Celebrating Southern VermontOne weekend back in the early part of summer, I needed some things for the garden. There were gaps in a couple of perennial beds and, while I had a few tomato plants and they were doing all right, none of them were especially distinguished, if you know what I mean. Then, the basil I'd planted was not thriving and I thought it might be prudent to replace it with healthier plants. And, truth be told, I felt like getting out of the house and being around some people. So, since it was Sunday, I drove about a mile and a half (I could have ridden my bike except I wouldn't have had anyway of carrying tomato plants home) and parked across the highway from Williams Department Store where the weekly farmers' market was in high gear. » read more
John Merwin and I began working for Stratton Magazine at about the same time -- which goes back further than either of us would like to think about. The magazine had another editor then. He became ill and, eventually, died at a tragically young age. I was named editor and was understandably apprehensive. » read more
A "Whipper In" keeps the hounds on courseBy Nancy Boardman
photography by hubert schriebl
Taking the "Fox" out of Fox Hunt
Hooves pounding, ears flapping and coattails flying, it was an exhilarating start for horses, hounds and riders alike at the Guilford Hounds' first hunt in the Mettowee Valley last November.
But, lest readers question the thrill, to say nothing of the moral correctness, of riders thundering after an unsuspecting fox with murderous intent-what Oscar Wilde decried as the "unspeakable in full pursuit of the inedible"-let it be said straight off that this was a drag hunt.
Unlike their counterparts in England, American huntsmen historically have pursued their quarry not to kill it, but rather to "account" for it, meaning that the fox is allowed to "go to ground," run up a tree or otherwise escape. These days, as is true for many other hunt clubs, the Guilford Hounds dispenses with the fox altogether. Instead, it operates as a drag pack, which means that the hounds are following a pre-placed scent track, rather than a live animal. And so those of us who were on site that cold crisp morning could relax and take in the beauty of the scenery, the pageantry of the meet, the elegance of the horses and the energy of the hounds, without dreading an old-fashioned, English-style denouement. » read more
Vermont's old cemeteries tell stories of lives lived in a different timeBy Kristin Mcdonald
Photography by Hubert Schriebl
Maybe it's the natural human curiosity surrounding death, the mystery of the afterlife, or the tantalizing possibility of the existence of ghosts, but graveyards seem to fascinate us. For some, they may be dark, foreboding, creepy places you wouldn't want to visit except during the bright of day. In our corner of New England, however, cemeteries attract thousands of visitors each year. Many graves are very old, and the markers are hand-inscribed with folk art and final messages about the lost lives buried there. Although some of the stones have been damaged by time and the harshness of natural elements, the cemeteries are tidy and well maintained by local groups who have a reverence for the past and pride in their heritage. Many of the old cemeteries have walking paths, some have bridges and brooks. And with the Green Mountains in the distance as a backdrop, they are peaceful and picturesque, prompting meditation and reflection. They seem to invite you in, saying, "take a walk through history, visit our founding fathers, our Revolutionary and Civil War heroes, our artists and poets; learn of the tragic and all-too-brief lives of some of our first community members. Come hear the long-ago stories of an older, simpler time of life." » read more
A threatened species manages to survive on Stratton MountainBy Louise Jones
Photography by Hubert Schriebl
A rare bird is causing a lot of excitement on top of Stratton Mountain. The Bicknell's thrush is medium-sized, with a spotted breast, olive-brown or brown back, purplish legs and a yellow or yellow-orange lower jaw; the males and females look alike. They have an average life span of five years, but biologists at the Vermont Institute of Natural Science have found the two oldest Bicknell's on record at their Stratton research station-a nine year-old female in 2005 and a ten year-old male this past summer. The birds nest in summer on the tops of the higher mountain peaks of northern New England, New York and southern Canada, and are among the least-known breeding birds in North America, rarely seen in migration. Chris Rimmer, director of the Conservation Biology Department at VINS, says that there are "in the ballpark of 25-40,000 Bicknell's thrushes although we have to stress that there is little precision around that figure. Our habitat projections indicate that Vermont has about eight percent of the total Bicknell's thrush habitat in the United States. Thus, we could estimate that 2000-3200 thrushes inhabit Vermont." To compare, I asked him how many robins in Vermont. "A wild guess would be at least one hundred times as many robins and maybe even five hundred times as many," he said. » read more
The sunflower provokes a kind of elemental, instinctive response in most humans.By Geoffrey Norman
Photograph by Hubert Schriebl
The Incas, Peter the Great, Vincent Van Gogh ...
they all loved sunflowers. They are big, happy,
easy to grow, and you can eat the seeds or
feed them to the birds. So what's not to love?
There was a bare spot in the meadow where I had burned a brush pile during the winter. It was very early summer and the grass would eventually come back and fill in the gap. By Labor Day, you wouldn't know it had ever been there. » read more
Photography by Hubert Schriebl
Ah, Sun-flower! Weary of time
Who countest the steps of the sun
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done:
Where the Youth pined away with desire
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
William Blake
» read more
Festive and Colorful, farmers' markets offer fresh picked produce and a whole lot moreBy Ellen Ecker Odgen
Photography by Hubert Schriebl
A farmers' market is not just another market-and it's not just for farmers! For a lot of us, it's a big part of life in the country. Festive and colorful, farmers' markets offer fresh-picked produce and farm-raised meat, artisan cheeses, baked goods and breads, flower bouquets, excellent prepared foods and high quality crafts. Plus, a visit to the farmers' market is a lot of fun. At the market, you can meet the farmers who grew the food, talk with the crafts-people and bakers, enjoy entertainment, learn about beekeeping, hear a storyteller or a fiddler entertaining with a few tunes. You also might collect a family recipe or two from a local cook or farmer. » read more
Buckoby Paul Fersen
It’s autumn. The trees are slowly suffocating their leaves in the rubescent ritual that is foliage and the wind whispers the first hint of brutality. For the hunter, it’s wait’s end. For the dogs in our lives, it’s show time.
Pickett, my chocolate Labrador will be four this season, having first opened his eyes in July of ‘02, now already a veteran of three seasons. The first time I saw him was the day I picked him up at a kennel in Colorado in mid-September having sent a deposit sight unseen on pedigree and parent’s pictures alone. His first act for me was to retrieve a toy mouse and bring it proudly back to my feet, drop it and look up with the expectation of yet another round. Sold.
Now to get him home. I was not about to stick him in the cargo hold. I found out that given his size, he could ride with me in an under-the-seat kennel. Fortunately he was too young to understand these kennels are generally reserved for the use of well-coiffed and bejeweled women with smarmy, aloof cats or little dogs that yip. Dogs shouldn’t yip. Pickett came through the experience unscathed and with his hunting genes in tact. On a side note, if I ever need to find another woman in my life, I will simply go to an airport with an 8-week old Lab puppy. As my son so ably puts it, “a sick chick magnet”. Translated that means I was surrounded by adoring women the minute I hit the door with Pickett in tow and the flight attendant even moved me to an empty seat in first class. His first day he was already taking care of his master. » read more
