Bloom and grow
“Spring is when you feel like whistling, even with a shoe full of slush.” —Gary Larson
It’s at long last springtime in Vermont, synonymous with blooms, birth, and bugs. The landscape has quickly transformed from dull brown to vibrant green.
After an eerily quiet winter, I wondered if we would ever hear birdsong again. I’ve never appreciated the sight or sound of common chickadees so much in my whole life. With the addition of a new, squirrel-resistant feeder, we also have goldfinches, doves, and a bird I learned is called a rose-chested grosbeak. It’s a member of the cardinal family and very handsome—so much so, another male was flirting with him by spreading his feathers in the most peacock-y way possible. The grosbeak was not impressed.
The snow has finally melted, the grass is growing, and the Star magnolia tree out back is blooming. Thanks to my sister Missy, who gifted us with bulbs last fall, we have daffodils too, with (hopefully) tulips and lilies and who knows what else around the corner.
A couple of weeks ago we experienced 80°F weather while there was still snow on the ground—a definite first. Izzie was overheated, so she took herself for a dip in our pond up the hill. We could hear what the locals call “peepers,” aka spring peepers or “chorus frogs” coming from the pond.
After watching an oppossum skitter into the open section of the barn, then a woodchuck follow suit, I imagined a host of animals, like the ones from The Mitten pouring out from the dark cavern. We did spot deer, vole, and possibly coyote tracks there this past winter, though no bear tracks as far as I know. I can see how it would be an appealing lair for hibernating critters.
One unwelcome visitor to our surrounds (and our bodies) is the tick, especially the ones that carry Lyme disease. They are EVERYWHERE. Izzie now wears a bandana treated with pyrethrum, and I have one too… I’ve already removed ticks from Izzie, from David, from our bed and from my wrist and torso (discovered in the middle of a meeting…I tried to nonchalantly remove it without anyone noticing). I constantly feel phantom ticks, which makes the experience all the more creepy.
I told our neighbor Brenda that the ticks we had in California weren’t as big as the ones here, to which she responded, “Oh those big ones? They’re just dog ticks. It’s the little ones you need to worry about.”
Speaking of little ones…there are a lot of baby animals here right now, with more to come. I had the pleasure of visiting Brenda’s friend Deb’s beautiful farm in nearby Chelsea, which includes horses (Deb competes internationally as a Western dressage rider), chickens, ducks, sheep, and some very sweet pups, including an Australian Shepherd named Polly.
I had the chance to not only view newborn lambs, I also got to hold one too. I didn’t initially realize, however, that the stick that seemed to be stuck to the baby’s underside was actually a dried-out umbilical cord. Thank goodness I didn’t tug too hard…
After hanging out with the sheep, we went to visit the ducklings. Deb said that they imprinted on her and now follow her around, so she doesn’t have the heart to get rid of any of them. Gotta love that. Make way for ducklings!
I met three people who are working on and/or living at Deb’s farm. One is Deb’s nephew Reed, who is studying forestry at University of Vermont. Deb’s soon-to-be daughter-in-law Meg is a master gardener and quite adept at helping birth lambs too (she’d just pulled out a lamb that had gotten stuck, a triplet born the previous day). I’m told she’s also a triplet.
Meg’s fiancé Kyle is another nephew of Deb and a gifted tree surgeon. I met him while he was high up on a limb, cutting off a broken branch. He also happens to be a classically trained ballet dancer, starred on Broadway as the adult Billy Elliot, and has designed the American Ninja Warrior obstacle course for almost 12 years. Seems there is far more than meets the eye with just about everyone I’ve met here.
Our neighbor Hank, who lives in a house overlooking both the waterfall and covered bridge, has two Golden Retrievers who are impeccably trained service dogs. With his bangs and tweed vest he reminded me of a Hobbit, and his home could easily double as The Shire. He told us he attended Cornell and began a trajectory as a veterinarian before pivoting to become a farrier for racehorses, giving him the opportunity to travel the world. While in Amsterdam, he bought a 1901 steel houseboat, which he had transported to the New York Harbor, where it still resides.
We discovered another local—a Berkeley local—who is now living in Burlington and performing there. His name is Eric Ingersoll and he was a longtime school chum of Aidan’s. A recent graduate of Tufts University, he’s performing with a Phish-themed band called Good Soap. Eric and his bandmates did a truly impressive job! Plus, it was cool to see Eric all grown up and jammin’ on the keyboards.
