Days 5 and 6 -- A Wanderer Settles

View from The Bunkhouse after an afternoon shower.

In an earlier post, I said that wanderers are always looking ahead, curious what lies around the bend.  Wandering comes from wondering.  You wonder what comes next and that compels you to wander further down the path.  Perhaps, when a wanderer finally finds that place where it all feels right, they stop wondering what comes next.  They put down roots.  They become settlers. 

Riding through the mountains of central Vermont, you come to understand this.  The people who first put down roots here back some 250 years ago must have been wanderers to have come this far from the coast.  But once they saw these ferny glades and lovely clover-filled meadows, they knew it was right.  They stopped looking around the next bend and put down roots.  All around you are signs of their settlement – stone walls and tall old pines that were clearly allowed to stand to shade a lane to someone’s long gone home.

And, it still feels just so very right.  I could very easily see settling here myself like Matt and Kelly have.  Coming to The Bunkhouse in Washington, Vermont, I warned Kurt it would likely be rustic.  When you go to place that chooses that name and proudly describes itself as ‘off the grid,’ you temper your enthusiasms for modernity.  Approaching it over miles of twisting, unpaved roads did nothing to dispel my caution.  But, as soon as we pulled up the steep gravel drive to this little compound at the top of an open knoll, my wandering soul felt something shift – this is a place to settle.  Everything here is neat as a pin -- the little house the owners live in, the steep-sloped pastures, and the adorable old bunkhouse that could sleep a dozen but was going to be just ours for two nights.

We unloaded the horses and they went cantering around their paddock; tossing their heads with joy. Apparently, it felt just right to them too. The weather forecast was pretty dire; so, we gave the horses an hour to decompress from the taxing trailer ride then saddled up.  Kelly, an avid rider, came out and gave us maps, an old phone with a nav system, and lots of instructions.

Despite Kelly’s efforts, we totally blew executing the circuit we’d planned.  Still, it was a great ride.  The trails here are steep -- not Catskills steep – but the footing is largely well cushioned.  Riding the random stretch of unpaved road is chill – there are few cars and the drivers you do encounter seem to understand to slow and give the boys a chance to adjust to the notion of traffic.  And, the forest here is stunning.  Perfect Christmas tree firs mix with maples and birches.  Wildflowers take the place of ferns and deep moss in the rare spots open to full sun.  Just beautiful.

Getting back to the compound, we felt sure the horses would drop from exhaustion, but they went scampering up the steep hillside of their paddock.  We showered and went into the nearest real town – Barre – for dinner at a funky place that serves a variety of grilled cheese sandwiches and an eclectic selection of beers.  I enjoyed every bite and sip but felt bereft to have left home, I mean The Bunkhouse.  So, we loaded up on groceries so we’d not need to leave again.

This morning, Kelly had another go at giving us directions as we saddled.  This time, I’m proud to say we made the spectacular 9-mile circuit with only one major argument.  We were tucked back in our cozy abode munching cheeseburgers when the long-awaited rain shower finally arrived.

My only regret -- not allowing for more time here at The Bunkhouse.  Leaving tomorrow will be hard.  My wandering soul has lost it’s urge to press on (at least for a few days).