I think there is something eminently relatable to the discomfort of the inevitable change of a childhood home and land, no matter where you're from. (I wrote about it in my newsletter, too, probably because these feelings never fully get resolved, only ebb and flow, and writing helps me try to make sense of it all)!
I read this immediately because I know Vermont well, having lived there for 11 years. While I didn't grow up there, for my job (and for fun) we drove all over the state, to the most rural pockets and seemingly unoccupied corners. Lake Willoughby is absolutely stunning; I did not realize how much I'd missed it until reading this!
From my time running a rural camp on 50 undeveloped acres in Northwestern Vermont, I know what it's like to have to haul out a rickety wooden dock at the end of every summer, what the crush of winter ice does to it if you don't, having to replace it because you think "maybe this year it will survive the winter" (you were wrong). Connection with the land is so deep there.
Even with all the changes (and Cheryl is so right, the poverty and dilapidation across rural Vermont is stunning and completely overlooked by those who imagine the state to be a fall color paradise), what I have to remember is that just over a century ago, almost the entire state was farmland; trees were mown down and have been climbing back ever since. It wasn't that long ago! The land survives (if we give and take responsibly...), even if the culture sadly fades away.
I wrote more than I planned. This obviously struck a chord. I'm so sorry about Maple Grove Farms. B grade forever!!
Ashleigh, thank you so much for your comments! Wow, you really DO know Vermont!
You're right, "it wasn't that long ago" that the state looked very different. The only thing constant is change, right? Thank goodness the land survives, no matter what mistakes we humans make. And yeah, I'm bummed about Maple Grove Farms too. :(
also, please remind me of your post were you talk about your childhood home. Maybe put the link in a comment. I would like to read that (perhaps again, if I already have and have just forgotten)
Thanks for this, Ashleigh; it's interesting how universal this melancholy is about not being able to "go home again." I'm glad to hear you validate my observations since I was in Vermont fairly briefly and saw it through very emotional eyes. I love that you know Willoughby and that you're a B grade fan! Where in Vermont did you live?
Your phrase "connection with the land" really struck me. Something we all need more of in this time of climate disconnect.
Really appreciate your thoughts. And as Jan says, please point us to your post on this topic. I'm eager to read it.
Thank you, Cheryl and Jan, for your comments and conversation! I am a sucker for chatting about places I've lived and loved. :)
Cheryl, I lived in the Burlington area and worked in S. Burlington/a small town called Fletcher and would travel all over the state--my job directly supported kids living in low-income homes so I saw a lot of what you described. The most important part, though, is how these kids were just like any other kids. It was a powerful learning experience for me.
Here's my post about my childhood home--it was a great exercise in writing about memory! It was hard to capture everything, but I'm really proud of what I was able to get out of it!
ah yes! I do remember this piece. So much good stuff in here! But admittedly, you did lose me with the cockroaches... I think what I liked best was when you talked about sharing the bathroom. That's a pretty big deal and we don't talk about that enough.
Omg, the cockroaches! How well I remember them from my years in Williamsburg. I'll spare you the details (some similar to yours); it's enough to say they're the stuff of nightmares!
It's clear how strong an emotional pull that house has for you. Written with love! I like what you said about the teacher thinking your house was big and making assumptions about your family. We all compare ourselves to others, our families to other families, without knowing the truth about them. My son said something recently that really stuck with me (not his words, I don't think)—"Comparison is the thief of joy."
I loved the image of your mother at the island reading the obituaries, then the fast-forwarding to you reading hers. Very touching. Thanks for posting the link.
Such a beautiful post! I'm a sentimental fool over my childhood home. I moved there with my parents and sister when I was one and my sister 13. I did go back many times to drive by . And once or twice even stopped and did a bit of trespassing to see the little patio my dad built and the backyard I thought was so huge. Still dream about it.
You thought it was so huge- Yes! Our perspective is so different as an adult! My sister and I had the same experience when we went back to the parsonage where we lived for 10 years. The rooms were so small and we had thought them so incredibly spacious!
Thank you, Joan. We all seem to make those childhood home pilgrimages, and yes, everything is smaller or somehow less than what we remember. I thought the raft anchored off the beach in Vermont was both smaller (which it might be, since it's not the original) and closer to shore than I remember!
My actual childhood home is in Virginia (we were in Vermont only in the summer). My parents sold the house in 1979, and it pains me to this day that the new owners cut down our beloved apple tree and installed a tacky front door.
Jan, thanks so much for inviting me to share your space. It's lovely to hang out with you.
I think there is something eminently relatable to the discomfort of the inevitable change of a childhood home and land, no matter where you're from. (I wrote about it in my newsletter, too, probably because these feelings never fully get resolved, only ebb and flow, and writing helps me try to make sense of it all)!
