Day 302

The other day Jules asked me if we knew everyone in Vermont. 

It's a funny question because sometimes it feels like the answer is yes. Burlington, in particular, is a relatively small community and, because our lives right now are focused on places and activities that are family-friendly - farmer's markets and farms, playgrounds and the ECHO - we tend to keep running into the same people over and over. And for better or worse, I'm the kind of person who believes that, if our paths have crossed (in person or otherwise), two or more times, I should know you. So I introduce myself. (If you've been a target and felt accosted, um, I'm sorry.) In any case, we know a lot of people in Vermont--or at least this little corner of it. 

But what constantly surprises me is how many new people I keep meeting - many of them friends of friends who've been moving in circles concentric to mine for years. Which seems crazy. And then I remind myself that, for almost half a decade,  I've been living under a little rock that is a needy young family. (Don't get me wrong, this has been awesome. Most of the time.)

I'm a classic extrovert, and I need to be connecting constantly to keep happy. Hunkering down at home, no doubt, is a big part of why I have felt so ambivalent about staying in Vermont these last few years. But lately I've been able to dip back into the worlds that feed my spirit: I'm dancing again. I'm going to out to hear live music, to book readings and art exhibits. I'm lingering over long dinners with old friends: irreverent ones with creative tendencies, my favorite kind of people.

And I remember now: This town, this state, is packed with passionate people who make me feel normal. And engaged. Inspired. 

So, no, Jules: We don't know everyone in Vermont. But the more people we meet, the more I love this place. 

Day 297

Today started off great (helping cute, cooperative kids make whole-grain pancakes and art, lots of snugs) and ended badly. Those who witnessed the drama at a certain birthday party know what I'm talking about. And it didn't get better at home. 

But now the house is quiet and I'm able to piece together some perspective. It helps to think of yesterday: our annual apple-picking chili "cook-off" fest.

Backstory: My family has an awesome tradition of apple picking - I actually wrote about it for EatingWell a few years ago - which inspired me and Jon to start our own apple-picking tradition with our family, here in Vermont. Before we had kids. 

Here's how it's been going, for the last six or so years: A bunch of us hop in cars mid-morning and caravan to the islands. Our first stop is Allenholm, where we visit the yak that isn't (just this year, we discovered that it was a Scotland Highland) and hang out with the horses and donkeys while we wait for the tractor that will drive us back to the orchards. In the rows of trees, we pick for 10 minutes or so - Cortlands for us, and I pretend they're organic (they're not) - and then settle in on blankets to feast on wine, cheese, peanut butter, from a big plastic tub that Nate always brings, and, of course, apples. (We skipped the picnic this year: it was a rainy day.) Then, in a progressive dinner of sorts, we walk down the road to Hackett's for course number two: cider and cider donuts. There, we pick out pumpkins and mums and, when it's not wet, play on the on-site playground before loading back up for Burlington.

Later we gather at someone's house - this year, Chris and Ri's - for chili (several kinds, as it's sort of a "contest") and baked goods: apple crisp and apple pie, a la mode (except for Jon). I make the pastry part and everyone chips in peeling and chopping apples for the fillings. 

I cannot put into words how much this annual tradition means to me - at least not tonight (I'm fried). But the pictures below do a pretty good job of capturing it.  xoxo 

When I look at this photo, I can't help but think about how my 2009 essay in EatingWell talks about how I hope Julian will someday pick apples with a little sib. This almost makes me teary. 

Ri and Lauren sipping cider (or coffee?)

"I picked it!" (Kai was so proud of himself.)

Silly faces. (Kai was too obsessed with drinking "warm" chocolate through a straw to participate.) We missed Chris and Mikey, who were at a football game, this year.

"Really, ignorant humans: you all thought I was a yak?"

First pie of the year before it went in the oven. (Missed the shot after it came out.)

"I want that one."

The wig was a new touch for 2012. Will it stick? Only time will tell. 

Day 211

Today, my family got together for a BBQ in Bessemer. Angelo and Casey drove in from Akron, Kate came up from the 'burgh and my "Aunt" Judy, "Uncle" Davy, their son (and my "god brother") Mark and his family gathered at my parents' place to celebrate the 4th.

