We relocated to Vermont just as home computers (and chat rooms) arrived on the scene of daily life.
Looking back:
Today is Friday, June 3rd, and it is our first time on the computer!
We just bought a Mac Performa. We ordered it Tuesday night and had it set up in our livingroom here by Thursday night … crazy!! Now we’re trying to figure out how to work everything.
Boy, I sure wish I didn’t cheat in my highschool typing class…hunt and peck is tough these days, now that everyone has computers. I thought I’d only need typing for college term papers, and I always had other people do those for me…or at least I had the time to spare to stay up all night typing.
We can’t get this document to print so I keep babbling on here … let’s try again!
Still not working…thingsaregettingtense!!!
Now we’re on the phone with the hotline people…things are never how you expect 😦
😦 😦 😦 these are computer sad faces
so it sounds like we have a defective something…Case is giving our address for a federal express… 😦 😦 this sucks!!!!
now Case is asking, “Where in New Hampshire?” …can you believe this!!!
Well, I’m getting off this program since we obviously can’t print anything…I guess I’ll try something else now, maybe monopoly … sure!
~
Fast-forward 24 years and Vermont has created an attractive package for remote workers who relocate to Vermont in 2019. Stay to Stay programs too.
Tonight, I came across this letter that I wrote to the newspaper just after we left the Deerfield Valley for a mountaintop town, 12 miles east. It’s nice to be reminded of how welcomed we were once upon a time.
To the Editor
Although our family has simply relocated to neighboring Marlboro, I wanted to take this opportunity to publicly thank some of the day to day people who touched our lives in Wilmington:
to Fire Chief Brian Johnson, who was not only our first neighbor for a short while, but also responded with his crew to more than one call to our home over the years;
to retired Police Chief Tom Donnelly whose involvement in the community, especially in the schools, was beautiful;
to Deerfield Valley Elementary School (where I taught for a year), its staff, students and parents who served as my first community in the Valley;
to Harriet and Vivian at Pettee Memorial, who always made coming to the library a joyful experience for myself and my son Lloyd (we are forever grateful!);
to the checkers at Grand Union who never failed to marvel at my children (special mention to Joanne for the video tips);
to Michel (from Berkely and Veller) and Lynne Matthews who were much more than realtors to us when we arrived as strangers to this area;
to Mr. Gerdes, who I have never actually met or even seen from out behind the steering wheel of the school bus he drives–thank you so much for the daily waves, it’s hard to convey the significance they hold for me;
to Deborah and Wendy at the post office, simply for being there every day;
to the guys (and gals?) who do such a good job on the snowy roads;
to the Valley News for letting us know what was “happening” each week;
to the people who create and organize the annual events which help define and enrich the seasons of our lives;
to Len Chapman, aka “Uncle Lenny”, our landlord, and Diane Classon, and to their families (and to all our neighbors in Medburyville), who became our “family” in Vermont and provided a beautiful place for us to grow;
and lastly, to the many others who I have not mentioned- on behalf of myself, my husband Casey Deane, and our sons Lloyd and Aidan–thank you for being such an important part of our lives in the Valley.
The sweet little cape in the back of this photo–at the edge of the Green Mountain National Forest–with a brook & a tire swing & a treehouse in the backyard.
Chickens & horses & mice & bears.
Antiquing, weddings, cookouts, cocktails & neighborhood town meetings in the barn.
Landlords, like family.
Communal gardens & holidays & heartache.
The longest place I’d ever lived (1993-2000.)
Taught 3rd & 4th grade.
Left teaching.
Ran a few non-profits.
Worked at a pizza parlor & a video store.
Became a mother.
Lost my mother.
Twenty-three years ago, I took a big pay cut and moved to Vermont. Another year later, I surrendered that income to invest myself in motherhood–because unlike work and success and travel, motherhood hadn’t come easy to me.
As a stay at home mom, I couldn’t afford to go out for coffee. I’m not exaggerating. My husband was a new teacher, and we had to pay for insurance out of pocket, and the cost of living in Vermont was surprisingly higher than New Jersey. I had a college degree and 8 years in the classroom; prefaced by a handful of years managing a restaurant; but I felt compelled to give my all to motherhood just as I had to the endeavors that came before it.
More than a decade passed before I let some other interests back in. My sons no longer needed me in the hour to the hour, but I was terrified of awakening passion for something other than them. I played it safe, in part-time roles, and little by little my sense of a separate self began to re-emerge.
More than anything, I longed to travel–to know myself in some foreign place again–but another decade passed before I left the country; unless you count crossing the border of Vermont into Canada; which admittedly was a huge thrill–all three times.
I was approaching 50 when I was offered another safe, part-time position, in a tiny rural office. I almost fell out of the interview chair, however, when I was asked if I had a valid passport. 5 months later, I was in Chile. The following year, Japan.
Surprisingly, it was my stay-at-home grandmothers who planted the seed of travel in me. As a girl, I sat at my great-grandmother Mildred’s knee, and watched as she brushed her hand across the cover of her huge atlas, turning page after page, as she pointed–to all the places she had traveled with her husband after his retirement as a Merchant Marine.
Her daughter, my grandmother Lila, dreamed of leaving home and working internationally. She confided this while helping me with my French, after I told her about the thrill of a school field trip to the United Nations.
I’m 52 now, and I’ve given up that traveling job for something else.
During my years at home, I discovered what a wise woman once said:
Our true passion brings us balance.
Even though I did it so well, and gave it my all–managing a restaurant and a classroom and a home and a non-profit, none of these were my passion.
I was the last to realize my own.
Others called me a writer first.
For the past few years, I’ve dedicated myself to the page. I can afford a cup of coffee now, even lattes, lots of them, but not much else. My husband is still a teacher and we still have one son at home. The other is abroad, living the life I once knew.
I took my first yoga class at Klara Simpla, bought my first herbs, tinctures and supplements there; and found some books that spoke to my soul.
Of the many ways I was inspired at Klara Simpla, this poem planted a seed that has been watered and nurtured by my life in Vermont. It’s as true of what I want today as it was when I first set foot into this state.
Beware Signs of Inner Peace
A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than on fears based on past experiences
An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment
A loss of interest in judging other people
A loss of interest in judging self
A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others
A loss of interest in conflict
A loss of ability to worry
Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation
Contented feelings of connectedness with others & nature
Frequent attacks of smiling
An increasing tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen
An increased susceptibility to love extended by others and the uncontrollable urge to extend it
We relocated to Vermont just as home computers (and chat rooms) arrived on the scene of daily life.
This Vermont Life 