First of a Thousand (or a Million!) Miles … Or Love Letter to a Mountain

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

In our Spring & Summer 2017 issue of Quill & Ink, we announced that we have, after many years of dreaming about it, sold our lovely, cozy little home near Lake Champlain in northern Vermont and have embarked on an adventure of traveling to and living in new places and exploring distant horizons.

Later this fall, we will fulfill a decades-long dream of living an easy morning’s stroll from the ocean; until then, we find ourselves on this rather remote and beautiful land.

Our first stop on our journey is on what was Sara’s great-great-grandfather’s farm very near the Canadian border. Jay Peak—at 3,968 feet in elevation and said to boast the most snow in eastern North America—is just a few miles away on the skyline.

It once belonged to and was farmed by Sara’s great-great-grandfather and has remained within the family since that time. It is at an approximate elevation of 1,024 feet and is part of what are known as the Cold Hollow Mountains, which encompass important ecological landmarks across western New York, northern Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and well into Canada, including southern Québec and all the way to the Maritime provinces, allowing for strong and diverse populations of moose, bobcats, bears, fishers, and many other magnificent members of our natural world. In fact, many species of birds have as much as 90 percent of their global population breeding in these mountains! The mountains also contribute to recreational and material industry—in fact, there is an active maple syrup operation on this old farm—as well as the clean air and water these pristine forests provide.

The road leading to our current home sweet home.

Iconic covered bridges straddle waterways all around us, some of which date back to 1883 and still enjoy regular use. They were designed for protection against heavy snowfalls and suitably fortified to withstand the demands of the heavy wagons and logging vehicles of yesteryear.

This prototypical structure, which has benefited from routine maintenance, originally linked the banks of the brook beneath it in 1883.
The covered bridge spans a sparkling waterfall, which spills into a pebbly, popular swimming hole.

At the site of this particular bridge once stood a creamery, which supported the forty-nine farms that graced our immediate surroundings once upon a bucolic time.

Mossy fingers stealthily curl around a ghostly hidden jewel slumbering in the forest.

As for the secluded mountain retreat nestled into the side of this mountain, it is airy and bright, boasting crisp, fresh spring water and a cozy woodstove. Wild fruit trees, berry bushes, and wildflowers ramble everywhere.

Chokecherries glow in the late-summer sun.
Wild blackberries surround us in August.

Wild apple trees offer their alms to the sweet deer who make their homes here.

Jewelweed, asters, and goldenrod nestle together in a glorious tangle of color.

It is generally blissfully quiet here—we are, after all, a nearly fifteen-minute drive from a paved road, even farther from a country store, and nearly an hour from a traffic light—providing a grand stage for the birdsong and serenading insects. In the deep blackness of night without a nearby streetlight or a neighbor’s lamplight, the stars sparkle like scattered snow in the sun. And when the stars melt away and the sun peeps over the ridge …

Sunrise over Jay Peak.

On warmer mornings, we linger over breakfasts and steaming cups of coffee on the sunlit porch overlooking the layers of mountains that stretch their toes nearly into Québec (we’re so far north that French radio stations reach us far better than any others).

And it isn’t just breakfast we enjoy out in the fresh air.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, tea, a glass of wine … it all goes well with the view.

Some of our little neighbors occasionally join us for a tasty meal on the porch.

Juniper the hummingbird loves to stop by for breakfast …
… and lunch.
And so does Phee the bee.

Colder mornings often begin with sipping our coffees and snuggling with our dogs around the lambent fire.

Even in mid-July, it gets nippy on this mountain. Murphy curls up contentedly in Sara’s arms, while Gili peers up sweetly.

It is a very special place, and spending time here and advocating for it and places like it supports our personal mission of environmental conservation, sustainable living, and responsible guardianship of the natural world.

For a woodstove, one must have plenty of wood. The trees comprising this woodpile were industriously felled, split, and stacked on this land by Sara’s father.
All told, there are nearly one hundred acres filled with history … and an active maple sugaring operation.
Stone walls stand proudly throughout fields and forests, some of them generations old. This one was crafted from the stones of the original foundation of a nineteenth-century farmhouse built on the property …
… and offers refuge to a reptilian tenant.

Verdant banks of ferns unfurl and stretch their tendrils upward in the forest’s filtered light.

Already, autumn is stealing in on tiptoe.

A sugar maple seemingly ablaze in early September.

And finally, an office.

Research indicates that fresh air increases oxygen levels, which in turn heightens concentration and focus—key components of a successful editorial enterprise.

If you have any thoughts to share, please let us know; we’d love to hear from you.

Stay tuned for our next chapter on this great traveling adventure, coming up soon!