Letter from Vermont

A Russian New Year’s party does not require vodka, at least if you are partying with Russian Baptists.  What it does require is a large spread of specialty dishes, mostly “salads” with exotic names like “shuba” and “olivet.”  It also requires a full screening of the highest-grossing Soviet film of all time, “The Irony of Fate”  (in Russian: Ironiya Sudby).  This movie, with even minimal coaching on the plot from any Russian speaking person, actually is both hilarious and poignant.  It is traditionally broadcast on television every New Year’s Eve in Russia and the former Soviet Republics.  A roomful of Russians watching this movie late on New Year’s Eve is a sure recipe for laugh-out-loud entertainment, either by watching the film itself or watching your Russian friends pointing at the screen, laughing uncontrollably, warning you not to miss their favorite lines (of which there are many), and otherwise directing the viewing in classic Soviet fashion.  I highly recommend wangling yourself an invitation to such a party next New Years.

This was a great good-bye to our December and kick-off to our January (it’s a pretty long movie).  January asserted itself with snow every time you looked out the window, accompanied by a truly frigid pair of nights that saw the mercury dip below -20F.  Even the Siberian I’m married to admits that is too cold for swimming.  Whole weeks have now gone by without seeing temperatures above freezing.

But that’s why we “loVermont” in winter, right?  Perfect conditions for cross-country skiing.  We had a great AMC ski group at the inn this past weekend.  The leader assembles two groups every year, one for his birthday weekend, and one later in February.  They usually ski Blueberry Hill the first day and Mountain Top the second day.  Their Saturday dinner at our inn involved a memorable dessert.  What makes it unforgettable?  Some other time, perhaps.

Twice in November, Veterans Day played a part in our lives.  The Churchill House participated in a nationwide program called “BnBs for Vets” through which we joined several hundred other inns and bed and breakfasts across the country (and eventually, beyond) to give away bed and breakfast stays to veterans of the armed forces in thanks for their service to our country.  We do count ourselves blessed to live in the United States and to have experienced the protection of our servicemen and servicewomen.  Our first feature in the local newspaper was a front-page story detailing our participation – we were the first inn in Vermont to sign up (and for a long time, we were the only inn in Vermont).  We offered up the entire inn, all rooms, and eventually hosted six couples/families for the occasion, from as nearby as Vermont and as far away as Texas.

The second appearance in the paper was of our daughter Renata, all bundled up as she attended her first Veterans Day observance at the monument at the center of the village.  Klara and Agatha, for their part, were each given a spent shell from members of the firing squad of the American Legion.

December has been snowy and rather cold.  A very Norman Rockwell look for Christmas.  Our first inn to inn skiers arrived and successfully made their way to Blueberry Hill from Churchill House through the Green Mountain National Forest.  Right now we’re at home enjoying a little bit of Siberia in Vermont – a real Russian New Year Party.  :)  What makes a New Year party particularly Russian?  Some other time, perhaps.

What happens after foliage season is unceremoniously called “stick season.”  The leaves have dropped, and the moment the last crimson maple leaf touches the ground, the last crimson taillights of our out-of-state guests may be seen leaving the Green Mountain State.  Vermont is very quiet, and we are alone with ourselves now.  We have come around to the aphorism that Vermont is pretty eleven months of the year; November is the odd man out.

Even the archaism that Vermonters love to talk about, “mud season” in the last part of winter and first part of spring, is actually quite beautiful with the new green of the grass that is the color that Life would choose to be if it had to become a single color.  Wildflowers abound, traces of snow linger stubbornly on north-facing exposures, and the earth awakens again to life at the call of spring.  Is there mud in mud season?  Of course there is, but “mud season” itself is less and less significant now that most roads are paved.  You can still get stuck on back roads, to be sure, but it is not the treacherous hassle it was in days of yore.

What is stick season like, then?  Stick season is gray.  If Ireland has forty shades of green, then Vermont in November has forty shades of gray.  Bleak skies, north winds, and plenty of precipitation of various sorts as winter gathers the strength to show warm Indian summer days who is really boss.  The leaves have dropped from the trees and turned brown on the forest floor, and no snowy white carpet has yet been laid to cover them.

November does have its highlights.  One of them for this year found us in the local newspaper two weeks in a row, courtesy of our ubiquitous news editor.  What could have been so momentous?  Some other time, perhaps.

Every September, one of the highlights for our family is spending a couple of days at the Vermont State Fair in Rutland.  There are two very distinct sides to the fair, and a little brooklet runs through the middle of the fairgrounds, separating the two.  The fairway side has the amusement rides, the food concessions, the grandstand for the ticketed entertainers, the games of chance, and generally a little bit more rough-and-tumble atmosphere.  Cross the brook, though, and you feel like you’ve found a completely separate event, with the agricultural contests including a thousand pound pumpkin this year, the fiddling, the maple sugar shack with all its delights, the Grange exhibits, the barns to walk through and meet dairy cows, draft horses, a mother pig and her piglets, and hutch after hutch of rabbits.  You can probably tell which side of the river tends to hold our attention as a family with young children.

