BURLINGTON AND LAKE CHAMPLAIN
As soon as I heard one of the conferences I attend with some regularity would be held in Burlington, Vermont, I signed up without even looking at the program. I knew the conference would be good, but more so, I wanted to visit Vermont. In 2005, I believe, when I was interviewing for a position in New Hampshire, I had discovered how conservative New Hampshire was compared to its neighboring upside-down twin, which was very progressive in every way. Ever since, Vermont has become a state I heard so much about, I wanted to visit it at the first chance, and here it was. And I am so glad I came. As I told one of my friends, the conference was good, but my overall experience in Vermont has been superb!
I arrived at my hotel in Burlington around 8:30 pm on June 26th, pleasantly surprised it was right on Lake Champlain. As soon as I checked in, even before carrying my luggage to my room, I crossed the road to the green belt between the water and the very manageable urban life of the city. How smart, Burlington's residents and/or founders seem to be. As soon as I pass over the soft hill down to the waterfront, I feel a deja vous: the little cove with many small yachts and boats facing west take me immediately across the Atlantic all the way back to Turkey, Foca (Phokai in Greek), one of the small coastal towns on the Aegean, one of my favorite destinations. No wonder I am instantaneously filled with "I already like this place".
I am just on time to savor the tail end of a beautiful sunset over the mountains outlining the distant Champlain islands to the northwest of Burlington. I recall one more time, the memories of Lake George, when Bill and I had cruised along its western shore on the way to his daughter Sheila's goat farm (if you come across Nettle Meadow cheeses, don't miss it, they are deliciously tasty!). This was at least 8 years ago, but the memory of how big the lake had seemed is still fresh, perhaps refreshed by Lake Champlain, several times larger than Lake George, which looks like an inner sea. I remember even Lake George, a tiny fraction of Champlain had felt like the Aegean, let alone this much larger lake. The walk along the lake toward the sunset and back is meditative enough but I stand for a while by the wooden fence on the boardwalk looking at the horizon for a visual meditation. As I am heading back to my hotel room after sending the last rays of the sun under the horizon and up into the darkening clouds, I know what I will be doing the next afternoon.
As soon as I am done with the conference day on the 27th, I head toward the Champlain islands where the sun set the day before. Sure enough, the little bit of urban feel Burlington with its 40,000 population has, is left behind both literally and metaphorically within a few miles. The major highways in Vermont at least those I have been on have only two lanes each way. Highway 2, which will take me to the islands is “reduced” to one lane each way shortly I leave my hotel, just like country roads of Iowa and all over America, I love to travel on. The rural scenery is calming at a deep level but also and perhaps because of that, rejuvenating. Each bridge seems to leap from more complex to simpler playfully as my surroundings become more and more rural and more real, more what I need periodically after living in the urban setting, be it as small as Iowa City.
I drive through South Hero onto the Grand Isle and finally into North Hero, where I have planned to be. I hike for an hour, meditate on a staircase going down to the water at the end of a meadow. This time I do audio meditation to the sound of the ripples along the shore, some very close by, some at a distance. Just like Pema Chodron recommends, I try to differentiate the gentle melody of the near-most ripple softly disappearing into the grooves among the small rocks of the shore from the subtle caress of the distant-most ripples i can hear on both sides of the staircase. Ripples seem to come in a sequence. Just as the melody on my right ends, I hear the whisper in the distance on my left followed with a closer-by tune from a ripple on my left followed with a distant caress from a subtle ripple on my right, and on and on and on... The space indeed opens up in my mind and heart, just like Pema advises. I feel lighter, more joyful, I become Lake Champlain, the vast sky of Vermont… What liberation from the rat race of the urban.
Refreshed and rejuvenated, I walk back to North Hero House, an old homestead established in 1800s on the island, the porch of which I had envisioned for my dinner looking down on the eastern shore of Grand Isle. The customers on the porch look like me, all perhaps on the search of off the beaten path. I bet if I struck up a conversation with any of them, we could find a lot of common things. However, they are all couples and seem to be enjoying each other’s company to such an extent, it would be unacceptable to intervene with any of them. I keep it to myself. The escargot, calamari, fresh green salad and vegetable soup are all as fresh as they are promised to be and thus, superbly delicious. The water, tame and peaceful is just ten yards away across highway 2, which is also the Main Street of North Hero. As I drive back, a bright red sky announcing another beautiful sunset is delightful surprise in my mirrors, which I keep checking all the way to Burlington with occasional stops to memorize the details of it to recall at times of routine boredom.
Burlington indeed has a feel of a New England town. Some of its buildings are clearly over 100 years old, perhaps close to 200. They do have a cross shaped pedestrian Mall just as we do in Iowa City, lined with shops of various sorts, from jewelry to maple products, to ice cream, to a hidden mall. Clever, though, the entrance looks like I am entering another shop. Only when I am inside, I realize, this shop front in fact is couple blocks deep housing a huge urban mall. I am all too ready to head to my final destination, the reason I jumped to visiting Vermont. I know the greatest reward of Vermont for me will be around Stowe, a small town located in the heart of the Green Mountain Range. I have reservation at an old place to stay at in Stowe: Stowe Inn, another house established in 1800s. The second owner of the house built a carriage factory on the premises, the third one converted it all into the largest creamery of New England. Apparently, the close-to-1000 cows on the farm gave enough milk to produce 90 tons of butter a day at some point! It is a charming place furnished with antique furniture, its restaurant looking down at the chalet of the house. This place will become my hub for the three memorable hikes of my vacation in Vermont, and will treat me very well including its very tender prime rib served almost every night.
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