Quarantine

         A Diary

The 95 degree Texas heat seemed long ago. This clear, sunny Vermont day made easing into our self- imposed quarantine less painful. Thankfully, I never tire of the view from our large bedroom window. From our bed I can look across the garden at Breadloaf Mountain. Below that, I can see the grape arbor and what was once a large garden, now blueberry bushes. When the Lilacs bloom, the fragrance wafts through the open windows. I've spent hours sitting on the bedroom deck. When younger, I'd strip down and lie there getting brown in the summer sun; nowadays, I sit quietly, hardly moving, in an effort to capture on camera the many birds in the surrounding trees. We have the perfect mix of conifers and hardwood trees, attracting warblers and those birds loving the "fringe". Through the window on my side of the bed, I can see our pond, a lure for water fowl, insects and wildlife. If I must be quarantined to one large room, this isn't bad.

The large window to the right is the bedroom.

A fall view, Breadloaf Mountain, grapes and garden.......wish Bucky would mend the fence!

On our first day home, now a staycation, a watched a Blue Bird flutter to the ground from the garden fence. I took this as a positive sign... isn't it the bluebird of happiness?
I've thought during this time of isolation, how nice it would be to have a living parent, someone who would have experienced an epidemic or pandemic first hand, polio, scarlet fever, even the Great Depression. How did they handle the losses?
The harsh news of Covid 19 and its killing effect in China was in the news before our departure on March 16th. Our RV was fully stocked and we left uncertain on when we would return, but feeling safe in leaving. If needed, perhaps we'd keep going and end up in AK. We weren't thinking border closures and shelter in place orders. We rolled South and the green grass and Red Bud of VA and TN convinced us we had made the right choice by leaving snowy cold VT. The warm air of Southwest Texas welcomed us with open arms. We had a carefully thought-out plan to remain isolated while camping. Bucky alone exited the RV to gas up. He preformed his duties with gloves and virus killing sprays, followed by a 20 second soapy hand wash. We were surprised to see fellow travelers using no precautions. The highway and stores lining our route were crowded with people. Our final destination was to be AZ. We thought that if we could find the right camping spot on BLM land, we would be fine until this virus passed.
We soon learned that Big Bend National Park in Texas was closed to camping, so we headed to Amistad National Recreation Area near Del Rio Texas. Here, we discovered birds I'd never seen before.

Grey Vireo

We were awakened each morning by Mockingbirds whistling like parakeets and scarlet red Vermillion Flycatchers startling the eye when alighting on the prickly pear cactus.

One day, while stalking a warbler that refused to come out of hiding, I was approached by two ranchers on ATVs. They asked if I'd seen any cows. I replied, no. Seeing the camera around my neck, they asked what I was photographing. I said, birds. It was then that they told me of the white doe they had seen the day before.

To my great surprise, she appeared on the hillside the following morning accompanied by suitors. She wasn't pure albino, but piebald. Her white hair was in stark contrast to that of her companions.

Our time spent at Amistad was filled with unexpected sights and sounds. This ended abruptly when we were informed by a ranger that the Park was closing and we would need to leave by morning. Our thoughts then turned to camping in Ft. Davis, TX. After that, we would move on to New Mexico, but phone calls from home and media coverage of the rapidly moving virus altered our plans. There appeared to be no way of outrunning this fast moving demon. So on March 27, we left Alpine Texas and headed home to Vermont.

Vermillion Flycatcher

We returned to an occupied house. As the virus worsened around New York City, we encouraged our daughter, Burke and her two sons to leave her home in Hartford, CT  and telecommute from Vermont.
Now, we needed to find a way to safely cohabitate.
Although we had taken precautions while traveling, we had crossed many state lines. The only way to reunite as a family under one roof, would be for Bucky and I to isolate for 14 days. No touching, no hugging of grandsons, social distancing to the maximum and lots of texting and Facetime. Anything passed from their side of the house to us, would be wiped down with antiseptic wipes and hands would be washed before and after. Bucky and I would continue to prepare our meals in the RV kitchen using the food, utensils, pots, pans and dishes as if still camping. We would sleep and use our first floor bedroom and bathroom, entering and exiting by way of a sliding door onto the deck. Burke and her boys would have the rest of the house. She would do our laundry which I would place on the front porch in a basket.

