Greetings Fellow Travelers:
“Let me say it again: the present moment is all you ever have” ………………………………………………………………………………………………Eckhart Tolle
“It’s a marvelous night for a Moondance” ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. Van Morrison
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers” ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
It’s been a chilly, wet week here on The Mount. The leaves are almost all down; stick season is reaching full swing here in The Greens. People start to disappear in that grey time between Autumn and Ski Season. Is this a time of ending? beginning? A little bit of the loss of innocence along with the sunlight. Does anyone really embrace Daylight Savings Time?
We have begun the process of shutting down the homestead in anticipation of flying the coop on the 11th. The tchotchkes of our lives begin to disappear from the barn, the yard, the house……. driftin’ away with the leaves. But…….one last gasp this week took us up to the shores of Lake Champlain for our annual trek to the Islands of Vermont and Grand Isle……where lo and behold, the Lake Effect provides a late lasting, stunning array of Fall bounty on the shore outside our little cottage on what should by all measures, be a Great Lake.
Rituals……gotta love them….and we have developed quite the routines over many years of traipsing around the Northeast. Does anyone really believe there are Islands in Vermont? A quick two- hour plus trip takes us from the pastoral rolling hills and dales to the hidden wonders of large bodies of waters. Had the requisite stop in Brandon at the Café Provence bakery for breakfast and sweets loading, then up and around the fair metropolis of Burlington and across the bridge to the quaint Island environment and culture that is always a bit of a mystery …. lake cultures……a fascinating way of life, no?
Goin’ home, goin’ home….by the waterside I will rest my bones……Listen to the river sing sweet songs….and, rock my soul.
The Island trips are a quiet blur with hardly anyone around and many stores and restaurants closed up…. the magical wonder of a beautiful place left behind by the tourista hordes of summer. Not really a lot to do if you are pursuing activities: the usual jaunt to The Dunes , a few long hikes in the woods, gazing at the lake sunset through the glass cottage doors, the laps of the waves in bed at night….then there is the middle-of-nowhere, dirt road little Happy Bird Smokehouse, for their smoked chicken pot pie and spicy ribs to cook up ala cottage…..the little, but mighty, Alburg store for their bread and soup and munchies, the hipster bakery for bagels and bialys…..and the hidden orchards for the bull-goose looney of all Cider doughnuts…a world unto itself……remote charm with TV and WI-FI ….what’s not to love?
Not a lot else went on this sticky-week:
The Queen has now moved half of the mulch and most of the hay storage to the project de-la- obliterating of any yard grass.
Three year old Sloane did her first trick or treatin’ and TQ got skeletoned up to do our local Trunk or Treat………that is TRUNK with an “N” …. not an “M”.
We did a portal with Quin-Lily that expanded to five bedtime stories- at this rate we will be doing all-nighters by the time she is eight
The Dumpmaster and his crew wept openly at TQ not making the run for the third consecutive week….”is the little missus just laying’ round the house all naked?”
We both got our Moderna booster jabs on the way home from Island hopping, so ready to tackle the heartland and it minions.
The Prodigal has fully abandoned cash, and is now carrying around bags of crypto tokens.
The politically incorrect Atlanta Braves are whipping the Texas-cheaters in the Series.
The do-gooders are putting measures on town ballots around the state to tamp down the development of retail cannabis in our legal state.
When the winds come down on your one light town, can you look further on than you see? I’m an all-night singer in a rock and roll band, I’m just sittin’ on the edge of being free.
And, that, has got be all she wrote, Dear john…. just send my saddle home.
Papi of the Woods
