Poetic Meandering

As soon as we moved to New England, I began marking up our travel books, planning out "must sees." The Robert Frost Trail was one of the items that I asterisked. I had always wanted to hike along the loop trail, through woods, past beaver dams and over bridges, that included plaques with Frost's famous poems. I read that this was the area that Robert Frost loved to visit during the summers, so the trail was dedicated to him. We started the day traveling along country roads through the Green Mountains of Vermont. We arrived at the trail, which was just as picturesque as the drive there. And as expected, along the trail were posted Robert Frost's poems, including my favorites. I brought our children's book of Frost's poems in the car, so the children were familiar with and enjoyed most of his poetry along the path.

I thought that we were done with Frost for the day, but soon passed a dirt road with a wooden street sign labeled Robert Frost. I couldn't help but turn down the lane. A white wooden cottage was what we found at the end of the road, with a plaque indicating that this was Robert Frost's summer home. I was curious why the guide books didn't mention that this treasure was hidden in the woods not far from the Frost Trail or why there were no signs guiding us to this spot. We were the only ones around, so the kids played on the front lawn of Robert Frost's summer cottage. I wondered if Frost sat on the front porch of this little home writing my favorite poems, or if the stone wall that the kids took pictures on was the actual "mending wall", or if the path through the trees could be the "road not taken", or if the surrounding woods were the ones that filled up with snow. With the setting so peaceful and serene, the light perfect for a few photographs and the kids happy to be together, we hesitated to continue on our journey.

(Miriam LOVES to play "So Big"!)

Our next stop on our itinerary was a museum on the banks of Lake Champlain. We drove through New England's oldest towns, enjoying each stone church and town square until we reached Basin Harbor, Vermont. We pulled up to this out of the way museum to find a "closed for the season" sign. Despite my online and travel book research, I feared that my drive to this tiny town was a failure. However, we ran into the grounds keeper of the Harbor Homestead, which was a very upscale summer resort right on the lake. The resort was being prepared for East Coast families who would summer on Lake Champlain. We were invited to have our picnic down on the waterfront, and for just an hour or so we felt like some of those wealthy Easterners. We could see the maids through the windows of the summer cottages dusting the curtains and the gardeners pruning the hedges, which added to the fun of pretending like we belonged at this fancy resort. We pulled out our Tiki Marsala and Hot Buffalo Cheddar that the kids had hand picked the day before from the Cabot gift store along with crackers, grapes, carrots and juices. The kids tossed rocks in the lake, explored the beaches and raced on the lawns. Ezra even dragged us over to a pile of floating moss in the lake that he swore was a real live alligator! We soon packed up our belongings and returned to our car, hoping that the next time we visited the Harbor Homestead, we could be one of their legitimate guests.

I knew that a few miles up the lake, a ferry crossed over to New York from Charolette, Vermont. I wasn't sure when the ferries ran, but I thought that climbing on board would be a great way to get a good feel for Lake Champlain. As we pulled up to the ticket booth, we could see the ferry about to dock. Just in time, I thought. However, as is often the case in New England, no credit cards were accepted for ferry tickets and I didn't have enough cash to get us all on board. "There is an ATM at the red store, but you won't have enough time to get back and this is the last ferry for the night," I was told by the attendant. The red store? I had no idea where this red store was, but I spun the car around and rushed back up the hill. Several miles away I spotted a store painted red and inside the ATM that I was in need of. I raced back down the hill, passing all the cars that had just come off the ferry. I figured there was little use in trying to make it to the ferry, but I just couldn't give up. To my relief, we arrived barely in time, parked our car and ran on as pedestrians, the last to board. Our trip across the lake was beautiful, with the Adirondack Mountains rising above the little village of Essex, New York on one side and the quaint summer homes of wealthy Vermonters on the other side, with tiny islands in between. Ezra loved watching the cars load onto the boat, Emilie caught up on a few texts and Jonathan helped take photographs of the scenery while the girls played yet another make believe game, this time of two orphans on a steam boat.

We took the last return ferry to Vermont and finished our day in search of the perfect Vermont treat, which came in the form of maple ice cream from the most quaint country store.

After what felt like a full, successful day, we returned home to a night of swimming and ending with six children tucked into their beds, snuggled up watching late night movies.