“Global warming isn’t real because I was cold today! Also great news: World hunger is over because I just ate.” — Stephen Colbert
Snow storms. Ice storms. Torrential floods. Power outages. Happy New Year! This winter has thus far been fraught with extreme weather on both coasts, wreaking havoc on air travel, flooding basements, downing power, and confusing both flora and fauna, who are as befuddled about the weather as we are.
Weather report from Daybreak™, a local newsletter
When we left Vermont for California, our house had been without power for three-and-a-half days. Days later came another power outage, attributed to the fact that more rains created heavy snow that weighed down on the power lines. Our last days in the Bay Area were equally dramatic, with hurricane-like winds and roads that looked more like rivers.
Overflowing water in Berkeley
Navigating the crazy rains in the Bay Area
Timing was on our side en route back East, as were the air travel gods. Not only did David and I receive a free upgrade, United changed planes to an international jet, so we had more than seats—we had pods!
I felt like a kid seeing a playground for the first time upon shimmying into this space-age compartment. Look! The wall between us goes and up and down! Look! My tea is being served in a real mug! Hey, what’s this? A ramekin of warm nuts! We were able to fully recline in a cocoon of comfort with a plush blankie and pillow while watching a movie on a sizable screen, complete with padded headphones.
Everyone else in this section appeared remarkably unfazed and nonchalant while sipping champagne and dining on butternut squash ravioli as the folks in back were opening bags of pretzels with their eye teeth. I, for one, did not take this experience for granted.
Flying high in people pods
Upon returning to Vermont, we were surprised by how little snow was on the ground. Meteorologize Robert Haynes noted that it’s been warmer than normal for the last three months, with a record temperature of 52°F on December 30. So much for my investment of snow shoes.
Izzie and friends Joyner and Wishbone, upon our return from California
Our friend Darin arrived the day after we returned to Vermont to ski with David, only there wasn’t enough snow, a rare occurrence for the beginning of January. David and Darin did venture into Shelburne to see Zach Nugent (no relation to Ted), who is, according to Darin, “Definitely one of the top five” guitarists he’s ever heard playing Jerry Garcia’s music. At least Darin got to hear some good music during his visit here.
Zack Nugent performing in Shelburne (photo courtesy of David Gabriel)
I did try to go cross-country skiing for the first time this past weekend, thanks to the kindness and patience of my friend Anne’s cousin Dan. While Dan and his wife Carole are seasoned skiers with a groomed trail on their property, I was a complete klutz on the icy terrain. David, on the other hand, was impressively sure-footed. After practicing for a bit, we put away our skis and went for a hike.
I’m hoping for some actual snow soon—the soft, fluffy kind—so I can practice (ideally without anyone watching ). When I was in my early thirties I had a Nordic Trac, a large wooden contraption that imitated the motion of cross-country skiing. Hopefully that’ll help me eventually get the hang of this aerobic winter sport.
Dan and Carole live near Sugarbush Mountain, a popular ski area for both Vermonters and East Coasters. While stopping for lunch at the “Almost World Famous” Warren General Store, Dan told me that Sugarbush used to be called “Mascara Mountain.” Apparently Sugarbush was the Vail of the East Coast in the 1960s, with celebrities, jet-setters, models, and Kennedy clan all making this Mad River mountain the place to be and ski.
Across the road from Warren’s general store is The Pitcher Inn, a charming hotel named for a former owner’s collection of more than one thousand pitchers. Dating back to the Civil War era, it’s encountered fires and floods, but is now a feast for the eyes and the palate, with five-star dining upstairs and original artwork, architecture and furnishings throughout.
An original painting at The Pitcher Inn
A handcrafted cherry door leading to the inn’s wine cellar
One of the inn’s original signs and a preserved guest
An Adirondack chair out front (which looks like it could stand up and walk away)
Dan and Carole’s neighbor Win Smith gathered local architects an artisans to renovate the property, with impressive results:
“He also brought in wood-carvers, furniture makers, mural painters, decorators, masons, and tile craftsmen to participate in the realization of an idiosyncratic vision…filled with details like a flying wooden mallard that swivels beneath a rooftop weathervane and a concrete floor imprinted with animal tracks.”