There is no shortage of creative talent here, and you never know where you’re going to find it. I opened up Daybreak, a daily Upper Valley newsletter, to a video of a local fiddler named Randy Levitt playing (of all things) “Off to California” while his neighbor planted potatoes.
Fiddles of a different variety have also cropped up here, namely fiddlehead ferns, which are a seasonal delicacy, along with ramps (wild leeks). I went with Brenda to pick some ramps, which she used for soup. She then showed David where fiddleheads were hiding in our yard! Their texture looked a bit unappetizing (like green curled centipedes), but after boiling them then sautéing them in garlic and olive oil, they were actually quite tasty, and remarkably similar to the flavor of broccoli and/or snap peas.
Another local talent? A farmer named George Woodard who is also a filmmaker (his company is called Mudflap Productions). David and I went to see Woodard’s movie Farm Boy, which stars his tall, strapping son, Henry. Six years in the making, it was filmed in black and white to emulate the look and feel of the 1940s.
In one scene, the female lead is milking a cow while her dad milks another nearby. She asks him if she could go to a picnic with a boy she likes. Her dad grudgingly gives his approval, prompting the girl to gratefully hug him and dash. The forgotten milk bucket elicited major groans from the audience. After the movie, Brenda said, “You can tell there were a lot of farmers in the audience when that girl left the milk under the cow.”
What was truly remarkable about this movie experience wasn’t just the movie, but what also happened when I went to buy tickets. I didn’t realize tickets were cash only and I was short four dollars. The producer who was taking tickets said, “Just give me what you got.” Then a woman behind me chimed in, “I can get her.”
I had never met this woman before. She gave the ticket taker five dollars and walked away. I quickly found her and thanked her, then asked her name so I could pay her back. “Suzanne, from Luna Bleu Farms,” she said. Brenda noticed I’d borrowed a few bucks from Suzanne, opened up her wallet, and gave her a five spot. “You can just give it to me,” she said.
On the way to my memoir writing class last week I saw a newborn calf trotting up to its mama, a porcupine nibbling on some greenery, a turkey strutting its stuff, all the while following a car with the license plate, THE GOAT. While this term generally stands for “Greatest Of All Time,” as with sports players like Serena Williams or Tom Brady, here in Vermont it probably means the owner of the car raises goats.
Last but not least, another wacky small world encounter:
I found myself in need of some therapeutic support and located a woman who seemed like she might be a good fit. Plus her address wasn’t too far away. I called her office and ended up speaking to a man who recommended I call her cell phone, so I did, and left a message. I got a call back from her at 11 p.m., which was odd.
When I called her back the next day I found out that this woman is no longer in Vermont. She is in Santa Barbara, California, and had called me from the West Coast (assuming I was there too, since I have a 415 area code). Turns out that after living in Vermont for 23 years, she and her husband got “stuck” in Santa Barbara during the pandemic and ended up staying there (they regularly conducted couples’ retreats in California). After a grateful client/Hollywood movie star (name unknown) offered to pay their rent for the rest of their lives, they decided to remain in Santa Barbara and sell their longtime Vermont home.
Cut to the Norwich Farmers’ Market: David and I perused the booths and started chatting with a mother-daughter duo who were selling tinctures, herbs, and the like. Before leaving, I asked where in Vermont she was based. “Corinth,” she said. “Oh, do you happen to know a woman named Martha R—?” I asked. She looked at me, clearly surprised. “We’re living in her house,” she said. Turns out this woman’s partner was the man who’d given me Martha’s cell phone number. Without him, I would have never reached her.
Later today David and I plan to venture to Barnard, where we’ll learn how to prune grapevines. My memoir writing teacher needs help with her five-year-old vineyard. When we return, we might very well have a small herd of heifers in our pasture, guests from the organic dairy farm down the road.
I’ll keep you posted.
Until next time, thanks for reading and staying in touch.
Elisse
Once again a thoroughly entertaining blog from you, Elisse. All your adventures, coincidences, discoveries, critter stories (minus the ticks), and new acquaintances paint a very colorful life back there in Vermont. Have the tulips popped up yet? I have to imagine that one gets a real and joyous sense of life reawakening from a long winter sleep back there as compared to here on the west coast. Love that Izzy takes herself for dips in your pond. What a great life your pup has. Your photos are wonderful and stories unto themselves once again. And your captions always make me smile.
Srping in Vermont sounds beautiful and a rebirth for plants, animals and humans. I love the Gary Larson quote. You have a knack for capturing the spirit of Vermont country life in your blog.