Gaining perspective
22 lessons, 22 months
With all the sun and rain we’ve had this summer, the grass is higher than ever, the trees greener, the weeds more prolific. The verdant mountains are indeed living up to the state name (vert: green, mont: mountain).
Beyond the bucolic landscape, my mind has been elsewhere, mostly due to the passing of David’s stepfather Leo, which happened around the same time as my father’s two-week–long hospitalization (still sans diagnosis). Thankfully my dad is back at home and getting stronger. We will soon visit my parents to celebrate their #62 wedding anniversary (they married in 1962).
It’s been a while since I’ve written this blog, partially because I’ve been traveling and hosting guests, partially because I didn’t want to sound redundant, and partially because of the aforementioned news, which left me unable to concentrate on anything beyond essential work.
The good news: Last month I finally made it to see Aidan in France, which was all the sweeter after last December’s debacle (where I planned everything for our family trip but neglected to notice the expiration date on my passport).
Shortly thereafter, I headed to Boulder to see my honorary nephew graduate from high school (he’s off to CSU next fall with a full scholarship to their honors college—congrats Will!).
Other news? I finally finished rewriting my middle grade novel and was published in National Geographic—a first! Plus, I’ve been helping David dig in the dirt, cavorting daily with the five dairy cows who are on our pasture for “summer camp,” and have re-learned how to maneuver a ride-on lawn mower (I haven’t used one since I was 12). Plus, we now have two well-loved kayaks, another reason for you to visit (lots of rivers and lakes around here).
While I was planning to write Green Mountain Acres for just one year, it will be two years since we arrived in Vermont as of this August. That said, I thought I’d share 22 things I’ve learned, observed, or come to appreciate, one for each month we’ve lived here before putting this blog to bed:
Never assume. There is more than meets the eye to the people you encounter. Two recent examples: Randy, the local UPS driver, has a son who is a veterinarian and confessed he gets attached to the dogs along his route (Izzie will jump on his truck to get a biscuit or three). A woman I met at the local café who works at the Vermont Law School served on the Obama administration, attended Stanford, grew up in Hungary, and is a master yoga instructor. As Shrek says, “Onions have layers. Ogres have layers…” and so do humans.
Nothing can replace a longtime friend, someone who really knows you and gets you, who doesn’t need you to explain yourself or prove anything because they accept you just as you are.
Trying to meet new people in a small, rural town in late mid-life without kids in school or a workplace to go to is challenging. But it’s not impossible.
Teaching is a great way to learn—about both yourself and the subject matter.
Cows can be trained to come when they’re called. They like to be scratched and brushed and are innately curious. Just watch out for their heads, which are rock-hard and powerful. And their poop, which can be very slippery while wearing rubber boots. But don’t worry about their upper front teeth. They have none.
Nature is nourishing and healing and constantly changing. The change of seasons allows you to appreciate the ebbs and flows all the more.
We continue to feel the same age inside, even as our wrappings get more rumpled. I’m constantly impressed by the capabilities of people here in their 70s and 80s (and even 90s)—they are an excellent reminder of the power of a youthful outlook and can-do attitude.
It’s never too late to dream and take chances. It helps us get out of bed in the morning and feel a sense of hope and purpose.
Don’t drive your low-to-the-ground car up a country road during mud season. You might not be able to get home. Likewise for Class 4 roads where ice is lurking beneath the snow, even if your vehicle has four-wheel-drive and snow tires. (Thanks again to our kind neighbors who helped dig/tow/lure us out.)
There’s a reason L.L. Bean’s duck boots are so popular in New England, the same reason you rarely see folks around here wearing dress shoes. (I did see one lady at a local café donning kitten heels, but she was visiting from L.A.)
The “hide self” and “improve my appearance” options on Zoom make communicating via live video infinitely more pleasant. Whoever invented them deserves an award.
A slower pace of life forces you to observe, contemplate, and load the Merlin app on your phone so you can recognize all the birds that visit your allegedly squirrel-proof feeder.
Old dogs can learn new tricks. Old dogs can also bring in new ticks, so check them thoroughly before they climb into bed.
Wearing bright orange during hunting season is a real thing (if you’re hiking in the woods). That goes for your dog too.
Montpelier is pronounced montpehleeuhr. Calais is pronounced callus. Barre is pronounced berry. Charlotte is pronounced shar-lot. See how much I’ve learned?
Snow can be really fun as long as you’re dressed in layers. And don’t experience sub-zero windchill. And don’t live on a long, steep driveway that needs plowing.
Nature continues to inspire wonder year-round, whether it’s from fireflies illuminating the night sky, a red fox trotting across the snowy field, the chorus of birdsong in spring, the palette of fall leaves, or this rainbow cloud that suddenly appeared over Silver Lake in Barnard:
Hearing from people I love makes even the darkest days bearable (especially when it’s pitch black by 4 p.m.). Man cannot survive on hygge alone. Well, at least I can’t.
Badass women abound here, from Brenda, Vermont’s first-ever female fire chief who continues to cut and quarter firewood at age 75, to Mary the sheep shearer, Amber the organic dairy farmer, Ash the produce farmer, Elizabeth the local butcher and Devan, who raises Nigerian Dwarf goats and a bevy of other animals while marketing Goat Ridge Hemp and running a summer camp. Plus, all these women (with the exception of Brenda) are mothers of young children. I’m awed and humbled by their skills, energy, strength, and tenacity.
The Vermont wave is a real thing, and there’s something to be said for passersby saying “hello.” Sure beats driving like a Masshole.
The moment our sons walked into this house it became a home. It’s been gaining color and dimension and life as friends and family visit, inspire us to explore, and create meaningful memories.
It’s okay to have more than one place that feels like home.
Thanks for supporting me from afar, for continuing to visit, for staying in touch, and of course, for reading this blog. You’ve made a world of difference.
HI, Lissy,
just loved this Blog.......Particularly the "things you've learned"....as well as the wonderful photos,
and all the warm ""Lissy feeling" that comes through in your writing, as well as WHAT you choose to write about.
Love,
Aunt Rosalinda
I loved this blog so so much. The life lessons and all about your life, Elisse. Such wisdom. I can't believe it's been almost two years, and I haven't visited! I will, I will!