Vermont

In October of 2013 Dad and I went on the latest of our twice-yearly visits to his brother and sister, Bill and Louise, in West Newbury, Vermont. I've been going to West Newbury since before I can remember - the town, nestled in the hills above the Connecticut River, is the place I've known the longest.

As has become our custom, Dad and I met just inside security in the 'A' Concourse at BWI. I'd taken a pre-dawn flight out of Milwaukee which afforded fantastic views of the sprawling lights of Chicago. Our eastward speed accelerated the sunrise, which was spectacular - it was thrilling to imagine the terminator whizzing by at 1,000 mph if not actually being able to see it.

After a slightly-longer-than-usual wait at the car rental counter, we got into a rather sassy new Ford (I thought, and the car rental guy agreed, that it looked like an Aston Martin) for the drive across New Hampshire and into Vermont. After negotiating the roundabout (how I hate them!) at the airport exit, we crossed the Merrimack River and struck out on Route 89 for White River Junction. The leaves were past their peak but there were still some spectacular stands of yellow trees against the grey of the mountains. Dad and I made predictions as to when we'd see certain landmarks (where is that ski hill? those wetlands?) on the increasingly familiar drive. As usual, I very much enjoyed the drive - it's great to spend some time alone with Dad. Those drives to and from Manchester have provided us with wonderful opportunities to catch up and share our thoughts. After a stop at a pub in Lebanon, New Hampshire, we crossed the Connecticut and made our way up Route 91 past Hanover toward Fairlee where we were booked, once again, into the Silver Maple Lodge, a lovely B-and-B just off the highway.

I've already allowed too much time to go by to remember certain particulars of our trip. I can't remember on which night we took Louise and Bill out for our customary dinner at the Happy Hour restaurant in Wells River (I alway hear it as "Riv-aaaah" in my head). The rest of my commentary will be image-related and not chronological, as a result.

Wait, I DO remember what we did the first night. It was the night of the Turkey Supper. Said Turkey supper has been a West Newbury tradition for the past 30 (I think someone said '30') years. At our designated, reserved time we made our way over to the Grange Hall where, after a brief wait, we were ushered into the downstairs level of the hall. It was close quarters which was a happy problem - people congenially rubbed elbows and talked about where they were from and what their connection was, if any, to the community. The food was fantastic: turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, veggies, and a choice of a variety of pies for dessert.

After dinner, we emerged into the twilight and crossed the street to the church where there was some species of sale going on. I bought a t-shirt and two books of historical West Newbury photos in support of whatever it was the sale was supporting. We rounded out the evening in the familiar, pleasant Marsh way - reading, watching TV and doing word searches (Bill and Louise's favorite).

After church the next morning, I went on walks in the immediate area both alone and with Dad, Louise and Bill. These photos are a mixed bag, taken on that rainy day and the nicer day that followed it. There was still a lot of Fall color to be seen and photographed.

I've learned not to count on our being able to walk over to church as a group on a Sunday morning. Louise and Bill have their ways which often, for whatever reason, prevent them from being on time to choir rehearsal. When the time came to leave, I simply announced our departure and Dad and I headed out. Don Saliers was in town that weekend and led the choir for that morning's service. It was a pleasure to sing in the choir under Don's direction and to hear Pastor Cindy speak. Worship service in that church is, for me, like spending an hour in a time and place completely apart from the rest of the world. Through the rippled glass in the windows, I could see yellow leaves against the blue of the sky over the distant river valley with the New Hampshire mountains beyond.

I haunted the area around the church on walks over the next couple of days. Louise and I went up to the church (on Monday, I think) so that she could arrange the flowers in the entryway for the following week. Louise does beautiful dried flower arrangements for the church and has an album of photographs of many of her past creations. While there, we went up to the schoolroom on the second floor to look around. I vaguely remember going to Sunday School up there during a church service led by Grandpa back in the early 1970s. Again, it's amazing to visit a place relatively unchanged from when I'd been there forty years previously. On one of my walks, the sunset light picked out the details of the exterior in a particularly attractive way.

The brevity of our visit didn't allow for much in the way of projects. My suggestion that I rearrange and bolster up a bookcase that was leaning in an alarming manner was rejected as unnecessary. I was able to help Bill chop up a section of pine tree which had been topped in a windstorm. Most of our time at the house was spent in conversation, the activities mentioned above, and looking at photo albums and scrapbooks. Louise and Bill brought out some amazing old family photos which I'd never seen - pictures of their transit of the Suez Canal on one of their trips back from Zimbabwe, a scrapbook of items related to Queen Elizabeth's coronation, pictures of family trips through New England and of the relatively recent return visits to Zimbabwe.

Visits to the house are always tinged with nostalgia for me - so many familiar things I remember seeing on visits going back all the way to my childhood: the multicolored rug draped over the back of Grandpa's old armchair, the faded family photos, the barometer on the wall, Grandpa's painting of Chillon. I wonder where that crazy rotating light display is. Oh, and Dad and I partook together of The Ritual. Always enjoyable. The bottles of "whiskey" as Louise calls it await our next visit.

I was very pleased that we all managed to fit in a walk together. On one of the afternoons (Sunday, I suppose) we took a stroll through the garden, past the back of the parsonage and behind the church to the cemetery where we visited Grandpa and Grandma's grave. Louise pointed out a few headstones belonging to departed members of the community. I recognised many of the surnames. We made our way back to the house along the road, stopping to look for leaves for Louise's arrangements. We didn't find any good ones but I picked a few for her the next day while in Bradford.

I went back to the cemetery on a subsequent walk and took pictures of a number of interesting carvings and of a red dragonfly that was sunning itself on one of the headstones.

Dad and I have started what I hope can be called a tradition of taking our breakfast in Bradford at a wonderful little coffee shop on the main street. We had breakfast there on the Sunday before church and I went back for at least one other meal during our stay. I stayed a day longer than Dad and drove to Manchester and back on Monday to take him to the airport. I took advantage of more than one of the trips through Bradford to stop and take photos on the main street, at the library (see below), and down at the waterfall just south of the downtown.

I love the buildings on the main street, particularly the one with the green turret. Looking again at the photos I took, I realise that red was a predominant color - the bricks, the autumn leaves and a gobsmackingly beautiful Ferrari which was parked just outside the cafe.

The trip afforded me many enjoyable moments - enjoyable in great part because they were familiar and reassuring. If there was one particular moment that stood out because of its novelty it was my visit to the library. I'd only been in the building once before and that was back in the late 70s when I was in intermediate or high school. The building is exquisite - a Romanesque Revival gem that reigns over the downtown from it's position a little way up an angled side street. I only had vague memories of the interior, but when I went in I was hit with a sudden, shocking impression of the passage of the intervening years. It wasn't a bad feeling but it was overwhelming - it's difficult to describe. I realised afterward that it probably breaks my personal record for a place revisited after the longest absence.

I spent a couple of hours in the building, taking photos and enjoying books that caught my eye. The reading room is amazing - round, with an immense fireplace flanked with carved lion heads.

It's appropriate that this is the last set of images on this page. After leaving the library, I visited the cafe one last time to get coffee and a doughnut for the ride back to Manchester to catch my plane.