Last Fall

The great storyteller Rudyard Kipling, who lived in southern Vermont for a time, penned some lovely words about the transformation of a Vermont fall: 

"A little maple began it, flaming blood-red of a sudden where he stood against the dark green of a pine-belt. Next morning there was an answering signal from the swamp where the sumacs grow. Three days later, the hill-sides as fast as the eye could range were afire, and the roads paved, with crimson and gold. Then a wet wind blew, and ruined all the uniforms of that gorgeous army; and the oaks, who had held themselves in reserve, buckled on their dull and bronzed cuirasses and stood it out stiffly to the last blown leaf, till nothing remained but pencil-shadings of bare boughs, and one could see into the most private heart of the woods." Rudyard Kipling, Letters of Travel (1892–1920).

Whitingham, VT, birthplace of Brigham Young

This, and more, will be what I look back on about living here in the Upper Valley. Fall here is perfection. This final year in northern New England has brought us down to our lasts: our last beach trip to Maine, our last blueberry picking in Lyme, and now our last fall harvest season surrounded by high-definition warm-colored leaves shimmering across the mountainsides and trickling through the river valley.

Baker Library, Dartmouth campus

Billings Farm, Woodstock, VT

Fire Station in Grafton, VT

Killdeer Farm, Norwich, VT

view of Hartford, VT and into New Hampshire

But has this been our final Fall? Returning as a leaf peeper doesn't feel right. Not too long ago on a family drive through the back roads, Boy and I sat stunned at the charming and unpretentious scene in front of us. There were leaves that sparkled as they fluttered on the tops of trees. There were dairy cows roaming on pastures of grass that were at least seven different gradients of green. There were wise old barns that stood tall and strong despite worn doors and peeling paint. Covered bridges, meandering rivers, jaunty farm stands, and white steepled churches. We looked at each other and asked, "Why are we leaving?" It was then that we made a solemn pinky swear that we'd return in retirement or after our brood of kids leave the nest. So perhaps this won't be our last. Until the golden years are upon us, that question will linger around for now.

Colors are not around for very long. And it breaks my heart to leave this wonderful place filled with wonderful people. Farewell, Fall of my dreams. For now.

"Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay," New Hampshire, 1923. 

Best Money EVER Spent on a Movie Ticket

Movie theaters aren't plentiful around here in the Dartmouth bubble. Nor are they even close to the gargantuan multi-plex theaters that have become the modern way to watch movies on the big screen.

• In Hanover, there's one adoringly called The Nugget. What I love most about it is the old "since 1916" marquee out front and the gelato shop next door. Other than that, the theater experience is so-so. For a college theater, it's surprisingly small. Boy and I saw the final Harry Potter film over there and the second installment of Sherlock Holmes.
• Over in Lebanon, there's another one: small, cramped, and ever the slightest incline for a viewing audience. I sat in a row of tightly-spaced seats with some friends to watch The Hunger Games.

So, last month, it was time for another date night. Boy was just itching to see The Avengers and was consistently relentless in asking when we were going to see it. We drove about 25 minutes to try out the Woodstock Town Hall Theater--supposedly the best movie theater experience in the valley.

[source]

First, I adore Woodstock. It's charming in every way. The theater is inside of a gorgeous white building right off the town green. Its marquee sits at the base of the stairs with a hand-written movie title--the fact that somebody took time with a black sharpie to etch out The Avengers makes the movie experience that much more epic. Inside, there's a man at the ticket booth who collects your cash and presents you with your green ticket stub. The raffle ticket type--so cute.

What's a movie without a bowl of freshly popped popcorn? Exactly. We hit the jackpot when it comes to movie theater popcorn. They serve theirs with maple syrup drizzled all over it. Oh. My. Word. For the maple haters, don't you dare diss it. I tell ya, this popcorn experience is the whole kit and caboodle.

The seating auditorium was spacious and the big screen was positioned on a stage. No giant heads in the way, no crazy smells (just the heavenly maple syrup popcorn), no claustrophobia, no sticky floors...

We're totally coming back. 

I still miss stadium seating and the extra space to straighten out my legs, but in the meantime, timeless old-time theaters are more than okay with me.

VT Places: Hope Cemetery

For Memorial Day this year, we drove to Barre, Vermont to see its beautiful cemetery. (I took many-a-photograph, so it wasn't until now that I went through my files to delete, organize, and edit.)

Barre is known worldwide for its granite. I'm actually surprised to have learned this because New Hampshire is The Granite State after all, but what do I know? Cemeteries in New England are so ancient (in American terms) and fascinating. Some find them to be spooky, while I find them spiritually uplifting. At the Hope Cemetery, deceased loved ones are honored with beautiful headstones carved with impressive detail and skill. I'm impressed with the creativity that it took to pay tribute to their lives; the painstaking workmanship of the headstones is incredible.