The Fair runs for several days at the beginning of September, often when the weather is still pretty mild.  About mid-month, though, things turn quickly to autumn.  The early-turning swamp maples begin to exchange their shades of green for brighter hues of orange, gold, and scarlet.  Foliage starts in earnest the last week of September and classically holds through the first half of October in our part of Vermont.

These are the days of frost on the pumpkin outside the door, of woodfires burning in the hearths, and of the innkeepers’ bellweather, the capacity crowd in the dining room each morning (and many evenings!).  This season, as in past seasons, we have been hosting guided group biking tours operated by Bike Vermont as well as guided group hiking tours operated by REI Adventures and Country Inns Along the Trail.  At this point, foliage has a little under two more weeks to run.  What happens then?  Some other time, perhaps.

Our new house really felt like a new home to us on July 27 of this year.  Olya called me at the inn to say “I think it might be today,” so I scooted home fast as I could.  Sure enough, our third daughter was born about an hour later after another of Olya’s patented no-dawdle labors.  We named her Renata Zion Hopkins, and at 8 lbs 1 oz, she was born the smallest of our three.  Klara and Agatha are doing a great job as big sisters.

Agatha has also been helping my father-in-law Vladimir, who has been restoring our front porch to its former glory.  It is so funny to watch her out there with hammer and nail at age 2 while her sister Klara (age 4) wants nothing to do with that and would rather be inside playing her violin or drawing or singing.  The daughters have such distinct personalities already.  Here is a small (winter) shot of our house which shows what Vladimir and Agatha are up against in terms of carpentry.

We’re not the only folks in Brandon putting effort toward a September spruce-up, though.  The Chamber of Commerce has a new and stylish version of its website www.brandon.org.  Vladimir has been a regular customer at Brandon Lumber this summer, and they hosted an open house earlier this month to show off their substantially remodeled showroom and store.  The town has installed a length of new, concrete sidewalk on Park Street.  And our friend Judy at The Inn on Park Street hosted her annual brother-in-law working vacation, when her sister and her husband come up from Florida and do reconstructive and cosmetic procedures on her B&B.

The best part of September in Vermont for our family, though?  Some other time, perhaps.

Our village of Brandon, Vermont, is home to the largest Independence Day Parade in the State of Vermont.  Besides the marching bands, the bagpipers, the antique cars and fire engines, in even-numbered years (Vermont and New Hampshire retaining that old-fashioned two-year term for governor) the parade also attracts politicians of all types, out and about among the voters.  This July the six chief candidates for governor participated – five energetic Democrats and one comparatively relaxed unopposed Republican.

The parade steps off down Park Street, which has been called “the prettiest street in Vermont” for a number of years now by those who know such things.  Brandon itself was formerly called “the drawing room of New England,” but with fewer and fewer people understanding whether that was in fact a compliment, is now alternately “unhurried, unspoiled, and unforgettable” or “the Art and Soul of Vermont” (a moniker bestowed by Governor Douglas himself, we understand).

While our inn is located outside the village at the Green Mountain National Forest, there are many houses in the village that are quite beautiful, and for some time we had admired one house in particular on Park Street.  Early last spring, we had the opportunity to buy that house for our family.  We had become rather crowded at the inn — what had been comfortable quarters for my wife, myself, and our beloved orange cat when we first came to Vermont soon enough became a bit tight, with two young daughters as well as Olya’s parents, who come for a six-month visit during the summer and fall.

Our new home is a fixer-upper to be sure, but we do love it and are grateful to God for it.  It sits squarely on the parade route, and the parade (including the politicians) passed by as we sat on the front porch and watched with friends and neighbors.  Then, after the parade ended more than an hour later, we watched again as the candidates walked by in the opposite direction to meet their cars and head off to their next event.

Our happiest moment in our still new-to-us house?  Some other time, perhaps.

Chalk it up to living on “Green Mountain Time.”  Two years have passed since our last post.  Whoops.  This is the occasion when my mother would say, “Life interrupted.”  For us, it has interrupted in several big, exciting, transformative ways since our last letter from Vermont.

But in that last post, I did allude to my favorite Frank Bunting story, which still puts a little smile on my face.  It seems Frank was a bit of an amateur actor in addition to his many other interests – a true Renaissance man.  One evening, Frank and our mutual friend Allon were dressed in full theatrical garb as medieval knights, driving along our beloved US Route 7 to the theater in Middlebury to take part in a show.  Well, US 7 is a fine Vermont road kept by “VTrans” in very good shape, and it is easy to let the car get away from you in certain places.  They were pulled over for going a bit too fast.  The officer approached the driver’s window, took one look inside at these two Knights of the Green Mountains, and became so overcome with laughter that he just waved them along without a word as he returned to his cruiser.  I can just imagine the innocent look on Frank’s face peeking out from under the visor of his suit of armor.