April 1                                                                           
Bright sun and 50 degrees. I took a much needed walk to the river and around the pond. I pushed on the raft, still frozen in pond ice, and watched as it broke free sending ripples beneath the ice. In a week or two, it will once again be free floating and within a few months, young athletic bodies will launch from its splintered wood into the pond's cold, clear water. The brook feeding the pond ran briskly by as I walked the Quinn trail to where it joins our driveway. I could hear the boys kicking a soccer ball across the front lawn. I watched as they made a game of sliding across the snow that still lined the driveway. Hollering, I asked if they wanted to walk up the dirt road while staying a safe distance from me. With Joe on his bike and Justice running beside, we headed. I know every step of this walk. I know that within a month, the woods will explode with Trillium, Trout Lilly, Wild Violets and spring green mosses and ferns. A rotting pile of logs, cut from a blow down that once blocked the road after a summer storm, now marks where we head into the woods to pick leeks in May. It's here that we also might stumble upon the few Fiddlehead ferns that this piece of woods holds. I tell the boys to keep going to the "fallen down house" while I head onto the Hana Trail. From here I can look down at the river. Snow still lies in patches on the riverbank and ice clings to the rocks except where the swift current has swept it away. I can see the boys have stopped and are now throwing rocks from the road, trying to reach the water with them. Joe yells that he's hit the water, but from where I stand it seems doubtful. It makes me glad that these city boys are spending time in the country. Maybe the virus which closed all schools for the remainder of the school year is responsible for different education. We reach the "fallen down house" which now exists as a field stone cellar hole, trees taking root within. Neither boy is old enough to remember the house having rough clapboard walls. Each winter heavy snow caused the dilapidated walls, no longer sheltered or supported by a roof, to fall further into the house interior. It was over thirty years ago that we built our house on this roadside and named this abandoned home, the "fallen down house". I know that the generation before us knew it as the old Kate Gove place.
Across the road from the cellar hole, Joseph has discovered barbed wire marked with orange fluorescent tape. It's embedded in the hemlock trees against which it was strung to keep livestock from heading down the steep bank and into the river. The Gove family undoubtedly had at least a cow and maybe sheep, pigs or goats as did most Ripton families living on small farms.
I know the orange tape was applied after a neighbor's dog received a nasty wound running past the protruding wire.
Justice's hands are cold and Joseph is anxious to show me how fast he can pedal on the hill leading home. I watch him speed by, legs pumping furiously and smiling broadly. Justice runs beside him slowly falling behind as the bicycle gains speed. I trail further behind feeling the unusually cool spring breeze blow my breath away from my grandsons. How far do these deadly virus germs travel anyway?

3pm watching season 3 of Ozark on Netflix on computer propped on the bed.
Discussion via text with Burke about ordering food on line for delivery or pickup. She hasn't been in a store since March 20 and I haven't entered a public space since March 13 when I had my hair cut. It's decided that our son Levi, who is still commuting to work from Ripton into Middlebury will bring our phone ordered groceries up to us. He volunteers to be our go to person if essentials are required. No need for us all to take chances. He will place the groceries in our open garage. There, on a table set up for this purpose, one side sterile and one side not, the groceries will be unloaded by Burke. Exterior packaging will be sprayed with disinfectant, wiped down, interior packaging dumped out onto the sterile half of the table. Fruits and veggies will be washed with soapy water. Burke will handle everything, having been professionally trained by a You Tube video! The groceries going to us will be placed on the deck outside our bedroom and we'll retrieve, disinfect again and place them in the mini fridge in our room or on the shelf that used to hold my T-shirts.

Our bedroom kitchenette.

