Vermont 2017

After many trips to Vermont in the last few years, we've got the program down. Paul (who couldn't get away for this one) dropped me off at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee and I caught my Southwest flight to Logan. Nothing extraordinary seen from the plane, unlike the last time (Niagara Falls, lighthouse, abandoned island lunatic asylum), but the approach was picturesque enough with views of some lovely towns on the coast. I boarded the Dartmouth Coach at the usual location and was on my way up into hills!

No, I just made that up, but any place called "Black Mountain" deserves SOME sort of reputation. 45 (That number "45" is our cat Walther's contribution to this page. While I was typing, he jumped up onto my keyboard and trod on a number of keys.)

Black Mountain is across the Connecticut River in New Hampshire. Two parties, one from our Fairlee house and one from the Ninninger's converged on a spot in the river valley and then proceeded in convoy up into the hills. There was a lot of damage to the road from recent rains. We had to pull way over in places to avoid a deep channel carved by the water - the road surface had collapsed into the trench. At one point we had to wait for a bulldozer to make its way past. During the ride, Graham asked if I had any music to share. I suggested the "Stranger Things" soundtrack which I'd loaded onto my antediluvian iPod. The eerie 80s synth stylings created a suitably unsettling mood for our approach to (in stentorian tones) BLACK MOUNTAIN. (It only JUST occurred to me to put on that playlist while I write this - what a silly bunt.)

After parking (so many of our excursions involve leaving vehicles at random, unpromising-looking turnouts) and taking a group picture at the head of the trail, we filed onto the path which led, at first, down into a little valley where we crossed a stream using a fallen tree, before turning uphill.

The path was lovely - firm ground with occasional large slabs of rock protruding from the surface. We walked through patches of light and shadow under the dense canopy of leaves. There was one particularly beautiful stand of pine trees on the hillside - the grey trunks created a cathedral-like space. As we ascended, we began to catch glimpses of the valley and the open sky. After what felt like an hour or so, we arrived at the first real overlook - a rocky shelf with a magnificent view of the Connecticut River valley. After a brief stop, we resumed our hike and, a few minutes later, arrived at another much more open overlook. Here we took a proper break, sitting down on the sun-warmed stone and having some water and nibbles. Members of the party chatted in groups. I fiddled about taking pictures of the plants that grew among the rocks and the clouds drifting slowly across the valley. Looking back on the pictures from that day, it's pleasant to see Callie enjoying herself. What a great dog. What a great old life she had - the Marsh family provided her with so many wonderful experiences.

Back onto the trail and on up the mountain. As we drew nearer the summit, the trees became shorter and stubbier. Unlike Moosilauke, the summit of BLACK MOUNTAIN isn't above the treeline but near the top, the pine trees were so short that the view was almost completely unobstructed. After walking up along a ridge that was almost entirely rocky, we rested once again at a wide, open area of flat rock. It was an amazing scene - the hills marched into the blue distance, the cloud shadows undulated up and down the contours of the land. We tucked into our lunches and enjoyed the view, the day, and each other's company. As we ate, I thought back to our Moosilauke hike from a few years back - we were very poorly provisioned that day - if memory serves, there was vicious competition for the lone apple brought by Emily.

Before setting off back down the path, an intrepid subset of our group made an assault on the proper summit of BLACK MOUNTAIN a couple of hundred yards further along the trail. I demured, staying behind to document their triumph from a distance. Down, down we marched. That we were covering the same ground wasn't at all tedious as we had a different perspective on the same terrain. Facing outwards, one has many more views of the valley through the trees. At the bottom, we piled back into the cars. Our party drove to a spot on the banks of a river (one that empties into the Connecticut, presumably) and fiddled about on the banks just below a beautiful covered bridge. Callie enjoyed a brief dip in the water. Again, I reflect on what a joyful life she had. On the way back to the house we stopped at a roadside ice cream stand. I had an immense, wobbly spiral of coffee soft-serve. Fantastic.

I flatter myself that I wasn't COMPLETELY ignorant of the work of the American artist Augustus Saint-Gaudens. At gunpoint, I may have been able to remember that he had created the iconic "Diana", the striding liberty coin, and that eerie cloaked figure in Rock Creek Cemetery. Now that I've been to the Saint-Gaudens Historical Site in Cornish, New Hampshire, my ignorance has been somewhat further diminished. Mom, Carolyn, Graham, and I made our pilgrimage on the Friday of my visit. On the way, we stopped at yet another roadside ice cream stand. This time I had a swirl of maple and raspberry soft-serve. Amazing.

The historical site occupies several acres of rolling (is there any other kind in that area?) countryside not very far into New Hampshire and comprises the residence, an exhibit pavilion, the artist's studio, and gardens in which can be seen some of Saint-Gaudens larger works of sculpture. Just opposite the entrance to the visitors' center where we purchased our admission tickets is the artist's statue of Lincoln. The figure is larger than life (12 feet tall?) and is shown having just risen from a chair. The original is in Lincoln Park in Chicago - other castings reside in far-flung places including Parliament Square in London. One of my favorites from the visit was just inside the door of the visitors' center - a bizarre little decorative water fountain set into the wall - the water dribbled from the mouth of a stylized fish.

