Letter from Vermont

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 appointment we had to keep early last week was Olya’s US citizenship test.  We have had a blessedly smooth experience with Immigration, especially since moving to Vermont.  The office in St Albans is small and easy to find, you park at the front door, it is quiet inside, and things generally run as they ought to.  Quite refreshing in comparison to our interminable days going by crowded train to the crowded JFK building in crowded Boston back when we lived in crowded Massachusetts. 

It is very easy to take for granted the quality of life here in Vermont.  All the “normal” difficulties of life in 21st century America are just not present.  The big ones and the little ones.  There is no such thing as traffic.  It’s rare to have your restaurant meal interrupted by a cellphone ringing at a nearby table.  There is no urban crime to speak of.  There’s very little urban to speak of.  The air is clean.  It’s quiet. 

Sometimes I believe Vermonters don’t fully grasp how good we’ve got it living in this sparsely populated state.  One of our repeat guests has this great line that he likes to come to ride his bicycle around Vermont because “the whole state is like a National Park.”  Which is true.  And to Vermont’s credit, most Vermonters seem to realize that the part our state plays in the American story is a unique one, the gift of stunning geography and splendid isolation, all within an easy drive of Boston and New York.  Without constant visitors from which places, Vermont as it knows itself would quickly cease to be.

So how about that visitor from Siberia and her test?  Well, of course she passed, and I am so proud of her.  Next month right here at the grade school a mile west of us, Olya will take her oath as an American citizen.  At the end of her interview, the immigration officer congratulated Olya and presented her with a gift which brought tears to my eyes.  What moved me so?  Some other time, perhaps.