You Can't Go Home Again

I have fond memories of the years our family lived in the so-called "Northeast Kingdom", Vermont's northern-most counties; Essex, Orleans and Caledonia. In 1955, when I was 4 and Gail was just a puppy, we moved to Barton. Dad worked at the Sutton Pump Station of the Portland Pipeline Corp. and we settled into our idealic life... at least in my childish mind's eye. We moved from house to house to house. Wendy was born on Lincoln Avenue during a January that was colder than a well digger's boot. Eventually we ended up living in a company house at the pump station, when dad was promoted to Station Chief, 10 miles from town and school and groceries, a mile from the nearest neighbor.

Barton became the exciting place where we traveled each week for supplies. There were strawberry ice cream sodas at the Ruggle's Drug Store soda fountain, thick nickle packs of black licorice, occasional hamburgers at the Blue Grill and a rack of comic books... my passion. Life was complete. I vaguely remember Mom complaining about making the long drive on snowy Rte 5 with temperatures hovering below zero for months on end. During the long winters we skated and skied. In the spring we joined friends collecting sap in the maple groves and boiled down the thick syrup over wood burning evaporators in the sugar shack. In the summer we swam in the ice cold glacial lakes and fished the mountain ponds for horn-pout. The autumns were glorious with amazing displays of forest colors. Life was good. I thought we lived in paradise. When Dad was transferred back to Portland when I was in the fifth grade, I grieved the relocation for years.

Connie and I spent 3 months back in Maine this summer. We enjoyed being among family and our time with friends. And when the time came to strike out again, Connie agreed to a trip to Northern Vermont to revisit the place of my childhood. I sold the idea with nostalgic memories and promises of relaxing in beautiful bed and breakfasts in God's country. I did some pre-planning on line and called the 3 listed bed and breakfasts in Barton. All three numbers had been disconnected. Hmmm...

On the day of our departure, we stopped in North Conway, NH. for lunch and discovered that Gail and Roland were also in town with Dan, Lauren and baby Brooke visiting their lot on the Saco River. We couldn't pass up seeing them again and enjoyed a couple hours visiting, walking the woods trails and wading the river. Finally, we headed up through the magnificent Crawford Notch and into Vermont. It was about 4:30 when we rolled off the highway into Barton. Along the way, Connie kept pointing at the luxury resorts and asking, "Are we staying there?" An uncomfortable unease began to grow in my chest. "No honey, not there. I have a special place in mind. I remember some lovely little cottages right on the lake in Barton that I think you will love." I was blowing smoke and I knew it.

The little town was nothing like I remembered it, but was probably entirely as it had ever been. The road crews were laying down new asphalt preparing for the Orleans Fair the next week so it was impossible to get to the lake and the pristine cabins of my memory. The homey little drug store, the former hub of the community, was now a franchise operation. The Blue Grill hadn't existed in decades. Even the Ben Franklin's Five and Dime was gone. The town was shabby. The economy, with the closure of the local mills, was desperate. Connie was beginning to frown. I began to scramble.

There was a little restaurant on the town square and we walked in to use the bathroom and ask some questions. The flies and open food containers at the counter grill disallowed a dining experience. While Connie was enduring a visit to the disreputable restroom, I struck up a conversation with two old-timers at the counter. "Howdy boys. We're looking for someplace to spend the night in town. Any ideas?" They mumbled among themselves and the suspendered, unshaven fellow who had been nominated spokesman pushed back his dirty ballcap before he began. "Well, there is a place. If you go down this gawd-damned road to the gawd-damned river and just as you go around the gawd-damned bend, there are some gawd-damned cabins." I turned to see Connie standing wide eyed behind me. I thanked the fellers and we headed down the gawd-damned road...

Connie's defenses were now on high alert and she began to remind me of my promise for a "nice bed and breakfast". Her tone was just short of shrill. When we pulled into the dirt driveway of the motor inn, we were greeted by 3 road construction workers sitting in rusty lawn chairs drinking from cans of beer, shirts hiked up over their pot bellies. "No... no... no... You've brought me to Deliverance country!" Connie began to rant. "Now honey, let's just check it out" I negotiated. We drove down the drive to another set of cabins facing the river. I rounded the corner and it looked all the world like a scene from the movie "The Grapes of Wrath".  Flat bed trucks, with dirty faced kids sitting on the tailgates, overheated, panting dogs laying in the road, overweight women in house dresses and curious men sitting on porches drinking beer watching us closely. I turned around near the concrete block, lime green swimming pool (It may have been the pool water that was lime green... whatever.) with Connie's persistent encouragement. Not one to give up easily, I said "There was an isolated cabin at the end of the row that might work. I'm going to stop at the office." Connie's back was no longer resting against the seat. She was rigid and at full alert, breathing short shallow breaths.

As I pulled up to the office (there was a piece of paper duct taped to the door that said "Ofice") an old rusted station wagon pulled off the road and parked broadside directly in front of us. Connie was close to panicking "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God...". The passenger side door opened and an old man in dirty cloths, pants hiked up under his armpits and a filthy cowboy hat stepped out. He looked directly at Connie, pulled his hat straight up from his balding head and screeched in a high pitched Festus voice..."Howdy!" Connie began to whimper "no, no, no, no..." At that point, the driver stepped out. She was about 5 ft 6", weighed a good 250 pounds and was wearing a white wife-beater tee shirt over her huge, unharnessed breasts. She had short cropped hair... and a dark, heavy beard. At this point Connie began to scream. "Get me out of here!" and I began to laugh uncontrollably. She verbally assaulted me all the way up the gawd-damned road back to Barton.

I stopped at the only gas station in town for an emergency bottle of wine. I desperately needed to lubricate her sense of humor. We parked next to another car and had to wait as the driver was getting into her car. She was an elderly woman sporting a full head of pink foam pin curlers, most of which were covered by a knotted colorful chiffon scarf. Her knee-high nylons were rolled halfway down her exposed calves below her floral print moo moo and she carried a Hello Kitty purse over her shoulder. She had tubes running up her nose and down to the oxygen bottle she wheeled behind her... and she was smoking a cigarette. I bought two bottles of wine and a big bag of Lays potato chips.

We drove to the Canadian border in stony silence. I did find a delightful bed and breakfast on Lake Memphremagog. I did rent their most expensive suite and we stayed for two nights. We did drink the wine.

The next day, Connie chose to remain at the lake and I drove back to Barton. I visited the old house on Water Street and walked around the school. I visited the Randall's on Breezy Hill and so enjoyed reminiscing with old friends. The House on Lincoln Avenue had been torn down and the house at the pump station in Sutton had been moved. I walked through the woods and the swamps where I had tromped as a boy. I remembered and relived and grieved the loss of my parents and my lost youth. And I realized that, although you can never really go home, our memories, our feelings, our loves, stay with us always. I'm glad I came home to those memories.

It was gawd-damned awesome.