April 1st is traditionally a day of surprises and it didn't disappoint. In late afternoon, Mountain Time, I once again became a Great Aunt. Other than the matronly sound of this, I was thrilled to learn via text message that my nephew and wife welcomed into the world a healthy, beautiful baby girl, Zadie Rose. Difficult times can deliver unexpected beauty. Lives will be lost as this ruthless virus moves among us, but new lives will arrive. Bucky reports that over 3,000 have died in NY, NJ and CT. I can hear the TV on in the livingroom and I'm happy Burke and her boys are comfortably wrapped in blankets on my couch.

April 2
"is it snowing?" I asked Bucky as I rolled to my back in the early morning light.
"Maybe it's just fog", he replied. "No.....it's snow",
Bucky heated the water for coffee on our camp stove as I settled my pillows against the headboard for morning coffee. The smell of a new day beginning drifted my way as he depressed the plunger on the French press. Morning coffee is a ritual with us.
All day the wind blew snow in waves and circles across the front lawn. We slept, Bucky read, I typed.

At 5:00 we put our parkas on and headed onto the deck to walk around to the RV. We both waved to Burke through the kitchen window, seated at the desktop computer. The boys looked up from their game on the floor giving us big smiles and waves. I saw flames flickering from our pellet stove which we call "the rabbit"and I knew they were warm beside it. Once in the RV we turned up the heat and settled into our usual cocktail seats, me on the couch, feet up and Bucky at the dinette. For some reason he likes that seat! I lit the oven and sipped my wine, waiting while our pizza cooked. From the couch window overlooking the pond, I watched a pair of Mallards navigate the limited open water. The drake stayed glued to the hen's side. Bluebirds and Mallards..... falling snow can't slow the arrival of spring. I texted Burke from the RV letting her know of the ducks. She took the boys to the room above the garage where they looked through binoculars. I asked Joseph, our bird lover, to identify them and for extra credit, what are male and female ducks called?
Home schooling!

April 3
7:30 am, 37 degrees, snow covered lawn  10 am 40 degrees and roof sliding slush, mini fridge not working properly. Back to using snow for refrigeration.

    

                                         

12 noon, dreary but enjoyable to be outside walking with the boys. Finding that our WiFi can't keep up with the demand of added devices.

Breakfast dishes are done in the bathroom sink and then laid to dry on a bath towel, dish detergent stands beside our toothpaste giving my stomach a bit of a turn. French press grounds stirred with water and poured into the toilet, flushed. That looks gross! The day is clearing. The living room TV plays a kid show. Bucky's in the garage working on the mini fridge. I asked Burke for a table cloth instead of place mats for our small table. Place mats don't cover enough of the wood and water droplets, now an ominous phrase, hit the varnish causing water marks. Once again I think of my mother. This was her table and she ALWAYS kept it covered. After her death, I received it. The glossy dark cherry finish was like glass, not a blemish to be found. Now, like an adolescent's face, it could use a heavy dose of Clearasil. How did I think I'd be able to live up to her disciplined table etiquette? Now a large scratch stretches across the center and several white rings jump to view from glasses errantly placed. Like an eagle I would watch my dinner guests lift their beverages to their lips and prey they would  successfully land them back on their place mat. Some guests were adept at doing this while many more were oblivious to what would occur when missing the landing pad. Years ago, I decided to enjoy our guests and a well prepared meal instead of worrying over drinks gone rogue.

This morning I asked Burke to remove a table cloth from the dining room hutch, where I have no access. She placed it outside my bedroom door. It now colorfully covers the entire table and I carried the place mats into the bathroom for temporary storage in the linen closet. Dish towels and place mats stored in the bathroom, what would Mom think of that? While in the bathroom, as if on auto pilot, I washed my hands.....20 seconds plus.
Using the house well water is a blessing. In the RV we are very conservative in our water use. Two weeks ago, in Nashville, TN we stayed overnight at a KOA Campground. There we dumped and took on water. Not wanting to touch much of anything, we didn't enter the campground bathrooms. We no longer have a shower in our motorhome. Years ago we placed a chest freezer in the shower space. This freezer allowed us to bring venison from Ripton to AK and salmon home from AK. It's worked out really well, except for this trip. By the time we reached Big Bend (open for day use) we hadn't showered since leaving Vermont and had experienced 90+ degree heat. I had done a few sponge baths, but upon touching the water of the Rio Grande, there was no stopping me. I stripped down with carefree abandon. With the park essentially closed, we had every trail, overlook, picnic and parking area to ourselves. Even if someone had walked up, I wouldn't have cared. The cool water felt just too good.
The water carried some silt, but shampoo dripped from my fingers as I dunked my head into the river. Bucky looked on smiling. A low spot in the river made the walk into Mexico easily achievable. Later that same day we watched horses cross the river from Mexico. The grass was obviously greener in the US! Immigrants.