So what made me think to come back and compose a new letter from Vermont?  Well, yesterday was primary election day in Vermont, and the Democratic field in the governor’s contest was a crowded one, with five A-list contenders vying to succeed Middlebury’s own (Republican) Governor James Douglas as he retires after four terms.  The Democratic primary (the current Republican lieutenant governor was running without opposition for the Republican nomination) was a very close election, with the top two finishers within 200 votes of one another and the third place finisher within 700 of the winner.

And I was reminded of that sunny summer day when all five of them walked past my house.  Twice.  How did that happen?  Some other time (not such a long time this time) perhaps.

That dashing doughboy in the photo with Olya I last posted was our esteemed state representative Joe Acinapura.  Joe has been a wonderful individual to us in so many ways, encouraging Olya as she worked toward citizenship, fostering a supportive relationship with us and the inn, and generally being there for anyone who needs him.  He is a valued resource to so many of us in Brandon, and not above entertaining little Klara with hand puppets to make her smile.  So his “hello, welcome, new citizen” was especially meaningful for Olya and for me.

The “goodbye” was a little tougher on all of us.  Last week, Dick Kirby came by to tell us that “Bows ‘N’ Ivories” had lost a violinist.  Since Dick was standing right in front of me and I had eaten breakfast with Olya, I knew it must be Frank.  Frank Bunting died at his home on a Saturday morning.  I found out later he and I were Masonic brothers.  We Masons are fond of a certain aspiration from antiquity, to “live respected and die regretted.”  These words could have been written for Frank.  He was a beloved small-town attorney, and his sudden death was a shock and a loss to many.  His funeral at the church in Brandon where he and his wife were married more than 50 years ago was crowded with friends, colleagues, family, and acquaintances, all of us for a short while united as mourners.

 My fondest memory of Frank?  Some other time, perhaps.

 

The recipe for the Churchill House pancakes?  Very simple (this serves 2 or 3 people):

1 cup cottage cheese; 4 organic eggs; 4 tablespoons butter; 1/2 cup flour.

Melt butter in glass bowl in microwave.  Stir in cottage cheese.  Break eggs into mixture and incorporate.  Add flour and mix; batter will be lumpy.  Cook on lightly greased 350F griddle until bubbles break on top; turn and cook until golden both sides.  Pancakes will be tangy and creamy inside and slightly crispy outside.  Serve at once with warm Vermont maple syrup.

This season, we have been given quite the feather in our cap:  the well-known touring company Bike Vermont has selected us to host nine of their weekend bike tours this summer and fall.  We had two wonderful trips here in June and are looking forward to a fun season with these guests.  When the inn has just one couple as guests, it is special and quiet, and so serene.  When 16 or 18 bicyclists are swapping stories around the dinner tables, it is more like a house party — what fun to be around so many folks with a shared interest.  The atmosphere is more excited than is usually the case, and it’s a neat change of pace for us.

Here is a photo I took of Olya at her naturalization ceremony in May. 

Who is that fine-looking soldier whispering in my wife’s ear?  Some other time, perhaps.

More time has passed since my last letter than I intended … chalk it up to getting the inn ready for the season.  We’ve had a busy April: having a chimney taken down and a new one built in its place, as well as installing the last section remaining to complete the new roof, were two of the more visible projects.  April gave us exceptionally wonderful weather this year, very mild and dry, and good for that outdoors kind of work.  May has been cool and damp thus far, but a large bed of tulips that Olya planted last fall has come up, and the flowers should open when the sun returns to us for a bit.

The gift that Olya was given at her citizenship interview was a very lovely book called “The Citizen’s Almanac.”  It is just such a thoughtful collection of anthems, poetry, symbols, speeches, and landmark documents, enhanced with some beautiful artwork, historical photos, and very straightforward and traditional editorial comments.  This gift to my wife was so compelling to me because it is so fundamental.  You hear so much about America in decline, America divided, America disintegrating; this little book which our government gives to those who have earned citizenship, is a heartfelt testimony to America triumphant, America united, and America coming together around the shared values of her people.

We had our first guests of the season on May 1st, a young couple from New Jersey starting their inn to inn bike trip.  While the weather has not been the most dazzling, the scenery is still lush and picturesque, and the pace is still relaxing and carefree as they cycle their way from one country inn to the next.  Klara, our two-year old, and I spent some enjoyable time in the car together, singing her favorite songs as we transferred our guests’ luggage to the next inn on their itinerary while they were out riding.  Olya and I joke that it will be so nice to have our children help us at the inn when they are old enough, and this was a little practice for that day, still so far in the future.  At any rate, it gives Olya a little time alone with Agatha.

The first guests of the season on May 1st means the first breakfast of the season on May 2nd.  So how did we kick off the season?  Some other time, perhaps.