I’ve been eyeing the property on Tinmouth Road for weeks. The house is lovely, but the land is what I’m after. I realized later that day, as I looked at the Vermont Parcel Viewer, that one of my student’s property actually borders this property. I drove by the house yesterday. It is even more beautiful and peaceful from the road—and such a perfect distance from work.
For some reason, and because my student’s family makes thousands of gallons of maple syrup each year, I kept thinking that his property was on Tinmouth when I saw maples covered in vinyl tubing. "That must be their place," I said as I drove by, oblivious of the fact that tapping could be a thing in Danby.
The house on Tinmouth Road has a pond with a bench beside the road. West of it, but still facing the road, a colony of trees casually congregate, then progressively band tightly together the deeper into the woods they go.
Video I took at the property and later edited in CapCut
And this observation reminded me of coyotes yip-howling at dusk, back when I lived with my girlfriend on her mother's 100-acre property in Brandon, Vermont. Melissa and I lived in a horse stable with a feisty gelding named Echo and three mares whose names I can't recall. I remember how they used to break out of the fence and trot half a mile down McConnell Road to visit with other horses. A guy named Mike, who was the stable keeper and lived in the stable with us for a time, found a coyote skull in the woods during one of his bow-and-arrow hunts. He gave it to me. It's one of the most precious things I own. Melissa's mom's colonial house used to be a tavern way back when. Once or twice, in the middle of the night, we heard the ghosts of patrons partying outdoors by the stable. I wondered if Gettysburg was the same. These thoughts ran through my head as I passed the house on Tinmouth Road.
Although I've lived all over the world, Vermont is where I've lived the longest. I've lived here most of my life. Despite preferring the company of trees and animals over people, it's hard to let go of the connections and experiences I've shared with others in this state. Over the years, but most profoundly, when I first set foot here in 1994, I have felt spiritually at home in the Green Mountain State. The spirit of the land is in my bones, or is it the other way around?
It's strange for me to consider leaving Vermont now after all these years, but doesn't 30 years typically mean retirement? Is it time for me to retire from Vermont? Is there such a thing?
Minnesota (plan B) is truly untapped (no pun intended). In the northeastern part of the state, where I would move, it consists primarily of boreal forests, ancient and hardy, steadfast and inscrutable, and with nearly three thousand timber wolves (largest population in the nation). If an alien ship were ever to land on planet earth, it would be in farthest reaches of Minnesota, near Gunflint Lake, hovering between borders, where things are easily hidden, and a former life can be rescinded. In this way, it reminds me of Alaska.
Over the years, I have seen Vermont change in ways that have left me feeling frustrated, short-changed, and heartbroken. Vermont is not an affordable state, although it sort of used to be, I think.
Despite the challenges, Vermont is a part of my DNA. I don't want to leave Vermont, but now I gravely wonder, do I even have a choice?
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