Karen's toes and a sunrise, Tunbridge

Did you ever think about your life as existing on different planes? While hustling for a place to live in France and trying to rent my place out in the US, I've been texting people from worlds that will never collide, moving from one to another and then back again. Everyone fully enveloped in their own worlds, all going on at once, me lucky enough to dip into one for a bit, learn or observe something and bring it with me to the next. And then there are all those closer to home, one of which I dove into the other day.

The laptop I ordered the week after Tax Free weekend and in the midst of Back To School for college students was to arrive the other day, sometime before 9pm, requiring a signature. It was a long and boring day at home. At 8pm, an email arrived announcing that my order had been cancelled, a refund would be issued. Upon calling the store, I was told it would be waiting for me (in Framingham) the next day, which frustratingly turned out to not be the case, the woman who had promised it had apparently been in another country and had no authority to grant such relief.  Lucas, who was trying to resolve my conundrum, did what he could to track down a different laptop, which because of shortages, turned out to be more figuring out what had happened the prior day and finding that particular order. After an hour that involved talking to many parties at the store in person, on his little mic and walkie talkie, watching videos and checking rosters, it was determined that the delivery person had absconded with said laptop and already had a warrant out for his arrest. Apparently. this is not uncommon, making me grateful for minimal brushes with electronics and deliveries.

But that's not why we're here, rather let's talk about a new favorite place, Tunbridge, Vermont, where Laura's farm/property, which has been in her husband's family for many generations, lies.  After weeks of packing and purging, using both remaining neurons to work out sequencing and pacing of the current chaos, it was a gift to sit in the back of an air conditioned car,  driven past trees, trees and more trees, with the knowledge that there was nothing to do for the next two days and that my phone had been safely forgotten in Boston.

Town green, South Royalton, VT

The Block, South Royalton, VT

After exiting Route 89 in South Royalton, it's a few miles north to Tunbridge, following alongside the White River and passing a charming General Store founded by said family above, the Tunbridge World's Fair where there was some kind of horse event going on, then a right where the covered bridge went left, a left up a dirt road that we found out the next day at the end of our hot and sweaty walk, is not un-steep. As soon as you make the turn into Laura's, there's a feeling of sanctuary that comes flying at you. A barn and house, a vegetable garden with cosmos and a sunflower big enough to enter the competition at the World's Fair. There are other plots for vegetables, though I didn't wander over because that's where the milk snake hangs out, a pasture with a beautifully mown path taking you to the pond, and layers of hills in the distance. When we arrived, Laura was characteristically in motion, work overalls on with many signs of industry.

Laura being inspiringly Laura

Purple cabbages that really are purple

Out on the porch, which is L shaped and has two Adirondack chairs adjacent to the most delicious swinging couch, there were signs of garlic work, which we happily took up later in the weekend. The thing was to first bang the dirt out of the roots, then cut the roots short, cut the stem and then peel that dirty layer off. It's the kind of thing I'd be happy doing, sitting and looking at that beautiful garden, for days on end. As my first ex used to say, "hands are busy, mind is free"

Pre peeling

Tools for garlic production

Laura can just go and go and go and go. She is famous for cross country skiing a few towns over during a blizzard to have a beer, or biking solo from one end of Vermont to the other. Some of the time we tried to keep up with her, but there were times that the white flag had to go up and a load be taken off. It seems quite clear that she was a farmer in another life as well as this one.

The mom of three boys, she is an incredible host and talented cook, making us blueberry pancakes on our first morning and then what I understand were killer omelets the other. But my favorite was our Saturday night dinner. As a young woman, she had lived in Budapest and continues to hold dear experiences and friends there. So when she said she'd make us goulash, there was no pulling out the Le Creuset and banging it on the stove. Rather a tripod with a large chain and hook with a copper cauldron was set up in the garden, as is done in Eastern Europe, dried wood was chopped and lit, a cutting table was brought outside, then she went to work.  That we had a box full of just-picked vegetables from the neighboring farm to dive into was a nice addition,  I observed her using a variety of paprikas, among other things, making a most perfect dinner.

Laura and her dinner potion, sublime

Aside from being spoiled, we went for a walk on what started out as a grey day. Soon after our circuit began, the sun came out in a humid and bullying kind of way, but there was nothing to be done but continue on, enjoying the views on the mostly dirt road where we learned to identify calendula, saw sheep hiding from the sun under a trampoline that had been specifically bought for that purpose, admired the Vermont state flag, and learned not to be fooled by the sign that said it was Covered Bridge Month, as it's apparently always there.  A stop in the General Store proved a welcome cool down and hydration spot, along with a nice place to browse and for one of us, try a creemee for the first time.

And then it was time for the march back, in my case already with a shirt so sweaty it felt wet.  Briefly along a road with no sidewalk, then up the aforementioned steep dirt road. When we were almost back, Laura pointed out her friend Wendy's Tunbridge Hill Farm. It was she who had brought the box of fresh produce for the goulash, and she who Laura had helped by bagging arugula (apparently jamming a little too much into each bag, but she got the hang of it) for the Waitsfield Farmer's Market Wendy sells at every Saturday.  We stopped to admire the rows of obscenely healthy vegetables and chatted with Wendy's daughter, who was driving around in her mule, a sort of four wheeled golf cart. The sun beat down, but we dragged along behind Laura as she determinedly marched up the hilly pasture.

Vermont state flag

The ladies, on our walk

A neighboring farm

Wendy's farm

Tunbridge Hill Farm, garlic on a crazy scale

It was only later, after we'd cooled down after our walk and revived our senses of humor that one of us admitted she had been about to mutiny when Laura appeared to head into the woods to show us a tree or something. But we made it back and as Laura and I reached the crest of the hill and entered into the driveway, she breezily asked me if I would help her carry some wood. Outraged, I first replied NO! and then lightened up, following her lead. What did she do after, when I sat in an Adirondack chair, trying to dry off? Zipped up her charmingly steep farmhouse stairs to change into her bathing suit, put her paddle board in the back of her mule and took off for the pond with Jenn and her dog Elliot.

Later, she showed me where last weekend's wedding had been, up a hill through a pasture with mowed paths, chairs facing a most perfect tree. An area had been cleared for dancing and tables built for the pies that everyone in the neighborhood had made. Even though it was a week later, it was easy to see what a gentle, community, joyous even it had been.

And then back to the plane of large Tupperwares and moving furniture. Tunbridge was such a welcomed respite.

Due to logistical challenges I wasn't able to overcome, I'm leaving for France early, on 8/31, so likely won't write again until I'm back in the +33 country code. Happy summer all.