I live in a small town in Vermont, atop a hill overlooking the CT River Valley. There are approximately 2500 residents in our little town and between my husband serving on the planning commission and me directing the 5th and 6th-grade musical, we've met most folks in town. I also attend the Congregational Church on Thetford Hill which is a lovely community church with a very affirming congregation. I'm extremely proud of my state of Vermont and my county (Orange) that have both done so well in addressing the current health crisis. Vermont is one of four states that has been touted as "flattening the curve" as swiftly as almost anywhere else.
Having moved to this town ten years ago from the Boston area and a town ten times the size, I have been slowly acclimating to a different pace of life. Most people move to Vermont for the beauty of the place, the wide-open space. I once complained to a friend that I was frustrated that people were so slow to respond to emails. He reminded me that many people move to Vermont so they won't have to respond to email, at least not in a big hurry.
When we bought our house we knew that we would inherit some challenges. It is a farmhouse built in 1850 on 4 acres, But I fell in love with it. Our home inspector, in his report, noted the age of the furnace, the foundation with some crumbling bits, the roof that would need to be replaced sometime soon and then at the very end of the report, he said this- "despite all of the inevitable problems the house will present- when you're sitting on that screened porch, looking out over the view, sippng a glass of port, life won't get any better than that." It all turned out to be quite true, except for the bit about the port. I'm more of a chardonnay girl. It is a beautiful place and all the more so now that we are quarantined at home. There are endless projects to tackle, gardens to tend. I even have a camp tent which goes up in the summer for afternoon naps. Talk about social distancing.
But it is a small town and it's a rare event when we have the opportunity to really feel connected to our neighbors. This weekend as we sat watching the PBS Newshour, there was a segment about a town in Montana that does a "howling hour" every evening at 8:00. Residents come out of their houses and essentially howl into the night. This is all in support of the front line workers who are helping us all stay safe. It's the healthcare workers and folks manning the grocery stores and pharmacies. The gratitude that we should be expressing to these folks is boundless. So I thought that we should give it a whirl on our little hill in Thetford. I sent an email around to some neighbors, many of whom had seen the same news program and suggested we try it. I wish I could say it was a rousing success. We did howl on that first night. My neighbor up the hill had a friend visiting who joined our chorus enthusiastically and I heard some neighbors through the woods let out a howl or two. I did my part by howing from our porch. It felt pretty exhilerating, I must admit, but then we all went back to our quiet, peaceful lives. We didn't do it again and I realized that most people who live here like things to stay quiet and peaceful. We'll let the coyotes do the howling and we'll appreciate our front line workers each night from our own living rooms.
Having moved to this town ten years ago from the Boston area and a town ten times the size, I have been slowly acclimating to a different pace of life. Most people move to Vermont for the beauty of the place, the wide-open space. I once complained to a friend that I was frustrated that people were so slow to respond to emails. He reminded me that many people move to Vermont so they won't have to respond to email, at least not in a big hurry.
When we bought our house we knew that we would inherit some challenges. It is a farmhouse built in 1850 on 4 acres, But I fell in love with it. Our home inspector, in his report, noted the age of the furnace, the foundation with some crumbling bits, the roof that would need to be replaced sometime soon and then at the very end of the report, he said this- "despite all of the inevitable problems the house will present- when you're sitting on that screened porch, looking out over the view, sippng a glass of port, life won't get any better than that." It all turned out to be quite true, except for the bit about the port. I'm more of a chardonnay girl. It is a beautiful place and all the more so now that we are quarantined at home. There are endless projects to tackle, gardens to tend. I even have a camp tent which goes up in the summer for afternoon naps. Talk about social distancing.
But it is a small town and it's a rare event when we have the opportunity to really feel connected to our neighbors. This weekend as we sat watching the PBS Newshour, there was a segment about a town in Montana that does a "howling hour" every evening at 8:00. Residents come out of their houses and essentially howl into the night. This is all in support of the front line workers who are helping us all stay safe. It's the healthcare workers and folks manning the grocery stores and pharmacies. The gratitude that we should be expressing to these folks is boundless. So I thought that we should give it a whirl on our little hill in Thetford. I sent an email around to some neighbors, many of whom had seen the same news program and suggested we try it. I wish I could say it was a rousing success. We did howl on that first night. My neighbor up the hill had a friend visiting who joined our chorus enthusiastically and I heard some neighbors through the woods let out a howl or two. I did my part by howing from our porch. It felt pretty exhilerating, I must admit, but then we all went back to our quiet, peaceful lives. We didn't do it again and I realized that most people who live here like things to stay quiet and peaceful. We'll let the coyotes do the howling and we'll appreciate our front line workers each night from our own living rooms.
(This post was originally penned on April 26, 2020)
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