Today's Vermont: Hunkering Down

Can you feel the spaciousness? 

As we enter the final months of a year marked by anxiety, restriction, and the unending tumult of a relentless news cycle, the autumnal slowdown that coincides with the end of Vermont’s fall foliage season comes as a welcome respite.

Once the leaves are down, views open up on forested hillsides. Vegetable gardens are put to bed, tucked under layers of compost and straw. Root cellars overflow with butternut squash as long summer days give way to cozy winter evenings. Even as the pandemic drags on, uncertainty persists, and very real financial pressures tighten the screws on many Vermont families, the seasonal transition at the end of October reliably offers space for breathing deep, taking stock, and hunkering down.

I feel particular gratitude for the spaciousness of days when I can adjust plans and priorities based on the offerings of the natural world. Rain on the way tonight? Better prepare for an early morning tomorrow, because there might be a run of landlocked salmon in the Clyde River or below the Winooski One Dam. Clear skies in the weekend forecast? Perhaps it’s time for one last camping trip in the Green Mountain National Forest before the snow flies. 

Spaciousness, of course, can also feel like loss. The hallways of Burlington High School are quiet this fall. Restaurant owners across Vermont long for the days when boisterous tables of happy customers were packed in cheek to jowl. But here we are, and in a time when Vermonters hunger for normalcy, perhaps we can derive some measure of reassurance by observing the normal seasonal slowdown that arrives on the threshold of a long winter.

Perhaps there is also a silver lining to be found in the newly open spaces on our calendars. For a long time after all, freedom of time has felt more and more like a privilege. The mountains don’t care how productive we are, and logging off to go for a hike or a bike ride reliably refreshes body and soul. 

Last weekend I took my own advice and set off for an overnight bikepacking trip from my home in Richmond to Middletown Springs, southwest of Rutland. 

There are many things I love about bikepacking, but two elements of the experience stand out. First, the pace of traveling by bike allows me to notice details that I might miss if driving a car. I call these details “fancy ticklers” - a phrase inspired by State14 contributor Ben Hewitt, who wrote about biking in a recent blog post: “I can’t go a mile without passing something that tickles my fancy,” Ben writes, “though it’s true that my fancy is easily tickled.” 

Second, I love how the phenomenon of “Trail Magic” manifests in unexpected acts of generosity that one can encounter while bopping around on two wheels. 

On this trip I didn’t have to go far to experience both fancy ticklers and the kindness of strangers. 

Pedaling my electric bike south on Saturday morning from Richmond along the Huntington River, I paused to rest in a patch of sunshine on a village green and noticed a hand-lettered sign. “Soup and Bread, Offered as a Gift” it read, followed by the address and time - Saturday from 12 - 2 at Brush Brook Community Farm. I checked the time - a few minutes before noon - and eagerly pedaled on. 

Sure enough, I soon came upon a circle of chairs arranged around a fire near three sturdy hoophouses. The soup was hot and nourishing, and the farmers sent me on my way with a dense, seedy loaf of Running Stone Bread that ended up fueling my journey all the way to Rutland County, where I ate the last bites for breakfast the next morning in front of the West Rutland Town Hall.

Every mile of the ride presented an opportunity for delight, and for appreciation of the generosity of Vermonters. When my water bottles ran low outside of Ripton, I happened upon a thoughtfully tended roadside spring and drank deeply of the cold mountain water. When dusk fell I found myself in Goshen at the doorstep of the iconic Blueberry Hill Inn, and was invited to camp in the field by the Outdoor Center.

After a frosty night under the stars I worked up an appetite the next morning, biking south from Brandon along Otter Creek and through the hilly pastures of Whipple Hollow. As I turned a corner near the village of Florence I took notice of an especially vibrant maple tree in the doorward of a lovely stone farmhouse. 

If I had been driving a car I wouldn’t have stopped, but it was simple enough to pull my bike to the side of the road and pause for a moment to take in the scene. Only then did I notice a farmstand, where fresh tomatoes and colorful peppers were offered for sale at the throwback price of 25 cents each. I put a dollar in the cash box and ate the vegetables whole, washing them down with water from that Ripton spring.  

Upon reaching my destination of Middletown Springs, I stopped at Grant’s Village Store to charge my bike and enjoy a celebratory cup of coffee. The cashier checked out my bike, asked how far I’d come, and insisted that the coffee was on the house. What a gift, I reflected, to know that I could have set out on this adventure without a dollar in my pocket, and simply stumbled into enough generosity to meet my needs.

Truly, we don’t need much. The night before in Goshen, as I burrowed into my sleeping bag and looked deep into the clear stars of the Milky Way, an observation by the poet Lew Welch came to mind:

"Only the very poor, or eccentric, can surround themselves with shapes of elegance (soon to be demolished) in which they are forced by poverty to move with leisurely grace. We remain alert so as not to get run down, but it turns out you only have to hop a few feet to one side and the whole huge machinery rolls by, not seeing you at all."

So, loyal readers, I wish you nothing more and nothing less than enough. Enough nourishing food, enough companionship, and enough warmth to get you through the cold winter nights, and enough space to breathe and move with leisurely grace. I’m taking some space myself, and this will be the last edition of Today’s Vermont for the time being. I want to close with the utmost gratitude for Carolinne and Dylan Griffin, my editors at State14, for the fine folks at Breezy Hill Marketing, who generously sponsored this column, and most of all for you, for taking the time to read along. 

Thank you.

How are you preparing for winter? What acts of generosity do you appreciate? What are you looking forward to doing when the pandemic releases its grip? Join the conversation on social media using the hashtag #todaysvermont, and thanks, as always, for reading.

Photography by Caleb Kenna

Big thanks to Breezy Hill Marketing for sponsoring this column and helping us spread the word of Today’s Vermont. Read more about this friend of State14.