2007

Ideas Along the Road

From time to time, a friend of the magazine will ask me, "Where do you get your story ideas?"

"I don't know," I'll usually say. "I just look around."

Not much of an answer, I suppose. But it is true.

Consider this: The other day, my daughter called and asked if I'd like to come out to her house in West Pawlet. She'd fix some lunch and I'd get to spend some time with my granddaughter who was six months old. No chance I'd turn down that invitation.

So I drove in to the grocery store to pick up some things to help out with the lunch. This included one of the wonderful artisan Vermont cheeses. We've done stories on the local cheese makers here at Stratton Magazine and I probably got the idea in the grocery store or the local farmers' markets. You hear about how people get their best ideas in the shower. For me, it's often while I'm buying food. » read more

Missing my Chickens

I miss my chickens. This is something I never thought I would find myself saying. But there it is. I miss my chickens. But maybe I should start at the beginning.

I have a friend, Kathy, who more or less rents a couple of chickens every summer and lets them roam around her yard and flower gardens, eating bugs. She found an antique coop where the chickens spend the night, secure from the various predators—foxes, coyotes, raccoons—that are common in Vermont and always hungry. When I pull into Kathy’s driveway, the chickens are generally out in the yard, looking around for a Japanese beetle to eat. And they are strikingly decorative. They just do something for the scene. One has a kind of salt and pepper coloring and the other is a very dark, almost mahogany, brown. And, finally, they do lay eggs, which Kathy likes to make into omelets—or a nice quiche—for lunch. After a few visits, I began to envy her those chickens.

When I mentioned this to my daughter, one day, she said, “No problem, take mine.” » read more

My Trip to the Farmer's Market

One 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 » read more

Snowday!!!

A couple of winters ago I made my way through deep snow to the bottom of my driveway at four o’clock in the morning, to be picked up by the town plow—a ride I had arranged the evening before—when a major storm had been forecast.

Out of the darkness, first came the rumbling sound of the plow, then lights flashing orange through the trees. I climbed up into the monster, which for the next three hours the driver navigated up and down many back roads. » read more

The Lady of the Manse

Phebe Ann LewisBy Susanne Washburn
PhotographY by Hubert Schriebl

Through changing chapters, with myriad talents, and amazing energy…

Now in her tenth decade of life, Phebe Ann Lewis does all her own yard work, climbs ladders to shovel snow off the roof, and with equal agility, plays the foot pedals of the organ for her own amusement and for numerous churches in the area. At the start of the weekly Precision Walk in Manchester, she takes off in sprightly fashion and is immediately in the center of the group that stretches out ahead and behind. As the speediest walkers move out, she never flags, keeping a steady pace, an occasional step verging on a run. » read more

Did Natty Do It This Way

A day in the woods paying homage to a time gone by.By Geoffrey Norman
Photography by Hubert Schriebl

A small fire burned on a piece of ground where someone had cleared away the snow, and the wood smoke rose listlessly through the branches of the tall ash and maple trees. The morning was cold enough that several of us were standing almost on top of the fire while we drank coffee and talked. Back toward the road, someone fired a shot and then, about twenty seconds later, another. It made a big sound in the still and otherwise silent woods.

“Here we go,” someone said.

» read more

Fresh Tracks

By Kimet Hand
Photography by Hubert Schriebl

A conversation with newly-appointed Stratton President Sky Foulkes

Sky Foulkes has a 25 year history at Stratton and like many of his peers he worked his way around the resort gaining valuable experience in snowmaking, grooming, trail crew, golf course operations, ski patrol, lifts and mountain operations, before taking the helm as general manager back in 2002. The Rochester, New York native captains a committed, experienced, homegrown team of Stratton Resort managers, many with strong local ties, years of service and a familiarity and appreciation for the people and traditions of Stratton and the greater Stratton community. » read more

Go Dog, Go

By Anita Rafael
Photography by Hubert Schriebl

For a passenger, the ride in a dog sled is gentle, silent and subdued, marked only by the musher’s calls to his dogs and the swish of the wooden sled crossing the snow. » read more

Tally Faux

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

Voices from the Past

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."