The first major work encountered in the exhibit pavilion was S-G's monument to Admiral Farragut. The bronze statue of the Civil War admiral stands above an exedra (had to look it up - curved bench alcove thingy) designed by the architect Stanford White. The statue is impressive - the admiral is shown holding a telescope. It's the base that I particularly admired - two reclining female figures against a curved wall of beautifully rendered text in relief. The pavilion itself is very beautiful - the walls were dappled by the shadows of the trees overhanging the glass roof.

In the main room of the pavilion we saw the artist's wonderful "The Puritan" with his sweeping cape, beautiful relief sculptures of Robert Louis Stevenson and Teddy Roosevelt, and cases with the artist's coin designs including the aforementioned "Liberty" and flying eagle.

Leaving the pavilion, we went through an exquisite little courtyard with a gilded relief of a winged allegoric figure (the "Amor Caritas"?) that looks out over a tiny lily pool fed by a stream of water issuing from the mouth of a gilded turtle. We made our way through the gardens, along a lovely avenue, and into a hedged enclosure where we encountered S-G's "Memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts Fifty-Fourth Regiment" which commemorates Shaw's role as the leader of the first African-American regiment in the Union Army during the Civil War. The sculpture was undergoing restoration and was partially obscured by a scaffolding, but I was able to get a couple of pictures without TOO much trouble. It's an amazing piece - a combination of low and high relief and full sculptural forms. The faces of the soldiers are beautifully rendered and, to me, recalled the sympathetic onlooker in Copley's "Watson and the Shark".

Graham and Mamma and I next came across one of the other works by Saint-Gauden's that had been familiar to me but which I'd never actually seen, his "Adams Memorial", popularly known as "Grief" - a monument to the wife of Henry Adams (of the Adams political dynasty). The statue is part of Adams' hedge-enclosed cemetery plot in Rock Creek Cemetery in Washington, D.C. and represents another collaboration with architect Stanford White. I can't imagine a more abjectly mournful image than the hooded, draped figure which leans resignedly against an imposing stone surface. Adams' wife Marian died by suicide, ingesting the potassium cyanide she used to develop photographs. Apart from the face and forearm visible under the cowl, the sculpture consists of fabric drapery rendered in bronze - a flowing substance forever frozen in cold metal.

Next on our self-guided tour was the studio. At that source of universal truths, Wikipedia, I read that the studio had burned down (as studios are wont to do) at some point, destroying the artists notes and several works-in-progress. I can't remember if this structure was a rebuilding used during the artist's life or a re-creation. It's gorgeous, in any case - a tapering, lofty space lit by a wall of windows on one side. Occupying pride of place is "Diana", bow drawn, weightlessly poised on the toes of one foot. I read the Wikipedia entry on all the versions of this statue and know less now than before I'd started. It was originally created as a weathervane for the tower of Madison Square Garden in New York City. Some other version was used at the Chicago Columbian Exposition and was destroyed in a fire after the end of that event. Another version ended up in the grand staircase of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (I'd seen that one many years ago). Wikipedia shows two versions in the studio, neither one of which appears to be the one we saw there last summer. The idea of the statue being a bone of contention between Harry Thaw and Stanford White, as described in the film "Ragtime", is entirely fictitious. It's all very confusing. The statue is exquisite. The casual, weightless attitude of the figure's body contrasts with the intensity of her gaze and the tension in the drawn bow. Also in the room are several very handsome busts and relief sculptures. For me, there's a very pleasing contrast in Saint-Gaudens' work - many of the poses are formal and elegant but have an informal, rough surface quality. Having seen many of the artist's works in museums, it was uniquely inspiring to see some of them in the context of his studio and to better be able to imagine him at work.

Our visit to the S-G historical was by no means the only feature of the day. After returning to the house, we went on a hike to Eagle Bluff (above Lake Morey) and then to dinner at the Lyme Inn.

July 4th was a very full day indeed. In addition to the dawn balloon ride and the parade in Fairlee, we went sailing on Lake Morey. John and Caroline Ninninger's boat was already in the water when we arrived at the boat launch. I can't remember if they had already been sailing for a while. Nora and I swam out to the boat which, as such swims invariably prove to be, was farther than it looked. The sailing was as delightful as it was uneventful. I wasn't asked to jump in to straighten the rudder, no-one was flung about below decks amidst smashing crockery (as Paul was the last time), we didn't come close to broadsiding any campers. Emily, by virtue of being gorgeous and relaxed, unintentionally evoked one of the better posh leisurewear catalogs. If memory serves, the breeze was brisk and the sailing lovely. On our return to the boat launch, we were met by Carolyn and Lydia in their kayaks.

