Wonderful Tunbridge

June 25, 2015

My last morning in Tunbridge. It is such a charming place, Vermont. It gets under your skin. It’s odd how places can become that thing you have been missing and not even recognizing you are. There are a few cities and outlying areas I don’t believe I would care to live in, but there is so much appeal statewide. The slower pace of life – one is forced to slow down. Nothing is really in a hurry; time lines become blurred somehow. And yet there is a vibrancy here, too, of lives being truly lived with just enough. The edges of my days are soft and comforting. I know this past week has brought me more pure relaxation than I have felt in many, many years. The happiness inside me fills my stomach with a warmth that just wants to spill outside of me.

It’s hard to not mention the weather. I’ve lived in Florida longer now than I really ever thought I would. As a child I never desired to live there – life just took me that way, and circumstance has kept me there. I can feel in my heart that the time for change is coming, but just not now. Just now I am relishing being north again – my heart and soul are truly northern; I recognize this every time I head this way. Today’s porch morning is a cool 55°. The humidity is high – 90% but it is harder for me to be uncomfortable when the air is so fresh and clean. The sky is blue and cloudless. Right now there is no breeze; the flag hangs limp, quietly waiting for the next breeze to stir it into action.

My brother and sister-in-law live in a 180-year old farm house. It’s in the middle of the little sleepy town of Tunbridge around 45 minutes from Montpelier, the state capital, and roughly 20 miles from the New Hampshire border and Dartmouth. They live on Highway 110, and traffic is steady past their house, yet not brutal. All in all there are around 35 houses in this charming little place. The side yard once was the village green, but the man who lived in this house at the turn of the 20^th century bought the land and incorporated it into the 2 acres the house is situated on. The post office is literally next door – adjoined through the village green. The public library is directly across the street from that, and next to that is a brick building which used to be a creamery. It has this fabulous old, rusty fire whistle on the equally oxidized old tin roof. Two doors down in the other direction is the local country store, which stocks funky little items intermixed with a few absolute basic necessities. Directly across the street from the house is a guard rail which, if one steps over, leads down a steep bank to a branch of the White River. The sound of the river creates a white noise background (in between the cars rushing by) and the trill of birds in all the surrounding trees is so sweet. It’s a peaceful, joyful retreat for me.

A 180-year-old house has some eccentricities and quirks, and requires a lot of maintenance. In this regard it must be a completely overwhelming prospect to both Bobby and Betsy. The plumbing is old and outdated – last done in the 1960s, but all is totally functional.  The house smells wonderfully of dusty, clean old wood, the floors creak, doors have difficulty staying shut. The screen door gives a satisfying creaky groan as it opens and closes with a satisfying “thwack”– a sound that makes me smile each time I hear it. They are long time antique collectors, and their treasures can be found in every crack and crevice imaginable – it is like a treasure trove – every time I turn around I see something new, but old, and wonderful. There are five bedrooms; one room is blocked off, and that in itself is so intriguing! There is a back staircase that leads from the pantry off the kitchen up to this closed off room. The door to that room links through Bobby and Betsy’s room, and on through to the front bedroom closet. It’s very unique and delightful to me. I find myself lost in thought throughout the day – imagining the lives lived here in this house, and all that the house has seen. It’s almost cliché to say “if these walls could talk”, but I cannot help think it! The changes it has been through – the seasons of change weathered on all levels.

Living in Florida I experience lots of blooming things – tropical, sub-tropical lushness. Here in the northeast, the growing season is fast and furious. Vegetables grow quicker and larger; I am convinced the cooler nights and rich soil have so much to do with it. The crops all around are planted, but not a whole lot is flourishing just yet. The corn is still small – the tallest stalks I’ve seen are still not knee-high for me. I am experiencing this wonderful feeling of freshness, of seasons, of time passing. It seems to me that living in Florida somehow dulls all that –time slows, somehow, even though the pace of life is much faster. I feel like I have somehow stepped into a different skin. I know my thoughts are different, that my feelings are not so close to the surface, and that I am just watching the days right now with an eye that is just absorbing it all. I feel almost like I am observing, making mental notes and storing all this loveliness to take out for later days. It’s an odd, disjointed feeling, but I am feeling grateful for it just the same. I know in a few weeks when I go back my life will be there waiting, but I am thoroughly enjoying this respite.

Room for Rent, Tunbridge Vermont

June 21, 2015

Here I sit, in the “Room for Rent” bedroom of my brother and sister-in-law’s 180 year-old Vermont house. It’s a gorgeous, funky old house. There is so much love and so much character in this house, it permeates from every crack and crevice. It’s a treasure trove of their lives, and of the people who owned it before them. When they moved in, they had agreed to keep some of the furnishings and found some extra’s the previous owner left for them. It’s chock full of wonderful things, and it smells like clean, dry wood; as soon as I walked in through the back kitchen door I could smell the wonder of it all. “My” room they call the Window Box Room, and it’s mine should I ever need a Vermont get-away. It’s a lovely room – complete with wonderful window box and antique painted wooden sleigh bed. Yellow daisy wallpaper lines the walls, a beautiful antique dresser with china knobs is against one wall, along with the sweet little antique desk (vanity) I’m writing at now. The windows over the window seat are open wide, letting in the sweet, cool air. Now and then a car passes on the road in front of the house; the town of Tunbridge sleeps as I type. The wonderful white noise of a small fan stirs the air from the other side of the room. For tonight, all is well in the world. I have no cell phone service, no Internet connection, and it’s me doing what I like best – writing in a place that stirs my imagination and makes me feel like writing my thoughts.

