Whenever a flatlander asks me where our summer place is, I usually give them a vague answer. Something along the lines of “Oh, it’s way up north.” If they push the issue for curiosity’s sake, I ask them how well they know Vermont. Most often, I’ll get references to Killington, maybe Stowe. Skiers. Just recently, I’ve run into people who’ve surprised me. One works at a private school on the north shore of Long Island; Meredith her name is.
“Oh you have a place up there,” she asked. “Where?”
“Oh it’s up north, pretty much at the Canadian border,” I replied.
”Derby Line?” she said.
I was floored. Nobody ever had drilled right to that reference so directly before. But Meredith did and once she was done chuckling at my dumbfounded expression, she explained that her home town was Troy. Small world.
“So you have quite a hike to make when you go up,” Meredith said. “Do you go all the way up, or do you stop halfway?”
For many years, “halfway” was Brattleboro, VT, simply because it was midpoint on the route between our Long Island home and Derby. We’d pull off the highway to stretch our legs and get breakfast at the Howard Johnson right off the road. Dad would check on the trunk to see what was rattling, while we would take our house cat Max out for a few minutes of fresh air. “Don’t let him chew on that grass,” my mother warned us. “He’ll get sick to his stomach!”
Of all the pets we’ve traveled with, Max was by far the gloomiest companion in our midst. The dog, other cats, even turtles…all of them appreciated the joy of back seat driving and rest stops. Gold fish, not so much.
But the trip up these days is much easier now. Air conditioning helped, as did Interstate 91. And even though the linear distance hasn’t changed door to door, our halfway mark has, creeping steadily south with each year. I first noticed this trend a couple of years ago when my cousin’s husband – himself an avid camp owner – made a business trip to Boston. He had it all figured out too. Make the run up to Waltham, MA on Thursday night, do the business thing Friday morning, and then get on the road up to the lake right after the meeting ended. Since Interstate 93 is right there, he’d be at his camp by dinner. Lucky man.
However, the next time a New England business trip came up, my cousin’s husband was in Hartford, CT. Now, if you view the New England map, Hartford is probably five to six hours due south of Derby, assuming you’re cruising at a steady pace without pressing the good will of the state troopers along the way. Hartford. Now if you think about it, that’s not all that far from Springfield, MA really, once you’re in Springfield, you’re not far from Greenfield, MA. And if you’ve come all that way north, you could cross over into Vermont and make a straight run right on in to the lake. What’s that, 27 exits? Easy.
It’s easy to get sucked into this mindset when you have such an affinity for a place like the summer camp. I get teased now, particularly by my kids. “Hey Dad, you’re going over to Westchester tomorrow? Might as well hop on over to the cabin while you’re at it. What about Port Jefferson? Ya know, if you catch the six o’clock ferry, you’re already halfway home to the cabin as soon as you get into Bridgeport.”
I was in Boston just a few weeks ago; drove up for business just for the day. It was a Friday and there I was, traveling northward on I-91 with Hartford in sight. To get to Boston from that point, you have to veer off to the right onto I-84 which leads you to the Mass Pike. And that’s what I did, resisting all instinct to push on northward. And as I crossed over the Connecticut River, I glanced longingly over my left shoulder at the small city skyline. It was such a shame; so very sad; to have come so close to the lake and not be able to put in just a little time there. To have come all this way, on such a beautiful day; a Friday too.
My barber has an expression for moments like this. He says “it ain’t fair and it ain’t right.” His shop is just down the road from where we live, a block or two north from our house. In fact, I’m due for a hair cut and I was thinking maybe if I schedule this for a Friday, I could stop in for a trim on my way up to the lake. Seems like the right thing to do since I’m heading that way anyway. It’s not like I’d have to take the house cat along, and we don’t have any goldfish. So why not? I could be at the lake and have the dock in before dinner.