I have to say that my expectations of a small, rural town's Independence Day parade and fireworks were fairly low. They were very pleasantly exceeded on both counts. The parade, which went along Route 5, the main road that parallels the Connecticut River and forms the main street of many of the area towns, featured some beautiful classic cars, antique and modern firefighting equipment, colorful performers, and inventive floats honoring the centenary of the end of the Great War. Our party (including but not limited to John, Carolyn, Mater, Lydia, and Graham) were installed near the corner of Route 5 and the Lake Morey road. Highlights of the parade included the stilt-walkers, the classic cars (I liked the Pontiac Firebird particularly), the miniature horses ("Fly, Little Sebastian; you're ten thousand candles in the wind"), and the magnificent "Vermontosauraus". This last, resembling a mashup of "The Blair Witch Project" and "Jurassic Park" is a dinosaur sculpture made of the pieces of a wooden structure (a barn, perhaps) that had been destroyed in a windstorm. Mounted on a flatbed and fitted out with a hot air balloon gas burner, it spat impressive jets of flame as it proceeded majestically down Route 5. That they actually received permission (if indeed they did) to be in the parade beggars belief. Prominent in the cockpit of the beast was none other than Brian Boland, the man to whom we'd entrusted our very lives earlier that same day in the skies over the Connecticut River. Let's just say it's good that the balloon ride came first.

As I mentched in the previous item, the fireworks vastly exceeded my expectations of a rural holiday display. Mom, Graham, Lydia, and I had decided to forgo seeing the fireworks from the Ninninger's boat and instead went up to the balcony of the master bedroom to watch the proceedings. It really was a great show. Because of the distance, the explosions were fairly low in the sky, but it was lovely to see the trails of light emerging from and disappearing behind the silhouettes of the trees. The fireworks were mostly of the spherical variety which is my favorite, anyway. There was a wonderful variety of colors and it was exciting to hear the booms of the explosions echoing in the valley over the lake.

Over the course of the week, I went on several hikes in the Lake Morey area. The first was up the Echo Mountain Trail to Eagle Bluff, a rocky ledge that overlooks Lake Morey. (It just occurred to me that I STILL haven't gone to "Shelob's Lair", a spider-infested pedestrian tunnel under the freeway that John told me about. Perhaps on the next trip.) It was the evening after our excursion to the Saint-Gaudens Historical Site and we drove down to the parking lot opposite the boat launch where the trail up to the bluff begins. John, Carolyn, Stephanie, Callie, and I were in the party. It's a lovely trail which winds upward through the woods and, for a while, along a stream with the occasional waterfall. At the top, I couldn't screw up the courage to venture out onto the rock so I contented myself to take pictures of the others as they dangled their feet (not even at gunpoint, thanks) over the edge. It was a lovely evening. The valley was already half in shadow. When we returned to the parking area, we walked across the road to the boat launch and enjoyed an evening view of the lake.

Hike number two began at the door of the house. Between the door and the driveway, a path leads into the woods and up the hill behind the house. Steph and Carolyn and Callie and I (on which day, I can't remember and I didn't make a note of it) set off for an hour or so and just walked a little way up the hill in the woods. We fiddled about at the edge of the stream and investigated some interesting hollows in the banks. The bugs were out in force and we spent much of the walk mechanically waving our hands in front of our faces. I saw (and photographed) some interesting mushrooms and Callie waded into a lovely mirror-smooth pool nestled among the trees.

The third of our Morey hikes took place on the morning of my departure. (As I write this, I'm standing at the table in our breezeway at home. It's raining and I have the windows open to enjoy the sound of the rain and the gentle breeze blowing through. I am drinking a beer also. Just thought I'd mentch.) If memory serves, our hike up to Bald Top started on the same trail just behind the house. We covered familiar ground for a while and then branched off on a trail that leads up to the top of the hill on which the house is built. I saw and photographed many more lovely mushrooms, some orange newts, and a fern-carpeted glade. There were many lovely wildflowers including some purple irises which were growing in a marshy area made marshier by our presence (sorry). Bald Top is aptly (ish) named. Best described as a stony meadow, it provided us with a beautiful view of the hills to the west of the river. Some rumblings of thunder accompanied us on our way down the hill. Knowing that the end of the hike would mark the end of my visit, I was reluctant to reach the bottom.

I very nearly took an unwanted souvenir/stowaway with me back to Milwaukee. While I was standing in the line for security at Logan, I (for some reason) reached up to touch my face and felt an unfamiliar object on same. It felt like a big, gnarly scab, but as I touched it, I could feel it move. I pulled it off my face and examination revealed it to be the largest tick I had ever seen. It was all I could do not to shriek and fling it up into the air. I surreptitiously crushed it against the lid of a nearby rubbish bin, threw it away, and resumed my place in line.