January was one long month. It was a funny time, drifting in and out of post-holiday bliss and sadness, wondering what the weather would bring, deciding which side of the make-a-resolution-or-not fence you were on this year. I think, mostly, I took the gentle January approach. It included a lot of soup and bread and some of the snooze button.
Halfway through, Jason and I stole away to Vermont. Oh, Vermont. I don’t really want to tell people about you. I think you’re a bit of a secret still. Or, maybe people know but don’t appreciate you.
But, we do.
It was Martin Luther King Jr. weekend, and a cold snap had frozen most of the country. The morning we left, we drove on icy roads through predawn sleet. We had our doubts that we would get out of Denver at all, but luck was on our side. After a surprisingly sunny, though still frozen layover in Chicago, we landed in Albany where the northeast was giggling. Despite the tundra the rest of the nation had become (when we called home later that day, it was -11 degrees), the northeast was settling in to a sunny 40 degree spell. Who might have guessed?
Jason and I have taken our family to Vermont now a few times, and we have explored the more populated northern part of the state (Burlington/Stowe), as well as the more rural and scenic highway 100 central portion (Weston), and the eastern side (Woodstock, Quechee, Hanover). We had not yet spent much time in southern Vermont, so we set our destination as Manchester. From Albany, we drove a little more than an hour on a two-lane highway to reach our bucolic getaway, a gem of a place called Hill Farm. If you do not care for trees, covered bridges in your Siri directions, softly lit farm houses, deep darkness, and quiet, well then, who are you?
Joking aside, I love all types of vacations. I love to travel! Some of my favorite trips are cities and places for adventure. But, what really speaks to my heart and centers me, are places like this. It was evening when we checked in. From the cold parking lot outside, we could smell the wood burning fire and see the dim outline of the Green Mountains on the horizon. We happily found our room, beautifully hygge with wool rugs, wood beams, and cozy niches for reading.
A little sit by the fire was a must before heading out for dinner in town.
Hill Farm sits about ten minutes away from the town of Manchester. We had reservations at Ye Olde Tavern this first night. Built in 1790, the floors were sloped, and the doorways were small. I wondered if my water might slip down the table, such as the angle was, and land it my lap. It didn’t, and the food was so delicious. Cranberry fritters, cidered chicken, maple sweet potatoes, spicy scallops, and apple crisp, we ate it all. You will find an occasional chain here or there, but mostly, you will find these little treasures of restaurants. After a warm dinner, we fell into bed in the darkest dark. We didn’t have to put a puppy in his crate or turn on the dishwasher or prep school lunches for the next day. Honestly, is there anything more a middle-aged mom could want?
Perhaps a kiss from her kids. But … sacrifices.
We awoke dreamily to our only full day. The mild temperatures had melted most of the unpatchy snow and ice.
Our dreams of snow-shoeing were cancelled. The good news, however, was that breakfast was very much on schedule. Hill Farm is a bed and breakfast, and it does the most important meal of the day quite well.
After breakfast, we went out to hike the Battenkill River Loop next to the farm. The fresh air was so good, and we ran into some locals with their doodle dogs, which made me miss the puppy for like a minute. But, then I breathed in that crisp air, and put a little quiet in my heart, and held my husband’s hand, and thought life is good.
After a morning outdoors, we decided to go explore town. Manchester is a small, upscale village of only about 5,000 people. It is home to the Lincoln home, Hildene, Orvis and flyfishing, a semi-private high school academy which is public to students who live in the area, and the Taconic Mountain Range. We spent the afternoon shopping along until a snow squall warning alerted us to step inside a local bookstore for a cup of chili, which was also, by the way, delicious.
Food is a THING here. Bless.
Have you ever experienced a snow squall? It is a quite sudden swirl of wind-snow that seems to come from nowhere. We had to shuffle outside in it for four to five minutes before seeking refuge in the Northshire Bookstore. Please note my red eyes. I promise I am not high. Just attacked by a sudden squall. Somehow Jason looks unaffected and handsome.
And then our world was white. It went as quickly as it came. We lingered a while longer in town before meandering off toward Dorset, the next little town over. I wanted to pop into its little general store and see its inn.
We spent the evening back at our farm, lingering in the game room and doing a little napping and reading.
Dinner reservations were at the Barrow’s House for our last night in Vermont. There was something so unique about this little place in the world- not just this restaurant, per say, but the whole area. We drove to dinner, twenty or so minutes in deep, winding woods, street lights only intermittent, and stop signs to mark intersections, no traffic signals. Yet, all of a sudden, we would come upon a destination, a little inn shining its golden light from the middle of a clearing. Then we stepped inside, and it was filled, filled with people and their voices and laughter. I couldn’t help but wonder, where did all of you come from? Where are you going? I tried to get reservations at the Dorset Inn on this night, but couldn’t, and was surprised. I mean, how busy could a Dorset, Vermont restaurant be on a Sunday evening in the middle of January? Well, the locals must enjoy their craft food and cozy spots, I think. And Barrow’s House was delicious. It was salmon for us on this night, along with Boston hard cider.
When we awoke on our last morning, our view was a sunny, snowy one. I got up early, literally with the rooster, and meandered out toward the main inn for coffee. The early morning light was peaceful, and inside, the breakfast room was quiet, everyone still waking up.
We took a hike on Equinox mountain and were the only ones on the trail, though it looked like others and their pups beat us to it at some point. We found plenty of glittering, untouched snow, as well, excepting some little critter who left footprints ahead of us. A hare, perhaps. The trees were sticks and soldiers, all lined up building their tunnels for us. This was a good-for-the-soul hike.
After a yummy lunch at the Dorset Bakery, we were already on the road back to Albany. But the roads are oh-so-pretty. We also took a quick look at one of Norman Rockwell’s homes before saying goodbye to Vermont for now.
Until next time, thank you Vermont for your hygge and your unassuming beauty. For your food and your kind people and your darkness and your light.
Also, remember our good travel luck en route to the northeast? Well, our luck ran out on this leg. The sun was still shining in the northeast when we left but, boy, was everything screwy after that! Thank goodness for amazing grandparents who love our kids to the ends of the earth, and who take care of them, even when their parents are a whole day late after being grounded in a snowstorm in DC for an extra night.
We love you, and we are grateful for you.