I read this immediately because I know Vermont well, having lived there for 11 years. While I didn't grow up there, for my job (and for fun) we drove all over the state, to the most rural pockets and seemingly unoccupied corners. Lake Willoughby is absolutely stunning; I did not realize how much I'd missed it until reading this!
From my time running a rural camp on 50 undeveloped acres in Northwestern Vermont, I know what it's like to have to haul out a rickety wooden dock at the end of every summer, what the crush of winter ice does to it if you don't, having to replace it because you think "maybe this year it will survive the winter" (you were wrong). Connection with the land is so deep there.
Even with all the changes (and Cheryl is so right, the poverty and dilapidation across rural Vermont is stunning and completely overlooked by those who imagine the state to be a fall color paradise), what I have to remember is that just over a century ago, almost the entire state was farmland; trees were mown down and have been climbing back ever since. It wasn't that long ago! The land survives (if we give and take responsibly...), even if the culture sadly fades away.
I wrote more than I planned. This obviously struck a chord. I'm so sorry about Maple Grove Farms. B grade forever!!
Ashleigh, thank you so much for your comments! Wow, you really DO know Vermont!
You're right, "it wasn't that long ago" that the state looked very different. The only thing constant is change, right? Thank goodness the land survives, no matter what mistakes we humans make. And yeah, I'm bummed about Maple Grove Farms too. :(
also, please remind me of your post were you talk about your childhood home. Maybe put the link in a comment. I would like to read that (perhaps again, if I already have and have just forgotten)
Thanks for this, Ashleigh; it's interesting how universal this melancholy is about not being able to "go home again." I'm glad to hear you validate my observations since I was in Vermont fairly briefly and saw it through very emotional eyes. I love that you know Willoughby and that you're a B grade fan! Where in Vermont did you live?
Your phrase "connection with the land" really struck me. Something we all need more of in this time of climate disconnect.
Really appreciate your thoughts. And as Jan says, please point us to your post on this topic. I'm eager to read it.
Thank you, Cheryl and Jan, for your comments and conversation! I am a sucker for chatting about places I've lived and loved. :)
Cheryl, I lived in the Burlington area and worked in S. Burlington/a small town called Fletcher and would travel all over the state--my job directly supported kids living in low-income homes so I saw a lot of what you described. The most important part, though, is how these kids were just like any other kids. It was a powerful learning experience for me.
Here's my post about my childhood home--it was a great exercise in writing about memory! It was hard to capture everything, but I'm really proud of what I was able to get out of it!
https://ashleighellskells.substack.com/p/1202-belt-line-boulevard
ah yes! I do remember this piece. So much good stuff in here! But admittedly, you did lose me with the cockroaches... I think what I liked best was when you talked about sharing the bathroom. That's a pretty big deal and we don't talk about that enough.
Omg, the cockroaches! How well I remember them from my years in Williamsburg. I'll spare you the details (some similar to yours); it's enough to say they're the stuff of nightmares!
It's clear how strong an emotional pull that house has for you. Written with love! I like what you said about the teacher thinking your house was big and making assumptions about your family. We all compare ourselves to others, our families to other families, without knowing the truth about them. My son said something recently that really stuck with me (not his words, I don't think)—"Comparison is the thief of joy."
I loved the image of your mother at the island reading the obituaries, then the fast-forwarding to you reading hers. Very touching. Thanks for posting the link.
Such a beautiful post! I'm a sentimental fool over my childhood home. I moved there with my parents and sister when I was one and my sister 13. I did go back many times to drive by . And once or twice even stopped and did a bit of trespassing to see the little patio my dad built and the backyard I thought was so huge. Still dream about it.
You thought it was so huge- Yes! Our perspective is so different as an adult! My sister and I had the same experience when we went back to the parsonage where we lived for 10 years. The rooms were so small and we had thought them so incredibly spacious!
Thank you, Joan. We all seem to make those childhood home pilgrimages, and yes, everything is smaller or somehow less than what we remember. I thought the raft anchored off the beach in Vermont was both smaller (which it might be, since it's not the original) and closer to shore than I remember!
My actual childhood home is in Virginia (we were in Vermont only in the summer). My parents sold the house in 1979, and it pains me to this day that the new owners cut down our beloved apple tree and installed a tacky front door.
Thanks for sharing your experience with us!
Love this. Thanks
Thank you, Julia!
Jan, your insight into our childhood memories touch the nerve of all of us who read the depth of your message.
We read, listen, learn, and pray for a deeper understanding of “our past” and all that it means. I grateful for your wisdom!
Thank you my friend. Pat McDonald