The Long and Winding Road

Hello,

Did you know that Vermont has more dirt roads than paved? And, aside from during mud season (which I recently learned from the state's commissioner for tourism is now being called "Maple Season"!), our dirt roads are often better maintained and easier to navigate than our paved roads, which take quite a beating from our wild and beautiful winters.

I don't think I'm alone in feeling like driving on a dirt road, especially one I am not familiar with, feels like an adventure that can really put my imagination into high gear. It's like there's a story ready to leap out from behind every tree and around every bend. And sometimes, when the dirt road comes to an end and I'm back on tarmac, I can feel a little bit of relief and a little bit changed. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a story with you. (It's a bit long, so if you don't have to time read it now maybe put this aside and come back to it later. If you don't ever feel like reading it, I'm okay with that).

Several years ago, back when we were living near Boston and I was still working as a hospice social worker, I had a month that completely kicked my butt. I usually found my work tremendously inspiring and life-affirming, and I honestly looked forward to seeing my patients and their families each day. But once in a while, a situation would wreck me. It was (almost) never simply that a person was dying (that was true of all of my patients), but rather the circumstances surrounding the patient's illness and death. Maybe small children were losing their mother, or the patient had provided the family's sole source of income, or the family was being evicted from their home, or the patient's illness brought family trauma and fissures to the surface.

I would rarely have to manage such a situation more than every six months or so. But during that butt-kicking month, I had three such circumstances happening simultaneously. And, oh baby, it was taking a toll on me. And on my family. I would come home from work in the foulest of moods, yelling at everyone, slamming doors, and generally behaving very, very badly. And, unusual for me, I was desperate to be alone. One evening I asked my family if they would be okay if I took myself away for a long weekend. In a nano-second, all three of them said, "Go! Take as long as you need!" Apparently they had noticed my mood.

So I rented an Airbnb somewhere in Vermont, and spent three days talking to no one. One night, I was driving back to my little apartment, and I missed the exit off the highway. No problem, I thought, I'll just get back on the highway at the next entrance. Fine, except I could not find the next entrance, and next thing I knew I had no idea where the highway was. This was a while ago, and my Garmin GPS lost its signal, and there was no cell phone service. Still, I was unworried. I'd just drive a little ways and eventually find my way back.

What actually happened was I spent the next FOUR HOURS on the darkest and most winding roads I had ever seen. I drove in circles, often recognizing the same farms or houses I had seen, what, half an hour before. It was very late at night, well into the wee hours, so I didn't want to knock on anyone's door to ask for directions. To my surprise, I was aware that I was not frightened. I had plenty of gas in my tank, and I figured if I got too tired I would just pull over and sleep, and in the morning I could stop at one of those houses that I passed over and over again. Suddenly, out of nowhere and like a dream, the house I had rented was right there in front of me. I laughed until I cried, then stumbled into bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The next day, I took myself on a hike - a hike that I had done a few years before and that had scared the bejeezus out of me. There was a ledge I had to shimmy across, and when I had been there before I had a full-blown panic attack and told Mick that he'd have to call for a helicopter to get me down from this ledge, because my legs would not move (instead he held my hands and slowly guided me across to safety). This time, all alone, I danced across that ledge like a mountain goat. And I howled triumphantly into the wind.

When I returned home, I was a new person (or at least essentially the person I had been before the butt-kicking month, but with some new and I'd say excellent changes). I was nice to my family. I didn't feel sick while getting ready for work. And I was able to face the challenges my work presented with grace, wisdom, and practicality. The circumstances my three patients and their families were going through were just as horrific as before, but I could handle them and actually be helpful.

Somehow getting lost in the backwoods of Vermont helped me to find my way back to myself. I felt grounded and strong in a way I had not ever felt before. I was confident and happy, even as I faced these devastating scenarios.

All this to say, we've got some of the loveliest dirt roads you'll find anywhere. We can offer you directions and maps for stunning scenic drives or hikes or quiet meanderings. But alternatively, you could let yourself get a little bit lost. The long, winding roads might give you the strength you need to face the challenges waiting for you at home. And at the end of the road, you might just find yourself.

Happy travels,

Karen (PS Mick says hi)