This beautiful Pinto stood with me on US soil whinnying, encouraging others to cross over, within minutes they did. I could hear voices speaking Spanish but never could locate people. In the intense heat ,they were sheltered in the brush.

Like me, this horse couldn't resist cooling off!

after my dip

Bucky waiting for the soap.

El Paso

It was on impulse that we left Las Cruces, NM and headed south, back to Texas.  El Paso was calling. Perhaps it was Bucky's continued yearning for BBQ.  My yearning was left behind at Jack's in Nashville.  For me, nothing matched our friend Nate's pulled pork in Talkeetna.  I was done searching for the perfect pork or brisket.  But, such was not the case with Bucky.  As we moved deeper into the world of Mexican food, I sensed his fear in leaving the land of barbecued beef,  having not yet experienced the BEST Texas had to offer.  I think he missed the "best" when he looked at the Atlas and didn't include Austin in our travels.  It was with regret that I folded up my lawn chair and said goodbye to our neighbor on his trike in Sunny Acres.  How could I know that a 55+ RV community would be so pleasant, having the nicest private showers and bathrooms I've ever experienced.

                                     Our neighbor, Bob on his trike facing the beautiful Organ Mountains.

The mountains surrounding Las Cruses surprised us.  Once again, so little is shown in the Atlas. We enjoyed our stay and thought it would be well worth a second visit.  Sunny Acres offered RV storage for $41 a month.  Now, what would that be like to fly down, spend time here or tour around, park again and fly home????? I'm not sure if it was the mountains, the clean bathrooms or the Rib Cage that impressed Bucky.  How convenient that the Rib Cage, professing to have the best ribs in Las Cruses was just a mere 3 blocks away from Sunny Acres!  Better yet, Bucky parked along the curb, ran in to order, hurried back, fixed our cocktails and we settled comfortably into our mobile living room enjoying the mountain view.  Within minutes, the Rib Cage waitress knocked on the cabin door carrying our dinner.  Moving just a few feet  placed us at the dinette where we enjoyed take-out mesquite smoked ribs, eaten in.

During the 50 mile drive from Las Cruses to El Paso, the Organ Mountains of NM melded into the Franklin Mts. shadowing El Paso, again, an unexpected surprise.  Living in Vermont, we have experienced an international border, but nothing like the Mexican border.  Without a clear understanding as to where the Rio Grande was as we headed into El Paso I commented, "Look at that hillside, it looks just like Mexico."  Brightly colored, flat roofed houses, closely gathered together on the hillside to my right.  Focused on the colorful house, my eyes overlooked the high fence that lie in front.  It wasn't until we left El Paso on the same road we had come in on, that I saw the fence and several Border Patrol parked along the river.  When I saw the river and how very narrow it was, it seemed as though an easy swim by even an unskilled swimmer could land one in the US.

Taking pictures as we spend along was difficult, but, this is Mexico through the fence.  So close, but for some so far.

We easily parked the RV outside the City Plaza which that day was hosting a bowling tournament, which explained the small groups of people that we kept passing wearing matching colored shirts.  
At first, I thought flight attendants then I saw the "welcome bowlers" sign.

 The hills close to El Paso

                                       Always looking for interesting architechture.