I texted photos of my boys to them. I followed Kate's Instagram action of the party. And was bummed. I wanted to be there.

But I also wanted to be here, with the awesome "family" and friends we've made in Vermont. Celebrating our independence on Reinhold and Pam's porch, watching the parade, eating popsicles with Mike B. Grilling ribs and dogs on Chris and Ri's deck with Jeff and Lauren, the boys mesmerized by Chris's backyard firework show. When I was a kid, it was lamb and loads of vegetables from Grandpa Patsy's garden at his place, followed by an insane fireworks display by "Little Theresa's" husband Ralph. All of my (dad's side) cousins - and most of my dad's cousins - were there. It saddens me to think that my boys won't have so many big family memories to look back on... 

Family friends.

But, I suspect (hope!) that Jules and Kai will have awesome memories of their childhood in Vermont - and many of these memories will  include the amazing people here in Vermont that we're lucky to call friends, old and new. The "family" dinners and parties 'round the fire pit. The hikes, the bikes and trips to the beach, the farmer's market, the waterfront. BBQs, parades, camping trips... and that's just the summer stuff.

Some days, I can't imagine ever leaving Vermont. But I also hate thinking about never being closer to our "real" families. Such is the price we pay for freedom, I guess. The freedom of so many choices. 

I had this thought earlier this afternoon. And then I had another thought: All of the men and women who are (and who have been) responsible for ensuring the freedoms that we as Americans enjoy often live (or have lived) far, far away from their families -- and without the option of hopping on a plane for a random visit or picking up and moving to be closer to their parents, their siblings, the people who matter to them most.

And to all of these people, I am grateful. 

Happy Independence Day!

Day 145

Every once in awhile Jon and I start talking about how maybe we should move out of Vermont - it's far from our families... the winters are brutal (though not this year!)... the salaries and cost of living seem a little out of sync... 

Then, we have a day like this: 

... And we start counting all of the reasons (beyond Shelburne Farms) that we love this place: bright blue skies, expanses of green, trickling brooks, amazing friends, the Spielpalast Cabaret (and all of talented artists in town), forward-thinking business people, dog-friendly businesses, Church Street, the farmer's market, the Intervale, the Art Hop, the Lake, the mountains... So many things we've yet to discover, people we've yet to meet.

It's really hard to imagine ever leaving.

Day 66

I am not one to wax poetic on the virtues of Vermont, particularly in February. In fact, two weeks ago, I literally told Jon, "I will have lived here for 10 years come June, and if I'm lucky to live a long 80 or 90 years that's way too much of my life spent in Vermont." Harsh but I meant it.

I still miss New York. It's loud and in your face, like me. In the city, you're constantly meeting quirky people who, like me, don't feel 100 percent (or let's face it 17 percent) comfortable on skis or mountain bikes. And here's what I really miss: Walking to work really early in the morning (that's about 8 a.m. if you're in publishing) and passing by the deli guys who are rolling up gates, hosing off sidewalks and putting out fresh flowers while the scents of coffee and egg sandwiches waft out from inside. Lately, I've even been fantasizing about Pittsburgh. It's close to my fam. People don't all look alike. It's a city. I like cities.

But, today, well, today was a great Vermont day. I think it helps that I really like my new job. (Oh and the fact that it's been almost 40 degrees). And on my way to work, I was sort of sad that while our office move to Shelburne in two weeks will save me 5 minutes of my 40-minute commute it will also eliminate the best part of my drive (aside from the part where Jules, and now Kai, say "Hi, Mr. Buddha!" with such great enthusiasm): that turn in Charlotte.  If you drive south on 7 you know the one, the one where--BOOM!--suddenly it's all lake and mountains and gorgeousness. And if you look to the right you'll see a golden hay bale–studded field where, if it's the right season, you might see wild turkeys roaming. And then there's more lake, more trees, more mountains. I dig cities, remember? But this vista gets me every time.

And then there are the "new" friends (whom I saw tonight) who aren't new any more: I've attended their bridal and baby showers, danced with them on stages, and with them shared much wine and many vegan desserts. We've swapped clothes and baby gear, crazy stories of adventures past and our pithy (or apathetic) impressions of books. Yes, a decade spent in Vermont means 10 years of not living somewhere else. But it also means a lot of awesomeness. And for that, I am grateful.

