More than meets the eye
“The greatest wisdom is seeing through appearances.” —Atisa
While it’s entirely natural to quickly glance at someone (or something) and draw conclusions, my experiences in Vermont these past few months have taught me to take pause and refrain from judging or assuming.
One experience in particular woke me up from my presumptive mindset. We met up with a friend at a café and sat down near an affable-looking couple. Our friend introduced us and said they were sheep farmers. I instantly assumed they were simple, friendly folk who lived off the land and the dairy products they produced. I was wrong.
Not only was this couple incredibly well-educated, they were also well-traveled and had weathered a terrible battle with the USDA, who destroyed their beloved flock of imported sheep, inspiring them to document and write the book Mad Sheep.
Yes, this couple teaches cheesemaking. Yes, they are farmers in rural Vermont. And yes, I felt sheepish having drawn such superficial conclusions. (Baaad pun, I know.)
Hunting season is now in full force, which means we need to wear a hint of bright orange so as to not be mistaken for a deer, or in Izzie’s case, a polar bear cub.
“You might be hearing gunshots,” said our neighbor Brenda, “which is a good thing. That means they’re practicing. Hunters need to sight-in [adjust the scope of] their guns to make sure they get a clean shot.”
Brenda also warned me (knowing that I’m both a vegetarian and squeamish about seeing dead carcasses) that I might be seeing deer hung up outside to drain them after “field dressing,” yet another new term to add to the slew I’ve acquired since arriving in rural Vermont, which basically means gutting, in order to cool the meat as quickly as possible. Luckily I’ve been spared this unsavory viewing experience thus far, though we did hear some gunshots while taking Izzie for a hike recently.
Along the way we happened upon some interesting signs, including the following:
I noticed the above sign on the wall of my friend’s garage. She figured she’d keep it up (despite the fact that she neither has two “mungrel dogs” nor a double barrel shotgun). I do think she might have plenty of “sofa pillers” though…
A case of runny ink transformed this Staff Favorite sign at a local market:
En route to Brownsville, David spotted a massive bird walking across the street.
“I think it’s a peacock,” he said.
“Are there peacocks in Vermont?” I asked. (You never know.)
“No idea,” said David. He spun the car around to get a closer look.
Turns out it was a very large turkey.
Here’s another example of how embarrassingly gullible I can be:
We recently drove to Montréal to celebrate David’s birthday and met a woman who told us she was from St. John.
“St. John?” I said, thinking of our visit there many moons ago. “They have the most beautiful beaches there.”
“Yes, you can see water from everywhere,” she said. “But we have snow right now.”
Snow? In the Virgin Islands? How could that be? We knew about global weirding, but this was extreme.
“I’d think you wouldn’t have the infrastructure for snow there,” said David, still thinking of the Caribbean locale.
Turns out the woman was talking about St. John’s, the capital of Newfoundland. NOT St. John, in the U.S. Virgin Islands.
Montréal is just a few hours away, and yet feels like a European oasis, especially the Old Town, with its cobblestone roads, historical stone buildings and French-speaking locals. I was quick to let people know, “Je suis desolé. Je ne parle pas tres bien le Francais (I’m sorry. I speak French poorly.)” They did appreciate my trying, which was kind. I’m determined to start studying French again.
Lovely architecture and cafés abound in this multicultural city, along with colorful murals and historic sights.
Back in Vermont, the fall has quickly turned into winter with a single snowfall. Gone are the colorful leaves and even the green grass. Our surroundings looked like a winter wonderland overnight.
I recently voted for the first time as a Vermont resident. Included on the ballot were issues focusing on amending Constitution verbiage regarding slavery and adding a section about reproductive rights. The fact that I cast my vote about these seemingly archaic (but sadly still relevant) subjects in a building built in 1840 was especially ironic.
Among the gifts I’m purchasing this holiday season is maple syrup made in nearby Randolph from a place called Silloway. To produce just one gallon of syrup, forty gallons of sap must be boiled down, a labor- and time–intensive affair. The family-run business at Silloway began as a dairy farm in the 1940s, but the plethora of sugar maples (the trees that produce maple syrup), are a local, natural resource, leading to the production of some of the state, and country’s, best syrup.
Vermont is known for its largely unspoiled green mountains and outdoor activities, as well as its progressive, environmentally-minded inhabitants. According to this source, this state also has the highest number of artists per capita. Yes, the population is sparse compared to other regions, but the artisans here are truly impressive.
My friend Suzanne came to visit from the Bay Area and we toured both Simon Pearce and Farmhouse Pottery, where we watched glassblowers and potters crafting their wares. The glassblowers at Simon Pearce worked with molten-hot glass, effortlessly mouth-blowing each piece, cutting, trimming and polishing, all with minimal protective equipment. The potters at Farmhouse Pottery each focused on a single design, from mugs to miniature Christmas trees, also with impressive precision and ease.
The setting surrounding Simon Pearce is especially charming. The brick building, a restored 19th century mill, looks out directly on the Ottauquechee river and waterfall, along with a covered bridge. Across the street is the Glenn Sukko Gallery, a gem filled with works by the artist.
Since daylight savings time, days have become incredibly short, with sunrise after 7:30 a.m. and sunset before 4:00 p.m. I worry about the isolation of this forthcoming winter, but David and I are as prepared as possible for getting out and about with snowshoes and cross-country skis, firewood and warm base layers.
The lack of an established social community or a bustling nearby town will likely be the most challenging part of this newfound experience. Hence this blog, a way to stay connected and recognize the significance of small moments as we adapt to the place where we now hang our hats (and gloves and down jackets and scarves and snow boots).
Thanks again for reading,
Elisse
Elisse, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and experiences and the photos are just fantastic.
As William James said, “My experience is what I agree to attend to” and you are filling your experience with magic and humor. Keep it up and keep warm!
Lissy, I eagerly wait for these emails of yours. I cant tell you how in awe I am of your talent of storytelling. you're amazing. Stay well. Ilene