We spotted real-life animal tracks after walking across our meadow the other day and could tell where the families of deer chose to rest. While in California we saw a bobcat strolling through Green Gulch (near Muir Beach), but haven’t seen any here thus far. We have, however, seen coyote tracks and heard them in full chorus the other night. They’re getting alarmingly close to our house (or at least it sounds that way), prompting us to make sure we don’t let Izzie wander solo after dark.
Traces of visiting deer
The creatures that have visited us most frequently are, of all things, ladybugs. Lots of them. But who can kill a colorful ladybird beetle? Not me. After all, they’re a symbol of good luck and good fortune. Who’d want to squash that?
Our resident ladybugs seem particularly attracted to the roundish chandelier that illuminates our stairs. It’s warm and bright, and welcoming, and shaped like an enormous ladybug (“We’re coming, Mama!”). We’re allowing these polka-dotted critters to winter indoors, then will set them free to munch on aphids come spring.
One of the many ladybugs making themselves at home
On to larger critters: David’s friend Rubi, who owns the former horseback riding camp in nearby Vershire, alerted me that one of their lop-eared bunnies had babies, which (of course) I needed to visit immediately. The mama rabbit had buried her downy fuzzballs beneath a pile of hay, so I could only glimpse them, but are they so goshdern cute. Rubi gave me a tour of the other farm animals while I was there—including Nigerian Dwarf goats, a Scottish Highland cow, chickens, ducks, Jersey cows, barn cats and more—all happily housed in their barn.
A curtain of spider webs adorn the barn’s ceiling, keeping unwanted bugs at bay
Rubi is greeted by her family’s Jersey bull and big mama sow (below)
Birds of a feather flocking together
I contributed a ladybug-sized morsel to the community last week when asked to write a paragraph about this rural village (as part of a grant for a new firetruck):
Home to approximately 1300 residents, five covered bridges and more sugar maples than anywhere in the state, this bucolic rural town in Vermont’s Upper Valley draws thousands of visitors nearly every summer weekend. Tourists gather for the Jennie Brook Bluegrass Music Festival, Nano Brew Fest, weekly agricultural shows and, of course, the Tunbridge World’s Fair, which welcomed nearly 40,000 people during its 150th anniversary this past year…
Doesn’t this want to make you come visit? Please do.
The original draft mentioned that the current fire chief, now in his early 40s, began volunteering at the age of 14, and that our neighbor Brenda was Vermont’s first female fire chief. She immediately nixed this sentence. Neither of them wanted to be mentioned.
Drawing attention to oneself is frowned upon here, whereas humility and internal fortitude are valued. You won’t find any selfie sticks around these parts. Only logs. And lots of them.
The work of logger Jim Welch in the adjacent Town Forest
Lastly, a small world story:
When David and I were traveling around last April in Vermont, wondering if this was a place we could potentially relocate, we happened to stop inside the food co-op in South Royalton to get something to drink.
I noticed a pack of beautifully illustrated alphabet cards. Since I didn’t have anyone to give them to I refrained from purchasing them, but thought they might be perfect for The Tot, a children’s retailer for whom I was working at the time.
Alphabet cards by local artist Marion Lent
I left my information for the artist, whose name I didn’t pay much attention to until I received an email from her out of the blue earlier this week. The sender? Marion Lent.
Marion and her husband, author Jeffrey Lent, along with their two daughters, lived in this very house (from the late 1990s until about 2008). David happened to be reading Lent’s most famous book, In the Fall, the night before I heard from Marion. (The former owners, Bill and Lee Geffell, left us Lent’s books.)
In other words, this complete stranger for whom I spontaneously left a note in a random town in a random store 3000 miles away from where I was living at the time spent nearly a decade in the home we happened to move to four months later. What are the chances?
I wrote back to Marion and told her I was gobsmacked. Needless to say, she is too.
It’s a very, VERY small world.
I plan to meet her tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know how it goes. Please let me know how things are going with you too.
You had me at "eye teeth". I gobble up your blog writing. More!!! 💕
Thank you so much for another rich insight into your world, Elisse ✨🤗✨