Day 30

Today, I started a new gig. I have a new office in a new part of the building. The building that suffers a chronic and widespread rodent problem. I'm not kidding when I say that "baiting mice" was an unofficial bullet point on our former CFO's job description. And, yes, I do mean Chief Financial Officer. This executive took his mice-clearing task as seriously as any other. But Dick has moved on and, alas, the mice have returned. With a vengeance. Luckily we're relocating in a few months. For that, I am grateful. 

But today... today, I saw this big guy crawling around on my colleague's desk:

Real or fake?

Okay, well not that exact guy--that's my kid's plastic roach, spotted on the living room floor tonight. But it was a bug that big. An insect that looked a little more prehistoric, more like this: 

That, my friends, is a stink bug, which we discovered after my friend smashed it, as I stood by for support. (My apologies, oh compassionate ones.) These bugs really do emit a potent stench. I was sort of shocked. I did not know that stink bugs, those highly invasive insects that certainly are a big problem in my home state of Pennsylvania, had migrated to Vermont. 

I started to doubt our ID: the smashed bag was actually longer and leaner than the lil' stinkers you tend to see in pictures. (Oh why didn't I grab my iPhone for proper classification?) But one couldn't deny that malodor and later this evening,  I found this Burlington Free Press bit about a stink bug sighting in Vermont. Should we be reporting today's run-in to Vermont's entomology authorities? (I'm kidding but not really ... your thoughts?) 

And I can't help but worry (a mad skill of mine): Did I carry in this critter? My parents and sister were in for the holidays, from Pennsylvania. Was Mr. Stinky a stowaway, passing between us, from sweater to sweater? I'm itchy just thinking about it. 

Day 29

It was 9 degrees today. Did I mention that I'm not so much a fan of the cold? But in the spirit of being a good sport--a grateful, positive person, if you will--I decided to embrace this day.

To take advantage of the good fortune of my working from home on this frigid January Tuesday, I decided I'd "rock" what I'd like to call a cozy Burlington ballet outfit. I layered a comfy wool sweater over a soft turtleneck. I pulled on the new warm "boot socks" my mom bought me for Christmas and stretchy skinny jeans which aren't of the Pajama Jean label but are pretty much the same thing. Then I pulled on the leg warmers I knit myself a few years ago, one of which is longer than the other. Much better than the yoga pants and running shirt I'd been wearing since the night before, I decided. (Never mind that it was noon and I hadn't showered. Still haven't actually.)

Pleased that I'd chosen to "put myself together" for the sake of a mood boost, I put in a pair of cool earrings that I bought this summer at Sweet Lady Jane. If not quite stylish, this little ensemble that I'd assembled was definitely reflective of my style. (Think: I'm-leaving-dance class-but-too-lazy-to-get-fully-dressed.) Then I took this photo, angled to make my thigh look much smaller than it really is.

Why yes, I did knit that there leg warmer!

Mood boosted. After logging a few hours of writing (a story that I should be wrapping right about now), I left to pick up the boys. Having spent nearly two weeks hanging with them for full days, it felt a weird to have a whole day without them.

BUT.... My fingers remained frozen for the entire 15-minute drive. I could see my breath with every exhale. When I entered Kai's classroom, I noticed that the tips of my fingers were yellow. Yellow. I bundled Kai in clothes that made him wider than he was tall and we headed to Julian's classroom where I fought with him to put on his coat, hat and gloves. During this time, Kai ditched his hat. I let him enjoy the freedom of a bare head while I fought with his stupid (new) zip-up fatso toddler mittens that wouldn't zip. Finally, I conceded that they were too small and let him go outside with tiny bare hands, hoping that they, too, would not turn yellow or worse. I will spare you the interim details and skip to the part where Jules strips down on the ride home, causing me to have to repeat this entire process in our driveway. I hate winter. Today, I hate Vermont.

But, yes, I am grateful that once in a while it is warmer than 9 degrees in Vermont. And, for today, that's enough.