Little Montpelier has its very own town forest.
This Thanksgiving I've been reunited with my familiy in snowy Minnesota, not the coastal North Carolina where I grew up, but still a place I'm learning to call my home away from home. It's been interesting and funny and different being reunited with everyone, a comfort sometimes, and then a reminder of childhood angst at others. I suppose this is how families go. On Thanksgiving we arrived home to find that nothing had been prepared and it was nearly 4 o'clock, so I put my game face on and quickly prepared as much as I could in a few hours. I whipped up rosemary mashed potatoes, a sweet potato bake where I used eggnog (surprisingly delicious!) with maple brown sugared pecans on top, sauteed spinach and shallots with lemon and grated parmesan, stuffing, and a Greek salad, all in a couple of hours! While we were waiting for the turkey to I decided to finish it all off with a pie - cranberry apple pie.
We didn't have any cutters in the house, so I had a lot of fun cutting these shapes by hand. The process was very organic and quieting and I felt reunited with my decision to pursue baking.
n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you’d never have to call cut.
Right now I'm sitting in the cafe section of the nearby bar, drinking red wine and trying to figure out my future. I've heard that is the recipe for assessing the future things, no? It is funny roaming around on the internet, envisioning yourself in different places - trying to work from somewhere that is both wise and intuitive, but then your brain gets so overwhelmed you're not sure which is which anymore. My second apprenticeship is looming, closer and closer. Where will I go? Sometimes I think I'm certain - I will go to the Pacific! Then I daydream myself in other locations - a remote cabin in Maine, a small shed behind a villa in the Mediterranean. The world is so big and full of possibilities. It is a wonder that anyone makes any certain decisions, ever.
Either way, I am forcing myself into the application process this week. I have an intuitive pull, much like I did with British Columbia, but this time the destination is even farther, even more foreign, so much so that I'm overwhelmed, leaving me wanting to just continue drinking red wine and spend my time finding a space to hibernate up here in the snowy north for the winter.
Regardless, this weekend a friend, Noah, from Rhode Island came to visit. A humble, sweet boy who was always a comfort when I lived over in Rhode Island.
Wondering what lay at the top, we climbed the mountainside. The climb was sharp, I was grabbing at roots and pushing off of trees to make the way, but it was all worth it. We found ourselves looking upon the most magical mossy glen - a stream running between rocks carpeted green, and trickling just underneath a haze of fog and cool, misty light. There was no way photos could have ever done this space justice. The light was pooling in between the trees in just the right way, the air was crisp and there were icicles and mushroom patches, sheets of green covered birch bark scattered everywhere.
It was refreshing in so many ways. It reminded me that Vermont is not just the few streets that comprise Montpelier, that there is so much beauty to admire, and that just going outside can be so much more rewarding than the fruition of any 'real world' accomplishments.
Thankfully, right when it needs to, along comes this storybook-kind- a- magic.