“It takes a long time to grow an old friend.” —John Leonard
Last weekend I saw two college friends in Boston, one of whom I hadn’t seen since the month after I graduated. (I won’t share the exact number of years, but let’s just say it’s been more than a quarter century.) The other lives in Athens, Greece, so I’ve seen her only a handful of times in person since then too. And yet there was a familiarity, a comfort, a joy that welled up in me despite the years, despite the distance. Because we shared experiences. Because they knew me. Because they know me.
Unlike folks who have lived here give or take nine generations, David and I are the “flatlanders” in the area, lumped in with the other outsiders who are new to Vermont. I need to prove that I am decent and thoughtful, authentic and self-sufficient (the latter is especially important here in Vermont). I’m no Danielle Boone, but I’m also not Eva Gabor either (a direct reference to Green Acres for those of you born after 1971).
What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that this ten-month-new experience, stretching 3000 miles beyond my longtime comfort zone, has been challenging. The proximity to friends who’ve known me for decades, is absent, replaced with neighbors who generally keep to themselves, perhaps with the exception of Brenda, who’s been a saving grace. I no longer have school-aged kids to introduce me to fellow parents, a local dog park, or an in-house job, so there’s no natural meeting ground. I feel like a teenager all over again, only this time with more wrinkles and less hormones.
One lovely experience I had recently was learning to tend grapevines at my writing teacher’s vineyard in Barnard. If you imagine cracking glow sticks, that’s exactly what it feels like to train a vine around a fence.
After doing our best to try to make the vines look somewhat less wayward, we ventured back to her property, which included both a tasting room and a man-made pond, complete with faux coyote and swan to keep away unwanted wildlife. Izzie wasn’t too sure what to make of the coyote statue at first, so she gave it a wide berth, but it didn’t stop her from swimming around the pond for a full hour, using her tail as a rudder.
While Izzie was swimming laps, we were lapping up Vermont-made cider, wine and grappa. Little did I know how strong the grappa was, but it tasted so refreshing mixed with an after-dinner wine, I happily welcomed another swig. I conked out as soon as we got home.
Down the road from this lovely vineyard is a dairy farm called Kiss the Cow, which includes a shop that sells everything from locally made caramel, maple syrup, and ice cream to grass-fed beef, fish, and even CBD products. What’s most surprising about this store is that there’s no clerk overseeing it; everything is purchased via honor system. Simply jot down your selections in the three-ring binder and deposit your cash into the clear, slotted jar. If only trust like that existed everywhere…
We now have six heifers and one mama cow on our pasture for “summer camp” (they’re owned by the organic dairy farmers down the road): three Ayrshires named Quantum, Quartz and Queen (currently #11 position for high genomic heifers in the U.S., not that I actually understand what this means), two Jerseys named Jacky and Kisses, and one Randall Lineback named Nutella. The farmers brought over a mama Jersey, Adele, keep them in check after they knocked down a fence on our lower pasture, walked across the road, up across our lawn, and made themselves at home in the upper pasture.
I heard about their great escape during a work meeting when David yelled, “Lissy! The cows escaped!” Sharing this news with two sophisticated urban professionals reminded me that I’m a long way from San Francisco (despite the fact that our flat on Cumberland Street once had a cattle walk). Besides doing an excellent job of mowing the tall grasses, the cows are entertaining to watch. Most of them have never gotten to really roam free before, and can be very playful.
The cows are especially interested in Izzie, who has remained surprisingly calm around them. Even when they’ve sniffed her and gone nose-to-nose, she smiles patiently and allows them to greet her. When they first arrived, the entire herd trotted after Izzie like she was their leader. She safely passed beneath the electric fence without incident.
We did have an incident with Nutella the other day. Thankfully the story has a happy ending, but I was in serious doubt when I first found her by the solar panels with her neck twisted and stomach bloated, lying in a large, putrid puddle. I thought she was dead, that her neck was broken, but then noticed shallow breathing and immediately contacted Amber and Scott, the owners of the Hoyt Hill dairy farm. I called multiple times, but couldn’t reach anyone, so I figured I’d have to rush to the car and find them in person. I tried one last time and happened to reach them. In minutes they were by Nutella’s side.
Amber untwisted Nutella’s neck, then lifted her tail to help direct her upright (with some major pushing with David’s help). Nutella was alive, thank goodness, but one of her stomachs was definitely distended and her ear was swollen. It took her about a half hour for her to stand up. When the cows found her, they “mooed” in a chorus of celebration.
