Yesterday a delivery driver tentatively knocked on my front door and asked me to move the poles that lined our long gravel driveway further apart. With knitted brow I said little while he struggled to navigate his truck at the top of our drive with few obstacles. The problem is not the poles I thought…
Another driver on the same day and same company asked why was our windy drive marked with long thin poles? Unusual to have two deliveries in one day in Vermont so I was already a bit off balance. The questions posed about our winter staple felt even more curious. I quietly explained about the necessity of snow markers for the snowplow. Natives to New England I would guess not. A knowing smile grew while I nodded my experienced head as I closed the front door and kicked off my insulated boots. The long seasonal innocence of their questions would soon be answered time and time again from now through April and quite possibly May…
The bend of a mighty evergreen sits proudly on our land. Graceful white powder covered the split rail fence. Inches of snow had fallen overnight. Newly hung Christmas lights glowed warm through the white. A pristine landscape greeted my weary eyes. Our little house on the hill warm and cozy. Embraced by the cold still early morning air…
Winter boots have replaced sneakers by the door. Coats in degrees of warmth occupy the front hall closet. Winter in all its splendor has arrived…
“A year in Vermont, according to an old saw, is “nine months of winter followed by three months of very poor sledding.” Bill Bryson