This is day three of my grand vacation. Backing up to day two, that funky room in the Comfort Inn & Suites in Queens. In the morning, I walked the neighborhood taking pictures, taking in the sights and smells, noises of New York City. It was h a hot, muggy, overcast day. Bobby and Betsy actually got to the room before noon, so after a proper greeting, we headed to the New York Deli around the corner. A cool store, crammed full with every need a person could possibly have, but also fresh baked goods (delivered from a local bakery from what I gather). A fresh fruit and veggie stand out front, a deli inside that served deli meats or sandwiches. It advertised itself as a 24 hour Italian deli, but as far as we could tell no one there was of Italian descent – Middle Eastern most likely, but not so much Italian. We hung out in the room after that and had the debate of staying one more night in the city, and seeing the sights in Manhattan today (Saturday). After a check on the availability of our room, we opted out of staying. It seems the clerk felt it would be okay if we stayed another night, but for $50 more than we had stayed the previous nights. Hence our drive to Vermont today.

After that quiet afternoon we needed to get ourselves to Forest Hills Stadium. Adventure time! We had to figure out connections via mass transit for a few reasons – first, parking was said to be minimal a few blocks from the stadium, secondly, if we gave up the parking spot we had at the hotel, the odds were we would not get another close by. And third – the cost of the cab the few miles to the stadium was $45 each way. MTA one out! Bobby’s very smart phone told us we needed the Q11 for 14 stops, a few blocks walk, then to pick up the Q23 for 7 stops. Lo and behold, we managed! I had seen a sign where we could purchase metro cards, and I had seen signs for the bus stops. The adventure started when we got off the second bus – which had been detoured because of the concert. We ended up walking ¾ of the way around the stadium and finally ended up where we needed to be. But before we got there we were a little unsure of where we were going. We passed through very upscale houses, which got more and more posh as we walked. It was incredible – a slice of life I don’t know much about for sure. These houses backed up to the stadium, and some bordered the very private country club. Forest Hills used to be where tennis matches were held, and it has recently been re-purposed for special concert venues. As we waited for the gates to open we decided we had earned a really cold beer, and stopped in Dirty Pierre’s at the corner of Burns Street. A fun and quirky place, we were able to stand at a table outdoors and people watch. NYC is fabulous for people watching! More walking led us to the stadium, and up into the stands for bleacher seats. It was a really good concert; Van Morrison’s only North American/US stop this year; next he’s off to Europe somewhere – Norway, I think.

Let me stop in my recounting for a moment. Right now a gentle rain has begun to fall. I can feel the change in the air, both in temperature and in smell – the air smells the way summer grass smells up north when it rains and gets damp and green; mossy smelling. It’s a beautiful, earthy, rich smell. The sound of it is almost hypnotic with its steady, quiet rhythm. It’s fully dark outside the screened windows – as it should be at 12:30 at night, and part of me wants to look out and see it fall; the other part is just comforted by the comfort of being in a warm, dry house.

Now, back to Forest Hills and the concert. It was nice – really special, and my brother was able to check off an item on his bucket list. I am so happy to have been part of that. He told me later, back at the hotel, that it seems wrong that bucket list items should be over so quickly. I told him that really, while he was taking part in the event it was just normal time; it is just because it was so special it seemed so quick. The stadium was pretty packed, the sound was fantastic, and the couple next to us were great – he kept handing over his binoculars for us to see the stage better; what a kind thing for him to do! It was a long, slow walk out of the stadium. There was only one exit for all those thousands of people, which was not a great deal of fun, but it all worked out. I am thinking there is just one exit because of the people in those beautiful houses – they don’t want all those people spilling out into their quiet, peaceful streets.

Personally, I have always had a great respect for people in uniform. I would not be able to do the job they do. I think that maybe it would be really helpful, however, for the police officers manning and blocking barricades and detours surrounding a place like Forest Hills to be told a bit more – such as which direction the entrance is, where one might go for more information, how to get to the bus stops, etc. We were told by more than one officer – sorry, I can only tell you about this barricade, or the Long Island Express. It was a really cool event, not a bad venue, but it was also unorganized chaos for the most part. More help might be nice for future events!

I have dubbed myself the Queen of MTA for getting us back to the hotel after the concert. Bobby said I am the Queen of Queens MTA J. We had to reverse our steps, but because our original bus had been detoured, we really did not know where to get back on the bus! We walked a bit after consulting the very smart phone, and it was directing us to the E-train, then the Q11 bus. As we started walking in what we hoped was the right direction I noticed a bus that said Q23. We decided to get on and see where it went – after I asked the driver its final destination. It turns out it was the same place we had actually caught the bus earlier in the evening. We walked the few blocks to the place we got off the first, original bus, and voila; there it was – the right stop, and eventually the right bus came (last one for the night – wow, was THAT ever timing!), and we got back, safe and sound. Adventures in MTA done.

Today we left Queens and NYC fairly early; to a whole lot of traffic. I would not care to drive there; I would if I had to, but I am not a big, bad, brave, adventurous driver – I am more defensive than offensive! We made it out, and in Connecticut decided to take the scenic route north. We ventured through quaint little towns, past rolling hills, forests, rivers, etc. It is beautiful country, and it made me really happy riding today. We stopped in Connecticut and Massachusetts and gathered a few rocks for a project I am working on. We went for dinner on Killington at a place called Peppino’s Italian Ristorante. Great food, fun atmosphere, wonderful waitress, and all around really happy time. Which leads me to here and now, sitting in this lovely, peaceful room feeling sleepier and sleepier. Tomorrow we have more adventures planned in beautiful Vermont. I am experiencing a great contentment and peace of mind right now. I feel so happy to be here and I am so relaxed. Right now, I have not a care in the world except for ending this post, taking out my contacts, brushing my teeth and crawling into the lovely bed behind me. It is calling my name – Kim, come sleep now. Goodnight from Tunbridge, Vermont.