I grew-up on the north side of the house. At night I would be lulled to sleep by string quartets on Wednesdays and the hum of the singing bridge as the cars and trucks sped across the grates. I remember our cousins and their procession of Princetonians venturing to Vermont. Just crossing through —- Greensboro was the place.
The Brown family moved from Virginia to run the store. Corny’s store, one of the oldest running General Stores in Vermont still standing on the north side of the bridge. Jackie Harmon and Dave Rogers, the power couple in town owned and operated the other businesses and post office. Jackie bought the Sibley house, one of the town’s historic treasures and David bought the apartments across from Corny’s store as well as a number of other properties along the Kingsbury branch.
The community was close-knit, and neighbors like Joanne Wheeler always had a puzzle and cookies for us kids to enjoy after school. Marianne Kreiss and Laura Brown would clear the ice for us to skate and lit bonfires for winter gatherings. They kept their freezers packed with snow for the annual sugar on snow parties in the old rec field. Lisa, Marianne’s daughter remembers playing kick-the-can in the street after dinner because the town was made for people, not just trucks passing through.
My dad, a country doctor would do house calls and deliver babies as well as sheep, cows, horses, pigs etc. and in return our freezer was always full of food. We shared a rototiller with Seward Weber, my dad’s gardening partner and our local expert on bees, soil and forest health (fun to see his lecture series still going strong!). We referred to our International Scout the “Glass Bottom Boat” because the bottom was literally rusted out. It would only start in second gear so dad would circle around the driveway and we had to jump in as mom flagged him onto the main road. I remember feeling ashamed because the back would often fly open when we hit a bump passing the school bus and sometimes the windows and doors would not quite shut right so we tied them with bailing twine. Dad lived for these moments: “did we lose anybody?” he twinkled as my beet red face melted into a smile.
Our home and community were always full of arts and music. The Sound of Music felt like our normal. Ellen and Fran Voigt, Pat and James Gahagan, John Draino and Louise Glück to name a few came for Goddard College, the campus next door and they stayed. Mom, the church choir director felt Mary needed a donkey for the Christmas Pageant so we literally bought a donkey, Rosa whom became the mascot and also happened to be pregnant performing another nativity scene with her delivery of Jose. Mom directed and we sang The Magic Flute, A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Revels both on the field (literally in our meadow) and in the house, school, and any institution that would let mom bring her Taste of Opera or musical entourage to teach the children to sing. And oh did we melt around the piano after supper with hours of Art Song and chamber music, which then evolved into the Foliage Art Song Festival and Rich’s Hollow concert series with Diane Huling, Dalton Baldwin and Lorraine Nubar to name just a few.
And of course, growing-up in Vermont in the 1970s also meant a dress-code. Lanz nightgowns, LL Bean, Gunne Sax dresses, and lots of Laura Ashley (my nickname was literally little Laura Ashley, which was hard to shake and definitely not hot in high-school). I remember asking my mom to let me get pierced ears: “horrors, no — you’ll look like a gypsy!” she said. And bangs in my hair and buy a sweater with shoulder pads and gold flecks in the wool, and she looked at me like I was trying to buy fake boobs and botox! “Who in the world are you trying to impress?!? She shot through me in her glance. Or my dad’s scorn at ever dressing like a “trixie” ie trying to draw attention to oneself or out-dress and one-up our neighbors — oh the shame in that!)
We learned the true value of duct tape at an early age and wore it in stripes across the holes in our parkas like medals of honor. Dad was famous for saving the life of a child because his hands were so cold from driving rusty old cars that his touch shocked the child back to life! Arriving in 40 below weather with hands like icicles he could shock just about anything back to life!
And oh the food!! I remember my mom’s homemade bread and feasts from our fields with incredible cooks! Fran ended-up starting the New England Culinary Institute and I remember traveling around to sample various chefs and finally meeting Michel and discovering his famous flourless chocolate cake! Mom, always the bread-maker and some friends started a food coop on our dining room table and I remember people coming and measuring out flour and rice and swapping excess zucchini for oats and then the co-op became Hunger Mountain co-op and bakers like the Rabin’s Bread and Rainbow Sweets became their own delicious destinations.
Growing-up in Vermont taught me the importance of community and giving back. It wasn't just an expectation - it was a feeling of joy and abundance that came from breaking bread with our neighbors — like one would be NUTS to miss out on participating in such joy. Our elders aged in place, set the pace and remembered our histories, making us feel safe to explore and certainly not getting away with much. (I will NEVER live down sneaking into the The Big Chill at age 12!).
Looking back, I realize that true success was measured in service to the community and inspiration - not in dollars or chasing the golden idol. And even though my dad used to compete with our cousins to see who could put more miles on their cars and would tell us that we could get a free trade-in if we could drive our cars past 500,000 miles (we believed him!), the greatest value we learned was nurturing our relationships with each other. Singing Bridge may have been a small town, but it was full of big hearts and bigger dreams.
Dear Celina,
What a beautiful meditation on this day of Love. Keep writing, please... you are a treasure.
Best,
Len
Dear Celina,
You have given new meaning to a nostalgic Valentine remembrance! This is a truly beautiful reflection on the heart and soul of a community, its people, and folk ways. May your memories endure for ever and this reflection serve as a call to the next generation to burn the flame brightly! Bill B