“This doesn’t feel right” was the prevailing sentiment aboard GANNET2 as darkness fell and the road made no sense. We went back and forth turning where we could, driving gravel tracks plunging us through fairy tale woodlands as black as the earl of hell’s waistcoat. We gave up and Layne called a friend. There was, it turned out, a muddle in the address and we were on the wrong East Road. We couldn’t even blame Google for leading us astray.
Stephanie was curious to meet us after reading about us (and more importantly Key West) for years so when we were mooching around Brattleboro she offered us a place to park in the woods. In Massachusetts, across a state line yet just minutes from Vermont and fifteen whole minutes from New Hampshire! I know because we ended up driving in a small circle one evening and we touched them all!
They are building a new bridge to connect New Hampshire to Brattleboro but we had to drive the rather elderly frail looking iron structures across the Connecticut River. An alert reader will notice the name of a fourth state there and I’m supposing the river ends up in another tiny state, Connecticut. As an aside a tired Brattleboro resident also pointed out to me that New York City is but three hours away and Covid forced city residents to flee solitary tiny apartments and seek second homes in Vermont to escape lockdown. Thus driving up prices and making locals homeless. The usual gentrification stuff.
When Stephanie offered us a place to stay we at first thought we would be in Massachusetts on the way south. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I realized her empty lot with an RV pad was just minutes away. She warned us the Google route was wrong and a bit of a “goat track.” Ha! We said as we got ourselves back on track after a quick phone call. She doesn’t know the roads we’ve taken. Actually it was pretty bloody awful and it was dark of course.
Photographs don’t do the back road justice but the spot itself was brilliant. Black sky dotted with stars, silence, and cold crisp night air. We collapsed onto our extra comfortable bedding and passed out.
I got a message to check the Vermont Center for photography. I put that on the back burner. First good and drink. Layne found a rum distillery that flavors their bourbon with maple syrup. Some of Saxton’s offerings were a bit too sweet even for me. We ended up buying a bottle of bourbon.
They are Harvest Hosts which allow RVs to park for the night in the property. Another evening and much colder we sat outside at Peter Havens, a lovely restaurant in Brattleboro named for the owner’s father.
Layne had grilled trout while I had fettuccine bolognese and we thoroughly enjoyed the outside dining. It felt civilized to eat out for a change.
Brattleboro is the largest town in eastern Vermont with around 12,000 inhabitants, about half the population of Key West.
It’s a much more gritty town than Burlington and carries an air of Victorian industry, a mill town perhaps.
I really liked it even though Vermonters crack me up with their inability to make eye contact. To be a visitor is to be an outsider and they will let you know.
At the same time the political sloganeering continues unabated. There are safe spaces if you need them but a simple good day on the sidewalk, in the manner I got used to in Key West, is beyond them.
I told Layne joking that if we moved to Vermont it would bring out my inner curmudgeon. She looked horrified. They have deeply weird graffiti too. Not sure I’d like to interrupt the author of this while at work:
But I really enjoy the brick and iron architecture.
This is not a town that enjoys box stores or franchises. You go out and you shop at your neighbor’s store here. When we finally drove to Keene New Hampshire we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by aggressive drivers and all the old familiar neon signs of roadside America. It was jarring.
We met some tourists Americans and Canadians and we talked a while of our travels. One American said she always feels at home in Vermont. I enthusiastically agreed. I have no idea why especially as Layne has no desire to see the place again but I enjoy the quirkiness and idiosyncrasy of Vermonters and I appreciate their don’t give a shit attitude. Plus they ice skate on rivers! Can’t see me doing that!
They have actual bookstores and I will admit they seem a trifle strident for my taste. But they are selling books which speaks to the towns taste in rather heavy subject matter!
The books I wanted were in the Center for Photography. Of course we have no room for hard back photo books. The photos were excellent and I got some inspiration to be more experimental.
They have a shop which I loved. I got to handle the first ever Nikon digital camera which was huge, beautifully laid out, and has two megapixels on its sensor. which made me forget I am a nomad and have no room for stuff in my life.
I had a mission looking for a different strap for my smaller camera, a Panasonic GX85 and it was great to be able to law through a box. I found a lovely old leather number, lightweight with a lovely old fashioned clasp. All for five bucks.
It was a good day. Rusty and I walked for a while and I passed a pocket park on the hillside.
It was dedicated to a local who went to war in France in 1918. He served four months and was killed two months before the Armistice. That was cause for thought.
A utility box reminded me I was no longer at work and glad of it. Hurricane Ian is bypassing Key West and Fiona wrecked coastal Canada weirdly enough. They were reminders of tough years past.
New Hampshire hills visible across the river. GANNET2 parked down below. Us walking up above.
A funny old place.
