The knot that lived in my chest for months disappeared the moment we saw the “Welcome to Vermont” flanked by a pillow of Green Mountains behind it.
Most of us have a happy place when we travel – a destination that we’ve returned to for years or perhaps a new one discovered under the restrictions of pandemic travel. Mine is Vermont.
Post college one of my closest friends and her boyfriend moved to the Warren Valley in Vermont. This hamlet in the northern part of central VT was what my life wasn’t – uncrowded, quiet and happily affordable. Their goals in life were to ski and make art to fund their Adjacent to Sugarbush and close to the Mad River Glen resort. The area was filled with hippies, city transplants and surrounded by green velvet mountains staring majestically at the sky above. We could go for hikes along the river, jumping from rock to rock and sink down into an ice-cold swimming hole when it got too hot. We swam across Blueberry Lake to keep fit – the perfect anecdote to the hangover from the night before, ski through the winter and lose ourselves in the deep reds, golds and greens of foliage season. For someone who lived in a miniscule walk-up studio in Manhattan it was paradise.
After a rough pandemic 18 months I packed a bag, put my dog Roo into the back of my Subaru Forrester and headed north. We stopped half a dozen times during the 11 hour drive north from the Washington, DC metro area past industrial Baltimore, skirting Manhattan and its traffic, through Connecticut tempted by signs for Mystic Seaport, more industry in Springfield, MA, and finally the Putney, VT General Store with the best vegan sandwich I had ever tasted. Spinach, sprouts, avocado, grated carrots, pickled veggies sparked by garlicky tahini with a hint of hummus. The bread was still warm.
I slept through all four nights which I had not done in months and through the crowing of the early morning roosters.
My pandemic pup Roo edging closer to two years-old is a black labradoodle with the smarts of a poodle and the endless love and charm of a black lab. She gets car sick and to her credit only threw up once. Her glazed over expression vanished when we got to the little yellow farmhouse on the side of the road halfway between Randolph and Northfield in central, rural VT. The road was a blizzard of curves but the lushness of the foliage and the hints of red maples at the top of the mountain made up for it. The few people I saw looked like they belonged on the mountain with long graying beards, ponytails and work shirts in the late summer cool-off. No it’s not just on the travel posters.
We did not stay in Warren because little was available and what was too pricey, so I found a little yellow farmhouse on Airbnb for $135 per night and a quick drive over the Roxbury Gap Road to the Warren. Except that the Warren Mountain Road as it is called on the other side was closed for three weeks the trip around took a full hour so we made it once and explored the area around East Granville, our official home.
Most people come to Vermont to hike but with a knee anxiously awaiting replacement and another with a torn meniscus this was going to be a different way to explore. We checked out Randolph and walked around the half dozen blocks of town, pausing to wonder at the obligatory white spired church at the centers of town. Our connection to Randolph was forged by two coffee shops, the Huggable Mug Café with a to die for blueberry muffin and a cappuccino reminiscent of Italy. Only the servers wore masks but there was plenty of room for social distancing. Its main competition is the Carrier Roasting Co. whose beans are roasted daily and were had the subtle yet uplifting flavor that comes from it. After endless on the road it felt like a divine gift.
Did I mention that the going price for a first class cappuccino was $2.75. I paid $5.00 for a Starbucks cold brew at a New Jersey rest stop.
We only made it to Warren once, and it had become a genuine tourist trap. The town was still charming with its stately homes and white picket fences but The Warren Store, my favorite food and wine store in Vermont, had gone commercial. The cool selection of ski and summer gear designed for women in incredible shape was gone and replaced by boxy older women’s apparel with a varied sense of style. The jewelry was no longer interesting, and local craftspeople’s wares were gone. The Farmer’s Market, which only rivalled the one in Burlington an hour away, had limited hours, everyone was completely masked and you had to wait in line outside because of social distancing. Skipped that.
But sitting on a deck over the rollicking river with the sun unbothered by clouds was worth it. The sandwiches and wraps are liberal with hot sauce that I no longer can eat so I chose the Vermonter Sandwich, everything made or grown locally from the cheddar to the bacon to the caramelized onions and the freshest of grilled white bread. In nearby Waitsfield a number of stores were gone, particularly in the plaza that had the best Creemies around. Vermont is a state with more cows than people and the ice cream is likely the best ever. Roo and I walked a trail near river beaches with a handful of sunburned kids alternating between the sand and water for about a mile and a half an overhang of cooling trees.
Due north of East Granville is a town of 2100 called Northfield, VT. It . The home of Norwich University it combines a gritty, industrial feel with students and faculty. A trip to Northfield is worth the Maple Cremees, made from you guessed it VT maple syrup. A tangy sweetness explodes at the first lick of a soft cone and offers the perfect complement to a warm summer’s day.
Travel during the pandemic put a wrench in the need to go to restaurants, many of which were only open a handful of days and subject to change due to Covid so I bought food from the roadside markets and cooked.
The Little Yellow Farm House at Strickland Farm, which has housed six generations of one family, and the noises in the basement, which the Airbnb host said it was an overeager dehumidifier but my imagination ran wild with all that could really bedownthere. Whether you liked it or did not was a clear demonstration of the kind of traveler you are. I did not expect luxury and was right not to. Everything was old –the appliances required going back 30 years to the top sellers of the day and the washer dryer was missing a handle but could be pulled on by what was under it. If like me you remember those appliances, you’ll find it very comforting. The kitchen was a little understocked with just salt and pepper, but the homey touches made up for it with baked that morning homemade bread, just laid eggs and VT butter a tribute to its cows.
The porch off my bedroom offered a morning view of gold and orange fields guarded by mountains. The beds were comfy and blankets plentiful. Did I mention that it was $135 per night?
The only drawback to the house its location, directly on a road that few people used but those that did owned it racing by. Roo was stuck on her leash and walked up and down our country road fields of wildflowers and a hustling stream. Even though my four legged companion doesn’t speak human I talk to her like a small child in the hope that she’ll remember some of what I said. I told Roo the black and white pinto across the way was her horse and the roosters who stopped spreading out through the parking lot after the first time they saw the dog were Rooey’s Roosters.
On our last day we found Doggie Nirvana. I was looking up VT dog parks but none of them seemed any different than those at home, although they appeared more spacious in the photos. I read about Hubbard Park in Montpelier which didn’t offer much information and I found out why when we got there. After 10 minutes of walking the not very happy leashed Roo we met a woman with one of those giant breeds of dog still in its puppyhood. She said it was an off-leash park, which means the dogs own the park. Their owners are just the folks who bring the dogs and take them home. The joy from the four-legged creatures “unleashed” miraculous. This was actual freedom.
We left our little yellow house sadly, sacrificing a pink Lululemon sweatshirt, and the freshly roasted coffee beans. On to our Manhattan escapee family in the Catskill Mountains.
If you want to go some place where everything is easy and the mountains inspire go to Vermont.
