“We pull in where the road dead-ends. The dooryard of a hill top farm, or what had been one. A half mile back, we’d found the cemetery and I’d been prepared to end it there. But on the steep, dirt track, in mud season like conditions, there was no where to turn around. No choice, but to keep going. It is a lucky day. It appears the house is for summers, only. Nothing fancy here, and nothing gentrified. A place still holding its history, though the wooden horse fencing has been let go, and the barn, reduced for economy. We stand tentatively by the truck, on either side of it, making independent assessments. “Say hello to the cameras,” he quips. I say “No, those are just lights”. Either way, I’m prepared to be convicted of wandering a bit ignorantly. Our destination looms above, a wooded climb. Mentally, I’m reviewing my map study, and trying to place the landmarks. I have it part right. The whole area looks way more up and down, not flat, like I pictured it. The hayfields are slanted, the forest more slanted still, but the ridge line looks inviting, shimmering as if another world lays just beyond. We can now see where we’re headed. We skirt a small pond, and begin our upward trudge, looking to avoid the snow where we can. Recent melting has cleared south facing slopes back to leaf matter, and rivulets of spring fed water. Old trails appear, and disappear, converge and diverge, so we pick our way always aiming for the high point. We stop to examine a patch of Chaga, on a bent and mangled yellow birch, near the top. “I think we’re there”, I say, but he’s gazing further into the hardwoods, well spaced on the airy plateau, clearly not satisfied we’ve reached the summit. “I’ll just head this way,” he says, moving so slowly at first, that I’m hardly aware of being left behind. It’s always my choice, but he knows I’ll follow, that my curiosity will get the better of me. This is a well rehearsed dance, one honed over the many years we’ve rambled together. I like to stay on trails, no matter how marginal, whereas he will follow the ground, trusting his internal compass to return us to civilization, eventually. It’s good teamwork that’s kept us safe, and allowed us to penetrate a largely untrammeled Vermont. There is another height of land ahead, and we dip into a gully, then scramble up an embankment, hanging onto small trees for leverage. Thirty feel apart, we both crest the pasture cautiously, not exactly eager to stumble into something weird, in this middle-of-nowhere clearing - cleared for what? This is surely as close to the sky as we are going to get today, and we’ll be happy with that as our ultimate prize. But there is more. Just over the rise, what appear to be 6 x 6 timbers, on posts, and over to the left, carved granite blocks, side by side. The view is a 360 degree panorama we eventually recognize, for its peaks are swimmingly familiar. Is that a picnic table? “Those are horse tie ups!” I splutter. He’s already deciphering the stones. “These are dog graves,” he says. We sit down for a snack, and to discuss whether or not to use our phone GPS, because, frankly, we’re a little confused. But the puzzlement isn’t dire, and later, as we reconnect with the tracks we made coming up, things begin to fall into place, bringing the remote, and the known, into sharper focus. A little more map study will clarify boundaries, and what Google got wrong. My truck still sits in the door yard below, and while he rests his legs, I walk the small apple orchard, and take in the unadorned yard. I can see a wood cook stove in the kitchen, inscribed with the words “Home Comfort”, and a square, formica-topped kitchen table. Driving out the valley the slow way, we climb an opposing hill, passing a functional farm that probably predates most everything around it, and several grandiose vacation homes, and equestrian centers. “They all have to have a pond, don’t they” he says, and i laugh. Something about his deadpan delivery, or that its coming from a 9th generation Vermonter. “Things always change, I guess”, I mutter, though it sounds to me half-hearted, and kind of like someone made me say it.”