The brochure we obtained at the Texas welcome center showed El Paso street as the location for shopping downtown.  We decided to take Fisher with us, giving her some exercise.  Upon returning to the RV, she showed her disapproval with our decision by sideways digging on our bed.  This is something she only does when trying to alleviate discomfort.  She does this by sliding on her side while making violent jerking movements with her front paws, as if to exorcise the demons within. Once on El Paso Street, I regretted my decision of taking French instead of Spanish in high school.  Growing up so close to the Canadian border, the thought was that French would come in handy.  It never did! 
El Paso Street was a total surprise, if it were not for knowing that we hadn't crossed the Rio Grande.....we could have been in Mexico!

Fisher attracted a lot of attention.  Folks spoke to us in Spanish pointing to the dog, to which I said, "thank you", not having a clue what was said.  Every child wanted to pet her and one toddler ran from her mother saying, "woof, woof" with a Spanish accent.

                                                                        Why the masks?

                                 Mannequins the likes of which I had never seen, butts facing the sidewalk!

Several times I said to Bucky, "I feel like I'm in Mexico."  If I had looked more closely at the map, I would have seen that the families, each pushing at least one stroller laden with one or two children plus purchases, had just walked a few blocks into the US after crossing the Sante Fe Bridge from Juarez, Mexico.

Leaving El Paso and Texas, I was surprised by Bucky's choice for dinner.  The sign said Hawaiian Barbeque. Now, that ought to be different!



And, so it begins....AK 2019

Our annual drive to our cabin in Talkeetna, AK began mid-day Sunday June 16, 2019. Two days later outside of Cleveland, we watched the odometer of our motor home, affectionately named "the Hawk", roll over to indicate 100,000 miles.

Cleveland often lives in fog off Lake Erie

Our nights are usually spent at a Walmart parking lot. This style of travel isn't for everyone, but it works for us. I use a Walmart directory giving location and phone number. There are many Walmarts that deny overnight parking so it's become necessary to call in advance and not to assume it's allowed. Upon arrival, we find space to put our longish rig and head in to buy a few necessities. Knowing how box stores are placed, I scope the area on the trip in to see the best options for coffee in the morning. It's often McDonald's, but no complaints from me with Green Mountain Coffee to start my day. When safely parked, we press the magic button that puts out our slide which significantly enlarges our living area. At this point, we transform from a rolling metal box to a fully self contained tiny house. Next, I move to the couch, feet up on the footstool and wait for a refreshing drink to be placed in my hand by Bucky who works the bar.  This is followed by dinner prepared by whom ever is not walking the dog. And finally, we pull down our black out shades and call it a day......drive, sleep and repeat for 10 days. At the Indiana Walmart shown above, we watched from our large dinette window as Amish families arrived in vans with non-Amish drivers. While the drivers waited, families shopped and returned with loaded carts. In a process that appeared to have been preformed time and time again, goods were removed from shopping carts and placed in marked tubs. Each family appeared to have a designated area within the attached utility trailer where their tubs were then placed. When all passengers had returned to the vans, seats were taken and the drivers pulled away. We watched as 5 or 6 vans and trailers were loaded. I tried to find a connection or maybe a disconnect between the Amish lifestyle, as I know it, and the products from China within Walmart and the overall Walmart shopping experience. It struck me as not organic!

14 year old Fisher on her 9th Alaskan round trip

This year marked our our 11th journey to and from Alaska. Once on the road, we are focused on putting miles beneath our tires. Fortunately, Bucky and I are in agreement about this. It's not that we don't notice and enjoy the scenery around us, we do, but our goal is to get to Alaska and do our sightseeing there. Yet, on this trip, we took time to visit a couple who introduced us to Alaska in 2008, Amber and Dave. They no longer live in Alaska, but have made a green oasis of a town, Petersburg, ND their home, located just off Route 2 (known as the Hi-Line), In this tidy town of well kept houses with unlocked doors and manicured green lawns, they have found a caring community of hard working neighbors. Dave still travels to Dutch Harbor, Alaska located on the Aleutian chain to work on airplanes, but with 3 weeks on and 5 weeks off he has plenty of time to fish for Walleye on Devil's Lake or one of the smaller lakes near home. North Dakota is a harsh land, but abundant in resources.

