At my heels.

I’ve been ogling this little stream in Landgrove since it thawed out in April. This day, I stood with my hands thrust in my pockets, midway through the stream, and watched a storm roll in while Rob fussed with lenses on the bank.

There are certain things you can’t touch—or do well to describe. Watching the tree line shiver in the wind against the brooding sky was like waiting for bad news you can’t wait to sink your teeth into. Morbid delight. It’s something I don’t tap into often; I haven’t cared to tempt fate too frequently since I used to hop fences in our neighborhood in Richmond and let neighbors’ dogs chase me from one corner to the other, flying over the other side completely thrilled, the beast nipping at my heels.

This nipping at the heels thing is a common thread lately. So many days, I want to smash the clock—leave the coffee hot in the mug where I left it. I’d hop in the car, drive all day, make the familiar right turn next to the 1st tee of the south nine, pull into the driveway (keeping an eye out for familiar grey blurs), put the car in park and, without even turning it off, throw open the door and run to the back gate and yell, “DAD! MOM! I’M HOME!“

Time stops with a glass of grog in a swimming pool. I think my parents get that. And do it well.

[Thank you, Hunter boots, for helping me survive mud season in Vermont!]

But that’s only some days. Some days I can fix everything just by watching fat, drunk Van Morrison say “rahdio” in this clip. Some days I’m too tired to care. Most days, Rob opens wine. Other days, I get to pull off the dirt road into the grass and explore places like this and be happy to be exactly where I am.

Recently in conversation, I summed up the ways VT has made me fall in love with her on my long drives: the sloping hills with cows grazing, the vistas, the ponds that look like paintings, the colors, the smells, the red barns, the painstakingly erected fences along the back roads, birch trees, and easy beauty. The response did appeal to my sensible, capitalist side: what I love is pretty much what there is to love. True: there’s not a lot of booming industry, job opportunities, cosmopolitan comforts and high cultural pursuits. But, Lord: that’s exactly what I’ve been saying I wanted to get away from for so long.

I love that when I decide to go to Londonderry instead of Manchester for groceries, I can’t get my brand of toothpaste. When do you ever not get what you need these days? It’s perfect.

I always said this was temporary, and temporary tends to go by in the blink of an eye. So, consider this post the beginning of my gradual, uncertain, unplanned goodbye to Vermont. Maybe it’s really a veiled offering of thanks and gratitude even I don’t yet understand. [Confession: typing that just brought a tear to my eye.]

And now a quick tour around Peru, VT. I say ‘quick’ but honestly, you’re through town in about 7.4 seconds. Here’s my Post Office:

L’eglise:

General Store; sadly, it’s closed. Diane Keaton needs to come back and sell more Country Baby applesauce.

If you’re interested, we can post tons more…

Hope your Memorial Day was fantastic! Cheers from the Green Mountain state!

-Carey

[Twin Shadow, “At My Heels”]