The Kingdom

The alpacas weren't the only fantastic part of our stay at the Underhill farm. The shearing day was a real family affair, as three of S's six sisters showed up to help.

These are four of nine children of a French-Canadian couple who lived on and harvested maple syrup from their sugarbush and additional extensive land in the far north of Vermont. When the shearing was over on S's farm, the youngest of the clan, C, spontaneously offered to take my visiting friend S and me to see where they all grew up, in that far northern, three-county region referred to as "the Kingdom."

After the incredible generosity her sister showed us, I don't know why I'm surprised, but I still can't quite believe the extent of C's enthusiasm in spending the entire afternoon of one of her rare days off driving two strangers around for about 5 hours. Here are S and C in front of the lovely Lake Memphremagog.

C and another of her sisters have recently purchased back the heart of the land that they grew up on (including the farmhouse and barn), which was sold by her parents about ten years ago. They mid-way through an enormous renovation project, converting the house into six separate apartments for rent...

...and with grand plans to turn the barn, silo, and adjacent structures into a wedding venue.

C also drove us up to Derby Line, the name of the American side of a town that straddles the U.S.-Canadian border. The border didn't used to be such a big deal, but ever since 9/11, security concerns have transformed the area in some weird ways. For example, the town library, to the right of this frame, sits partly in the U.S. and partly in Canada. Now, the Canadian side doors have been blocked off, and townspeople who live on the Canadian side have to officially cross the border if they want to visit the library, and an American border patrol officer is permanently camped out at the country line, marked by the flowerpots below.

Luckily, the guy on duty that day was relaxed enough to agree to our request to take pictures with a foot in each country.

This feels like a pathetically inadequate description of a really lovely afternoon exploring a gorgeous landscape and unique culture. Hopefully you get the picture. Ha, ha.

Alpacas!

Chance and Serendipity were doing their jobs on this one. A Denver friend was stranded on the west side of Vail Pass a couple months ago when it closed for a snowstorm, and while waiting at a cafe to see if she could stay the night at her boss's place in Vail, struck up a conversation with two sisters who were in the same predicament. The sisters were Vermonters, and one of them the owner of an alpaca farm. They all ended up staying for the night at the boss's place and consumed, from the sound of it, a fair amount of wine that facilitated accelerated bonding. So when my Denver friend heard I was going to Vermont and didn't yet have a place to stay, she put me in touch with the alpaca farm owner, S (additional info about her operations here, if you're curious). And I was going to be passing through right at the time they were doing their annual shearing of the herd. We got to stay for two nights on the farm in a trailer S's husband uses once a year to go to a music festival in upstate New York. Perfect!

BEFORE shearing...

...and AFTER, looking like aliens...

It was plain as day that the not-yet-sheared animals were approaching the newly sheared ones thinking, "What the HELL happened to YOU!?!?"

And this is what had happened:

I've learned that what you shear off alpaca is not called fur or wool but fleece. It was crazy soft and full of lanolin.

More before and after...

The most useable fleece from each animal, laid carefully out on a trays to dry:

Upward of five pounds of fleece came off of each animal. Pretty incredible, considering how weightless a huge armful of fleece felt. Afterward, I felt cold just looking at their skinny little bodies. They're so dang cute, though, regardless.

Hippie Haven

My Denver friend S flew into LaGuardia to join the road trip festivities for several days, and we headed up into the hippie haven of Vermont. I've been accused, by some, of being a hippie. Personally I think there's many worse things to be accused of, but all the same I'm no hippie compared to those awesome Vermonters. Consider, for example, this cabin in the woods near Marlboro that the owner built himself (and see Theo on Air BnB if you're interested in trying it out!).

We climbed Mt. Olga in Molly Starks State Park, to the top of the fire tower on its 2,415-ft. peak. (S, who practically flew up the trail, his lungs still acclimated to altitude: "If we were in Denver right now, we'd be 2,600 feet underground.")

Then on to explore the town of Brattleboro, where I took one of the best yoga classes ever and I walked across the Connecticut River from Vermont to New Hampshire, just for fun. How often do you get to walk from one state to another?

Then up to Waterbury for the irresistible factory tour of Ben & Jerry's. You get a free mini-cone with your $4 tour fee. When we were there, they were testing a new flavor. Cinnamon-something. It was cinnamon-y. Vermont: Yum.