Since we hadn't seen these folks since 2011, we had some significant catching up to do. Dave was invaluable during our first Alaskan visit in 2008. That year we experienced the sinking feeling of having completed a goal and not planning beyond that. In this case, the 5,000 mile drive had been our goal each day of travel and upon arrival, we had no next step planned. The Anchorage Walmart is one that doesn't allow overnight parking so even our go to camping wasn't possible. We were unsure whether to head north or south, but we knew staying in Anchorage wasn't for us. It didn't take long for us to retrieve the folded piece of white paper given to us before leaving VT by our daughter, Carlisle, with Dave and Amber's phone number on it. She had said, "these are really nice people who will help you if you need it". That time had arrived. We were discouraged when our call to them was not returned for a day or two. We had yet to realize that many Alaskans work far from home and can be away for weeks at a time. Finally, we received a voicemail and Dave's cheery voice encouraged us to leave Anchorage, for this we needed no convincing, and we soon arrived at their home in Palmer, AK about 45 minutes north. This was to become our home away from home that first summer in AK. We parked on vacant land next to Dave and Amber's home with our picture window looking up at the jagged snow capped summits of Twin Peaks. and never tired of staring up at two jagged snow capped Using binoculars we could watch Dall Sheep negotiate the rugged rock terrain. Each morning, Dave and Amber would leave for work and Bucky and I would head out in the RV for destinations suggested by Dave We located the restaurant near Fairbanks that served grapefruit pie, we fished for Sockeye on the Kenai River, we loaded the RV on a ferry from Valdez to Whittier watching sea lions and ice burgs float by. We saw glaciers from above while flying in a float plane from Lake Hood, the largest seaplane base in the world. From a boat on the Gulkana River, Bucky caught his first King Salmon that tasted so delicious cooked on the grill that evening. The fish wasn't all that was hooked!! We knew that this was just the beginning. Each time we returned from an excursion, Dave and Amber listened excitedly to the tales we told. We celebrated our summer successes and upcoming departure that summer feasting with our friends on the largest King Crab legs I have ever seen! The huge state of Alaska had been made a little smaller through the knowledge we had gained.
During our time in Petersburg we reminisced and talked of the changes in our lives. Dave lost a son while Amber gained several grandchildren. Both expressed love for their new living situation, but I overheard Dave tell Bucky that he missed AK, when Amber and I were gabbing about grandchildren. Alaska penetrates one's soul with its beauty but can drive one away with its untamed nature.
Our stop in Petersburg provided the "pause that refreshes" and the fresh walleye, generously given by Dave, tasted fantastic that night while overlooking the Walmart smile!
My mantra as we cross state line after state line is, "when we finally get to Montana"..... Montana with her wide open views, grazing cattle, curious antelope, grain elevators, freight trains and quiet strength marks a half way point in our trip, but more importantly, Montana exudes an essence of hard earned freedom that appeals to us. In Chinook, MT we once again brought the Hawk to a stop and spent an overnight with former Vermonters, Tim and Judy. With typical western hospitality, where family is paramount, we met all the grandchildren including the newest grandchild. This brand new baby boy is already adored by his three, young, girl cousins and every adult present. A heart warming gathering of loving parents and children, with several dogs brushing our legs under a table laden with pot roast, cold drinks, followed by sweet cake, makes MT hard to beat.

threatening MT sky

Malta, MT

Saco, MT

Saco, MT

canola field Malta, MT

Chinook, MT

to be continued

Winter's End

It's been a wonderful winter, lots of snow, freezing cold and hot blazing fires, but now I'm ready for  warm winds to lift my laundry hanging on the line. I want to dangle my feet off the dock and into the cool pond water. I want to hear the sound of outboard motors. I want to taste the sour lime of a vodka tonic while sitting on my deck rather than feel the burn of whiskey sipped by the fire. Today I watched the thermometer rise and fall. It reminded me of my children when they first climbed the barn ladder. Rung by rung, cautiously moving upward only to reach a point where fear caused retreat and slowly back down, rung by rung. As I poured my morning coffee, the thermometer read 8 degrees, by nine it had climbed to 15, now at mid day it stays firmly planted nearly where it started at 10 degrees. My husband and I were born and raised in Vermont. His parents were both native Vermonters. Only those born in Vermont understand the presumed importance of a Vermont birth. My brother was born in Boston and moved to VT with my parents when he was three months old. We never miss the chance to remind him that he's NOT and never will be a native Vermonter.  