Amber said that if we’d waited even a short while longer, Nutella would’ve likely been dead. So grateful I happened to see her…
We recently discovered that Miss Izz is virtually deaf, which explains why she didn’t budge when the entire herd surrounded her while snarfing spilled grain. We simply assumed Izzie was more intent on eating than on discovering six hovering beasts (which might also be true). The veterinarian confirmed her inability to hear when she dropped a heavy sack of wipes behind her. She didn’t even flinch. Still, she is generally a happy camper, especially when she has the opportunity to swim or sit and watch squirrels scamper up the 300-year-old cedar tree in front of our house.
David, not Izzie, was the one to notice a new visitor the other day. “There’s a bear in our front yard!” he yelled, shortly after sitting down for dinner. The bear wasn’t that big, so I’m guessing it was a juvenile. I could’ve kept watching it play with the empty garbage can, eyeing the bird feeder, contemplating climbing the tree, only David didn’t want it to become a frequent visitor (cute as it was), so he banged on the window and it skittered away. I’m still awed by that experience. Izzie, however, wasn’t fazed. She likely didn’t notice it (yep, her depth perception is fading too, poor gal).
Last fall, our friend Suzanne, David, and I planted bulbs, and as I mentioned in my last entry, the daffodils from my sister Missy bloomed, followed by a variety of tulips. I must confess that I’ve never really been a gardener, especially since David’s so good at it, but when in Rome… Witnessing the bulbs that we planted bloom so spectacularly feels like a miracle. I’ll never look at flowers quite the same way.
We learned from a neighbor that instead of buying topsoil, to simply ask our dairy farmer neighbors for old cow poop, what they called “aged.” Not mature manure or primed cow patties. Just aged. David contacted Scott to see if he could drop some off in a few days when the garden was ready. The next morning he was at our house in his green John Deere tractor with a sizable pile of nutrient-rich bovine excrement, free of charge. “I’m happy to get rid of the stuff,” he said.
After David completed the Herculean task of clearing out the endless weeds (with a bit of help from me and the rototiller), we planted an array of produce and flowers. David started some of them in the basement by planting seeds in egg cartons. The two butter beans have grown so tall, I might be able to fetch the golden goose soon. We’ll see what ends up thriving (hopefully without too many invasive bugs or woodchucks).
We took the advice of locals and didn’t officially plant the garden until the end of May, and it’s a good thing we listened. On May 17, it snowed. At first it was hard to differentiate between the pollen in the air and the snowflakes, but when the latter melted on our windshield, we knew all too well what we were witnessing.
My boys were far away on Mother’s Day, so David kindly made me breakfast, gave me a card, and took me for a hike on the Island Line Rail Trail. Located about 30 minutes from the heart of Burlington, it’s both a pedestrian and bike trail that winds around Lake Champlain. Both sides of the trail are water, while the trail itself is framed with big blocks of limestone, remnants of the Rutland-Canadian Railroad, built in 1899. I look forward to biking on it now that the ferry service is open.
We learned that the town librarian Mariah, who has four young kids, was hit by a driver and was in serious condition. Thankfully she’s generally okay, despite a concussion and soft tissue bruising, but it brought home the reality that each and every person makes a profound difference in this small, rural town.
David heard about Mariah’s accident from Kelly at the General Store. I received Mariah’s address from Marsha at the library. Brenda suggested we go to Mariah’s house to drop off some goodies, so I made a batch of Mama’s Crack (granola), some mini pumpkin chocolate chip muffins, and headed over.
Mariah’s parents were there, along with a friend, who was preparing to create a list of needs to be shared with the entire town. The entire town. What a concept. I trust they will get an outpouring a offers to drive the kids to games, feed the family, and do whatever else is needed. Mariah also runs the afterschool program, where Izzie has been volunteering (with me) as the library dog, giving children the opportunity to sit with her and read a story or two.
In just a few days my parents plan to visit for the first time, followed by my sisters. I am incredibly excited to welcome them, but also nervous too. It’s one thing to show pictures of the good parts, but another to experience the funky bits. I’m still figuring out what I think of it myself. I hope they find it peaceful, relaxing, and enjoyable enough to want to come back again and stay awhile.
Hope you will too if you come out this way.
Many thanks, as always for reading and staying connected,
Elisse
Good reading and wonderful pics, as always...Thanks for your honest and interesting sharing!
I loved the cows following Izzy.
Love,
Rozzie
Agree with Growing Sideways. Your writing is moving and layered. Also I adore the photos. You could be telling a very different story with those pics, more of a Facebook, "isn't my life enviable" account. The honesty and vulnerability takes this in a different, more meaningful direction.