While my kids were being entertained by grandparents, I walked up and down the winding streets of the cemetery, taking photographs in the hot Monday sun. The experience was sobering for me; each unique headstone seemed to tell a story of the person buried here. I reflected on my own life and wondered what kind of legacy I would make for my posterity. As I was snapping away, the hope of life after death rang true in my heart. My breath caught a new determination for improvement; I felt a peace within and a knowing feeling that I am living as best I can. What a gratifying irony it is that the dead can inspire and teach the living. The pictures I took from that day are, to me, certainly worth thousands of words.

Flavor of the Month

Before sugaring season in many parts of Vermont ended earlier because of the unnatural Spring heat, I got to see a maple syrup farm live in action for the very first time.

To see a live-working, sap-boiling sugar house is a unique amenity of living in rural New England. At only a short drive away, we can see a long-standing tradition that has made Vermont's sugar maple trees famous. While there are places I've seen that still tap trees from traditional metal buckets, the modern-day way is through a series of tubes weaving through the trees.

The beginning of March marks the start of sugar season. To put it all simply, sap is collected after a cold night and a warm day, loaded into big white tanks, and hauled to a sugar house by a tractor.

I'll let you follow along with pictures to see it travel all the way down to our favorite sugar house.

The white pipe from the tractor takes the sap to a holding tank, and then the white tube across the bottom takes it inside to be boiled. After it has been boiled (after tons, and tons, and tons of water has been evaporated), you've got delicious maple syrup for drizzling atop a stack of your favorite buttermilk pancakes. Or for marinating your favorite breakfast sausage. OR (my recent favorite) for sweetening a berry New England pandowdy.

Wonder why it's so expensive? Perhaps because it takes roughly 50 gallons of sap for every gallon of maple syrup. Just my theory.

The different grades of syrup is determined by the weather. This year, I've been told most of this year's tapping has produced lots of dark amber. Blame it on the warmer-than-usual winter that we just had.

Did I get that right, Vermont?

I have nothing against New Hampshire's maple syrup--my loyalty is with the Vermont brand. We just don't bother buying the less famous kind.

O, Tannenbaum

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, we drove down to a cut-your-own Christmas Tree Farm and got ourselves a handsome Fraser fir.

In your face, Home Depot.

I am totally sold on the idea that a farm is where little boys are meant to play. Dirt, puddles, animals, tractors...I think my son hyperventilated with joy. The little M'Geezer stretched out his little paws to feed the farm animals and--my favorite--ruffled a few chicken feathers by chasing the two-legged brood in the barn. And the puddles? Although Huckster M'Gee was wearing puddle-jumping appropriate boots, he was crossly warned not to go tromping around the water and wade with the ducks. His mother didn't happen to be carrying a change of clothes for such activities. "And, the 'Bad Parent Award' goes to..."

We rode out to the Christmas trees on a little trolley pulled by an enormous tractor. Watching heavy duty machinery in action is like dazzling glitter to the eyes of my two-almost-three-year-old. He wouldn't take his baby blues off those muddy tractor wheels.

We left the farm with hot chocolate in our cups, a close encounter with Santa, muddy shoes, and a freshly cut Christmas tree.

And of course, I saved the best for last. There's nothing like the cuddly face of an alpaca that puts a little warm spot in my heart.

Santa, I want one.

King Arthur Flour Taught Me

Dear Mom,

I've made some new friends out here. Can you believe they invited me to take a pie-making class? I don't even need to bring along my kids in order for them to like me. I'm in good hands out here.

When you come visit New England, we're going to King Arthur Flour.
You. Me. Baking Class.
The men in our lives will be astounded at the mad skills we'll learn.

Dear King Arthur Flour,

I think I've finally got it. I can craft a perfect pie crust and I can't believe it's made WITH butter. After all these years, I'm no longer afraid to make pie. Blind-baking with beans? Genius. I'm never going to lay a fork on my pie crust ever again. I'll be singing your praises until the day I die.

Your new friend,
Britt

p.s. I was at first a little skeptical of the Lemon Chess pie, but since Thanksgiving, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. And the Fall Fruits Crostata? Best when served warm with vanilla bean ice cream. Whoa.

p.p.s. I'll be back. Conquering the perfect loaf of bread is next on my list.

[Have you seen the new Google Chrome commercial featuring King Arthur Flour? They are headquartered just down the road from my home. They freakin' rock. And have you flipped through a KAF catalogue? You can request one for free and I guarantee that you'll be drooling over it. ]