own hands.
She contacted the local butcher and asked if he happend to have a cow’s head at his shop and explained the situation. The butcher confirmed that he did and loaned a freshly chopped head to her. Brenda transported the head in her car, then brought it into the house and placed it on a cloth atop the toilet. When the boys opened the bathroom door, they were in for a surprise reminiscent of the The Godfather’s famous bedroom scene.
One of the boys who had threatened Brenda was so inconsolable, he had to call his mom to pick him up. The others were shocked into instant sobriety and apologized profusely to Brenda. She is a bona fide badass.
Last but not least: Have you heard of the free app called Merlin? It identifies birds by recorded sounds or images. We now have two bird feeders on our cedar tree, and are entertained by the flurry of feathered friends, which include blue jays, cardinals, rose-chested grosbeaks, sparrows, mourning doves and ovenbirds (not much meat on them, so I don’t advise baking). I recorded bird sounds in nearby Chelsea yesterday, and the avian population was completely different!
We need to entertain ourselves somehow, right?
Looking forward to seeing more guests flock this way soon.
Many thanks, as always, for reading,
Elisse
Thank you for sharing again Elisse! Your pictures are so amazing--your sisters look so much like you and that quilt of the rooster was crazy!
I hope that the flooding there hasn't impacted you.
Sending my love!
I just love receiving your blogs about your life in Vermont, Elisse. Your stories are charming, interesting , and often make me smile and wish I could drive an hour to pay you and your world a visit. No matter what season - babies n’ blooms, stick, or mid winter white out - your marvelous talents with words and photos keep us all entertained. So glad friends and family are finally coming to see for themselves what lovely place you, David, and Izzy now call home.