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.

What a blessing to experience the first stirrings of Spring after what has been a Winter of considerable stamina here in the Green Mountains.  We thought Springtime would be a promising moment to begin our new blog.  In choosing a title, we take a page from Alistair Cooke’s celebrated “Letter from America,” which aired on the BBC from 1946 – 2004.  In fact, the first Letter from America was broadcast this very week in that first post-war Spring. 

While Spring is indeed stirring, Winter is still with us this afternoon … stubborn snowbanks couch against the house up to the dining room windows.  The air remains fresh and cold, and the woodsmoke elegantly curls up from the chimneys against the strong blue sky.  The more cautious of the local drivers keep the snowtires on their cars because “you never know:”  Jack Frost may give us one final messy storm as a remembrance to carry us through to his return in October or – dare we dream? – November.  The robins, though, are hopping all over the lawn under the feeders and the shrubs, and the brook is running high and quick, harbingers and heralds of the Spring we know must surely supplant Winter before long.

We hope to make our letter from Vermont a bit of a postcard for those who read it.  We always enjoy receiving those little carefree notes that let us know someone was thinking of us when they were on their vacation; a card not because it was Christmas, or because someone had a birthday, but simply a note to acknowledge a relationship when it wasn’t required to do so, and to share the delight of spending time in a special place.  Vermont is a special place for us, and perhaps to you, too, and we are blessed to live and work here amidst its beauty in all its changing seasons.  Thanks for reading our letter; we hope you are enjoying Springtime where you are.