TRIP #5, 2014--Back on the Road

Back on the Road
"You are the only one I'm waiting for," called out Andy from the bottom of the stairs. "Everyone else is ready to go!"
And I was ready too.
It was time to hit the road again. This time we would pick up five New England states, even though Andy had traveled through four of them while hiking with Drew in July on their quest to tally Appalachian Trail miles on foot.  Retirement Trip #5 would bring our jointly traveled total of revisited states to 47.
"I don't know if we'll ever get back to North Dakota," mused Andy, as we drove in and out of early Sunday morning traffic on the Wilbur Cross Parkway, heading toward Hartford. "Hawaii?  Well, there's a better chance for that than Alaska."
But to me it didn't matter.
With the sun warming my right shoulder and a crisp fall breeze nudging the tree tops, life on the road felt good. In Little Red, our almost 20-year old Saturn, we cruised along with a month of adventures ahead of us.
"I think Vermont is the most unspoiled state of all the 50 states. No buts about it--the state least spoiled," said Andy.

Known for its covered bridges, Vermont even features bridges
that lead to private companies. 

We turned onto Route 44A, heading toward Woodstock. "But you'd never retire here. It's number 50 for taxes and retirement potential," he continued.  We drove past a covered bridge on Route 106. "It's a long winter too," he added.

Maisey is remembered.

Outside fall was in the air as a crisp breeze ruffled the grass around the bridge. "The trees are just starting to turn," said Andy.  Here we were three hours from home, three states away and probably three weeks closer to winter. A brook gurgled under the covered bridge, and nearby a monument marked the burial site of Maisey the Moose. Three hours from home, and we were in a different world.
Our first excursion of Retirement Trip #5 was the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park, the oldest national park in Vermont, one of the nation's first programs of scientific forest management, and the only national park to tell the story of conservation history and the evolving nature of land stewardship in America.

The Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller house and gardens offer a
peaceful retreat on a cool September day.

A tour of the house, built between 1805 and 1807 for Charles Marsh Sr., the father of George Perkins Marsh, revealed a hodgepodge of memorabilia.  There was obviously no planning as far as decorating was concerned. For two generations the owners kept the 1800's Queen Anne style architecture, furnishings and gardens intact while adding 20th century renovations. The guide pointed out paintings by Thomas Cole and Albert Bierstadt, American landscapes that are part of an extensive collection. She also explained a little of the history that connected George Perkins Marsh (1801-1882) to Frederick Billings (1823-1890) and Laurance S. Rockefeller.  Marsh, a keen observer and American diplomat in Italy, penned "the actions of humans brought the earth to a desolation almost as complete as that of the moon."  He wrote Man and Nature in 1864, a careful analysis of the human impact on nature and a plea for responsible stewardship that became a founding text of the environmental movement.

This Vermont carriage trail
reminds walkers of the
poetry of Robert Frost.

Billings, a Vermont native who had made his fortune as an attorney in San Francisco during the Gold Rush, purchased the Marsh family farm in 1869. He was devastated by the barren hills and silted river, the site of land denuded of trees and destroyed by erosion and flooding. He set out to build a model farm based on wise land stewardship. When he died in 1890, his wife Julia and three daughters--Elizabeth, Mary and Laura--continued the vision.  When Mary's daughter Mary French wed Laurance S. Rockefeller in 1934, it brought together two families with a strong commitment to conservation."No photography in the house," ordered the guide, but the gardens were another story. Andy and I wandered in and out along compact flower beds and hiked about a mile along one of the carriage trails that crisscross Mount Tom. White pine, Norway spruce, hemlock and red oaks towered overhead... some more than 150 feet tall. 

Imagine driving home through Taftswell Covered Bridge
each day!

"About 80 percent of the forested land of Vermont is once again wooded," said the guide. Thank goodness for caring and observant citizens like Marsh, Billings and Rockefeller. Although the trees have not reached the 200-foot heights of pre-Revolutionary War America, they grow tall and, with scientific management, stand proud.


In the late afternoon light,
Quechee Gorge is hidden
in shadows.

"Woodstock is a classy town," said Andy, as we drove along the tree-lined streets. "I only know one person who ever stayed at the Woodstock Inn. That was in 1971, and then the rooms were more than $200 a night."  We walked through the elegant old lodging with its garden spa and library. Everything was decorated with distinguished good taste.The rest of the town spread out from a spacious green. Little shops lined the side streets. We watched one shop owner tend the flowers just outside her store and pick up a blowing tissue.  "You wouldn't see that too often," said Andy.Tidy and neat, Woodstock shows that citizens take pride in their community.  We purchased a muffin to share and two coffees at a local shop. It was pleasant to sit at the wrought iron tables outside and watch the shoppers across the street. In spite of the chilly 59-degree temperatures, a bright sun overhead and the colorful hanging baskets of petunias warmed the atmosphere.

Dewey's Pond reflects the white pine
trees along its edge as the sun sinks lower.

Taftswell Covered Bridge in Vermont, from 1836 but rebuilt in 2003, attracted tourists who crossed and slowly re-crossed in their vehicles. The bright red-painted wood contrasted sharply with blue sky and dark pines. "Don't stop in the middle of the street," called out a biker to a motorist, when he pedaled by.
As the sun dipped behind the ridges outside of Woodstock, Quechee Gorge nestled in the shadows. We parked at the Quechee Gorge Gift Shop and Snack Bar and strolled back and forth across the highway bridge, admiring the views of the Ottauquechee River far below.  "We never walked upstream when we were here years ago," announced Andy, "so we'll head that way."  Vermont's grand canyon trail, padded with wood chips, offered views of the gorge and a lookout near the dam. Farther along the .9-mile descent, we reached Dewey's Pond, lined with cattails and covered with water lilies. A small group of young adults practiced yoga stretches on a grassy rise, as two or three older couples admired the reflection of bank-lined white pines in the placid water. The uphill walk back probably challenged one or two of them. We felt good. The Appalachian Trail goes right down the main street in Hanover, New Hampshire, through the center of town skirting Dartmouth's campus. We had dinner at Molly's, while a huge college crowd lined up outside. "How many places can you say you had a beer on the Appalachian Trail?" joked Andy. And there would be even fewer places along the Trail that offer Thai pizza with garlic, chives, broccoli, chicken and sweet Thai chili!