So this weekend I took off to go to Vermont and help my mom and her siblings with cleaning out my Gram's house. It was a long two days since I ended up going out boozing on Friday with my boyfriend(!). So I was hungover on Saturday morning and we got to South Royalton at about 11 a.m. and we worked. We basically cleared out my grandmother's whole house. There's very little left in terms of furniture, bric-a-bracs, books, kitchen supplies, and various sundry and assorted items. It was cathartic and quite emotional for all involved, and this is going on year two of the process. The point of this blog entry however was to say how much I like Vermont, and by extention, the country.
I feel as if I'm Samuel Taylor Coelridge when I go to Vermont. It's as if I'm some English gentleman who writes poetry and loves "town" but spends his leisure time in the country. It's so peaceful, so idyllic where my grandmother lives, it's as if I'm on vacation just 3 hours from Boston. I love going antiquing, and all the fun vacation things they have up there, but really I'm happiest when we're on my grandmother's property, walking around outside, checking out the forest and wildlife. I guess I'm just a damn dirty hippie at heart.
But when you stumble upon this on some no-name country road, how can you not be drawn there?