Double rainbow Prospect Hill, Brownington Village, the North-East Kingdom, Vermont

As you may know my husband, Leo and I are Vermonters at heart. We renovated a historic property at Kents’ Corner, Calais Vermont, creating a fine dining restaurant and Inn called, The White House where we lived and worked from 1980 until 1990. Much of my heart and soul lingers up there in the mountains where the haunting cry of the loon claims the mountain lake as wild space.

 One of the great miracles of Vermont and New England in general is, of course, the autumn season when all the latent colors of the rainbow pour down upon the landscape drenching the mountains with infinite color. In the Northeast Kingdom there is urgency in the short growing season which comes to a climax in that brief moment of enchantment we know as autumn. This glorious pageant ends all too quickly with the days of dancing leaves. Then, the clear air is filled with colored scraps of summer’s waning moments, torn by chilly winds from high tree branches.

The dirt roads of hard packed clay rise and fall over the landscape following the ambitions of men. Even as we pass by, bright colored leaves cover our tracks, jealously guarding the secrets of the mountain. Now that I am here, what need have I for roads? Where would they take me? I have woken up and already arrived at the journey’s end.

The turkeys have returned. I see them all over the country and they seem to be thriving. One day I came across a fearless flock in my own Fenway neighborhood. Yes, half a dozen gobblers were progressing at a leisurely and dignified pace over by the Rose Garden between Fenway Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. They were softly mumbling in a high pitched patois and I wondered if they, like everyone else in the Fenway, were mulling over the Red sox game.

 These two country cousins were foraging at the edge of a field in Danville. The flock numbered about two dozen. Unlike their city brethren they were modestly cautious, quickly ducking into the forest at the edge of the field when they sensed my unwarranted attentions.

We stayed at Injun Joe’s Court on Joe’s Pond in West Danville. The pond used to be called 'Sozap Nebees' - Sozap means Joseph, Nebees means pond or stream - in the language of the Abnaki, a branch of the Algonquin Indians who lived in the local area. Joe's Pond, and neighboring Molly's Pond, were officially named after members of the Micmac Indian tribe, Joe and his wife, Molly, by the Vermont state legislature on June 11, 1785 in recognition of their service in teaching necessary survival skills to the area's early settlers.

The ever charming Mr. Leo on the front porch of number five, Injun Joe’s Court

The interior of our cabin featured a lot of knotty pine paneling with two diminutive bedrooms each with comfortable double beds, separated by an equally diminutive bathroom.

 The tree in the left of the photo was ladened with heavy clusters of red-orange berries that had attracted an abundance of robins who were chowing down from dawn to dusk. Unlike the dilatory Robins of urban ease these guys have to move on before the snow flies so they have a healthy appetite. In the depth of winter in the North-East Kingdom cold snaps drop the temperature to 20° to 30° below zero.

(added Oct. 20, 09) My friend Dale Linder emails me to say that the tree in question is a Mountain Ash or Rowan tree, thanks Dale  

The View of Joe’s Pond from the front porch of cabin number

The central bandstand on the Danville green is surrounded with simple benches constructed with sturdy planks supported by upturned maple sugar buckets. In the center of the photo big sister is introducing a snuggly puppy with a wee tike.

“Autumn on the Green” is the aptly named fall foliage festival in Danville. This harvest celebration is a perennial delight, filling the spacious town green with a jumble of tented booths offering a great variety of merchandise. Arriving at 9:AM, our first concern was to find the  donuts and coffee booth where  we were easily seduced by raspberry scones and warm slices of  pumpkin bread as well as a half dozen fresh donuts all wash down with piping hot coffee from Green Mountain Roasters.

Next we perused several booths offering farm made jams and jellies along with heaps of pies and cakes, muffins and scones and, of course, Vermont maple syrup. We stocked up on Carol’s Blueberry and Strawberry-rhubarb jams from this year’s garden harvest. Then we strolled the aisles, inspecting booths filled with fancy woven baskets, hand throne ceramic pots, country antiques, soft knitted hats, gloves and scarves as well as handsome pine and oak furniture and cabinets. We marveled at colorful blown glassware and an abundance of other art works ranging from original paintings and photography to jewelry.

Above the hub-bub of the crowd we heard the lilting music of a country fiddle band coming from the central band stand so we saunter over to have a look. Four squares of dancers were performing traditional country dances with stately dignity as their dance master called the steps with a rhythmic patter.

 
Photo credit, www.tirnadesigns.com

One half of a great couple, Tom Beattie posing in his shop, Diamond Hill

A visit to Danville would not be complete without a visit to our friends, Tom Beattie and John Dauteuil at their spectacular emporium of delight, Diamond Hill Store. If you want true sophistication in a delightful country setting  stop by Tommy and John’s either in person or on line. They will be glad to make up gift baskets of Vermont artisan cheeses and other local products and ship them out to you or your friends for a great holiday gift or stocking your own larder.

Tom hails from the prominent Beattie clan who have been a fixture of Danville for generations. He and his eleven siblings permeate the town from Mom’s dairy farm to the Creamery Restaurant and Diamond Hill Shop. The Beattie’s are the real and yet rare thing, an American generational family who stick together while giving each other enough space to flourish in the wide open country of the Northeast Kingdom.

 The simple and handsome windows in United Methodist Church on Danville Green are bordered by scarlet maple leaves, a perpetual autumn celebration speaking of the presence of the divine in nature.