My parents, each being only children, left their parents in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin to raise their family in Burlington, Vermont. To them, I'm forever grateful.  My mother loved winter. Her internal temperature was peculiarly hot. As a child, I knew it was VERY cold outside when she would trade her thin gloves for a pair of leather mittens. Both my parents embraced winter. We skied, we skated, we built amazing snow structures and there always seemed to be plenty of snow.

That's me in red and my brother behind in the checked coat.

Dad would spend nights flooding the yard near our garage so we could spend as much time outside as possible skating with our friends. Although our family traveled often, I never remember us taking a warm weather school vacation. I do, however, remember going further north to Montreal or Quebec City so we could experience real winter!

My mother, brother and me in Stowe to watch the Nationals, around 1953 or 54.

No fancy ski wear and climbing by foot to access the trails.

Some of the snow sculptures created by the fraternities at the University of Vermont during Kake Walk (a winter festival no longer held) were ornate. There was competition between the fraternities and sororities. Lines of cars would drive through Burlington to see what had been created, often during the coldest nights.

As of February 16th, 2019,Vermont was experiencing the 6th snowiest winter on record. 81 inches of snow has fallen on the city of my birth, South Burlington, Vermont, which is 2 feet above normal. My mother would have loved every frozen inch of it! Here in Ripton, the fun began over Thanksgiving week. What was first seen as "just a taste of winter" was built upon and the snow never left. Snowmen built that week, lost their heads and their middles during the dieting rain of January, but their bases remained and are now buried under new snow.  All Vermonters know of the "January thaw". In recent years, it seems to occur more often than just in January.

This month, after some rain and snow melt, the farm fields bordering Otter Creek flooded. This was followed by bitter cold temperatures turning the frozen fields and surrounding swamp into a skater's paradise. One could skate for miles. 

Our family and two onlookers

Hot dogs, marshmallows and hot chocolate!

Now, it's March and the snowbanks surrounding the house have lost some height. I'm able to see the dock that extends out over our pond, piercing through a blanket of snow. There are even some patches of dry brown grass between the house and barn. Mounded dirt tunnels indicate a  subterranean highway being used this winter by moles. The dog will have fun investigating these. The nights remain cold, between 10 and 20 degrees, while the daytime temps are now in the thirties. It's sugaring season. 

Sugaring is a family activity. Youngsters marvel at the way slightly sweet sap flows from the tree into the bucket. It's hard for them not to have a taste! I personally have never liked the taste enough to drink large amounts as some folks will. I prefer it as syrup.

These trees are in Lincoln, VT

Grandchildren make great helpers!

We no longer hang pails on our maples, but many in our town partake in backyard sugaring. It's a lot of hard work! In a few days it will be Open Sugar House weekend in VT. Most sugar houses invite the public inside to see the art of boiling maple sap into sweet sticky syrup. There might be plain donuts to dip in syrup or sugar on snow. Large houses often serve a full pancake breakfast. Sugaring is a time honored tradition in Vermont.

                              

Years ago, sap buckets and spouts were made of wood. I have several old wooden sap buckets which I use as wastebaskets. I would assume that making wooden buckets was once an important trade. 

Smoke and steam rising from the roof of a sugarhouse tells folks nearby that boiling is occurring. Boiling sap is often an end of day activity, often extending well into the night. Once the sap is on, the process has to be completed. Wood fired evaporators require attention. Sitting, watching the pan, can be a time to swap stories and visit with family, friends and neighbors.

Today, March 20, is officially the first day of Spring. The sun is warm enough on my front porch that I've dragged a plastic lawn chair from the cellar and placed it in the sun. I plan to use it while I watch the icicles drip and feel the sun's warmth on my face. It's going to be rejuvenating! Then, perhaps this weekend, we'll head to a local sugarhouse to sample Vermont's liquid gold.