The town of Peacham is a favorite place for us so we dashed off from Joe’s Pond to the foliage festival at Peacham which is the next town over from Danville. Upon our arrival we were greeted by this dapper gentleman who was acting as a one man welcoming committee for the festival. His name is James Engel and he told me that that his handsome costume was made for him on the occasion of his graduation from Oxford University in 1950. He was married soon thereafter wearing in the same outfit so it had happy associations for him. Mr. Engel’s topper is of fine beaver and his vest of pail yellow suede is sewn with mother of pearl buttons. Note his immaculately polished boots.

Here is a neat row of handsome homes lining the main street of Peacham. I especially like the red brick house, front and center, which is located across the street from where Mr. Engel was greeting the leaf peepers, as tourists are affectionately termed.  Behind these houses the land falls off allowing spacious views of the surrounding countryside and distant mountains.

Fall crocuses are always a surprise and these little darlings are a bright smile in an otherwise fading garden of one of Peacham’s well tended homes.

Down the street from the pretty lavender crocuses stands this temple of domestic bliss with its impressive Ionic columns. The beautifully proportioned simplicity of the architecture of this home makes it a distinguished example of the Greek revival style. The early ideals of our Republic were then expressed with sophisticated confidence even in this remote village of the North-Eastern Kingdom

The traditional wooden barns of Vermont are fast fading from the landscape as their maintenance is considerable and costly. The need for large cow barns with vast hay lofts is waning with the demise of dairy farming in the state. This midsized barn is nestled in a thicket behind the Civil war monument at the crest of cemetery hill, high atop Peacham Village.

The Fall Foliage Festival of the Northeast Kingdom ran from September 27 until October 3 this year. On the 2^nd we went to Barnet, a short hop skip and a jump from Peacham and Danville, for the Pancake breakfast in the vestry at Barnet center. Above is the small meeting house church next door to the vestry. Both of these severely simple buildings are perched atop a steep hill overlooking the golden hills shimmering with autumn glory.

Leo and I are great fans of the church breakfasts of Vermont. We became addicted to these hearty feasts in the 80’s when we lived in Calais where our Inn, The White house, was located. In Calais the volunteer fireman host a red flannel hash breakfast that we remember with wistful delight.

The Pancake breakfast at Barnet Center lived up to, if not surpassed, the rigorous standards of past memories. Generous servings of fluffy and steaming pancakes were heaped on our plates along with farm made sausage patties. Small pitchers of warm local maple syrup were at the communal tables. We lost no opportunity to douse our pile with plenty of Vermont Gold, that sweet distilled essence which rises in awakening trees, announcing the hope of another summer in the sun.

The “vestry” is the building on the left it is also known as “Green Mountain Retreat” because it hosts a kid’s summer camp. The dining room is at the back of the building and because of the steep topography the room seems to float in space providing a view of the surrounding hills pulsating with rich colors beneath a dappled sky.

The rolling hills surrounding the burial ground of the United Presbyterian Church in Barnet Center are in contrast to the white marble standing stones marking the graves of sturdy farmers. These ancestors speak to us of their time and the rigors of country life.

The graceful sweep of the road leads us north to Brownington in search of the Old Stone house museum, a place we remember from years ago and could hardly believe as real because it seemed so remote and pristine.        

The Old Stone House was built in 1836 as a dormitory for the Orleans County Grammar School by Alexander Lucius Twilight (1795-1857) Headmaster of the school. The Brownington Historic District now comprises only nine buildings of what was once a thriving community in the early nineteenth century. In The Stone house there are historic displays called the town rooms because they were created by local historical societies with artifacts from Orleans County towns. These rooms are drenched in the atmosphere of bygone eras so that you feel almost an intruder in a place of precious memory.

Looking out from the Old Stone House the light peeking through moody clouds changes every minute, highlighting various aspects of the landscape and animating the distant mountains so they appear to dance with a legato rhythm of timeless tectonic majesty.

Along the back roads we come across someone’s pretty little swimming pond decorating the high fields surrounded by rolling mountains.

This is the beautiful Lake Willoughby. We are looking at Mount Hor on the western shore of the lake. Its shear granite cliffs were carved 12,000 years ago by glacial scouring. The depth of the lake is 300 feet making Willoughby the deepest lake entirely within the state borders. On the opposite shore rises Mount Pisgah and between these two precipitous cliff faces soar Peregrine falcons.

Here is Mount Pisgah with a few lake cottages at the base. The afternoon shadow of Mount Hor, across the lake, seems to follow the shape of the shear cliff. While I was watching the sun sliced through sullen clouds animating the rock face so that it appears to me as a giant duck or wild goose dipping its bill into the lake water.

The southern trail up Mount Pisgah passes by a beaver pond bridged by wooden walkways and then cuts through the deep forest with many sections formed by primitive stone steps.

A fellow pilgrim along the path, Mr. Toad’s textured coat blended into the surrounding rocks and leaves so well that I was startled when he hopped out of my way.

I can’t resist showing you what to me is the most beautiful step in one of the flights of rustic stairs that aid the hiker on this picturesque trail.

Along the way spectacular vistas open up through the veil of forest revealing the wealth of autumn gold cloaking Mount Hor on the opposite shore.

The first real open vista along the trail is Pulpit Rock. From that precipitous outcropping of rock we are looking down on the sandy beach at the southern shore of Lake Willoughby with a sudden outburst of sunlight igniting the foliage to its highest intensity of color

As the sun sets the last rays of light are torn asunder by dragon clouds reclaiming the wild spaces of the lake for the spirits of the night.

And so with the beginning is the end. The golden treasure of rainbow is the smile of the goddess. She holds us to her bosom and sings a lullaby of pure contentment. Be still and you will hear her singing the music of the spheres.