Rock of Ages and Ice-cream

 

Graveyard of discontinued flavors at Ben & Jerry's

New England, Day Four

I overslept a tad this morning so I barely had time to grab a cup of coffee for the road before it was time to load up.  Luke gave the morning devotional and everyone was in good spirits even though a few of us didn’t get much sleep.  There were a few rowdies in the hallways throughout the night (not from our bus!) but thanks to my audio books and earbuds, I was undisturbed.

We pulled into the Rock of Ages gift shop and picked up our guide before a slow crawl up the gravel road to the quarry. Martha had warned us it would be cold and even in my down winter coat I was shivery.  We heard many interesting and heretofore unknown facts about quarrying granite.  Like so many things, modernization has streamlined production with the use of machinery rather than brute strength.  Our guide reported that both his shoulders were ruined thanks to years of drilling the guide holes needed prior to splitting the granite blocks.  He showed us one block 6 feet by 10 feet by 8 feet that weighs 27 tons.  Enormous derricks were once used to lift up to 200 tons at a time but they have now been retired since methods have changed.

I took photos that are totally ineffective in showing the massive scale of the rock walls.  If you look closely you can see a person walking along the top demonstrating how antlike we are compared to the granite towering on all sides.

We ate pulled pork and clam chowder at a quaint, well-aged restaurant in the little village of Barre, VT.  The bacon and cheese piled on top of the pork, sandwiched between slabs of toasted bun made for a delicious result.  We had the upstairs to ourselves, in a dining room that looked like it had been in use since Paul Revere rode through.  Did Paul Revere ride through VT?  I must look that up.  Anyway, I’m loving all these old buildings, most of them well-preserved and reeking of history.

A short stop at Hope Cemetary gave us time to be amazed at the elaborate gravestones memorializing the many laid to rest there.  A stark difference from the cemetary we visited a few days ago, this place did not have weatherworn, virtually unreadable, gravestones.  These markers were meant to impress and to make certain the dearly departed were not forgotten.  The most touching sight I saw was a rather simple stone surrounded by fall decorations.  Pumpkins, flowers in autumn colors and a blanket spread out for the young woman sitting there all alone.  Someone truly was loved and missed.

We drove through Montpelier, the state capital.  Its claim to fame, it seems, is that it is the only state capital without a McDonalds. Vermont also has no billboards.  Can’t say I blame them although I remain somewhat of a libertarian, meaning I don’t like rules forbidding or demanding things.  I admit though, it is nice not to have the visual pollution of advertisements scattered all over the beautiful scenery.

We spent an hour or two at Morse Farm, the famous producers of maple syrup and other related sweet things.  The pictures of their maple syrup barn looked almost identical to the one my father used back when I was a little girl. My brothers gathered the sap from our maple trees in the woods, using a big sleigh pulled by horses when the snow was on the ground, much like the picture our tour guide showed us. 

My father spent many nights back in the woods, cooking down the sap until it was a sweet, golden syrup.  He put the finished product into a large barrel tank with a spigot close to the bottom.  When we came to visit we were allowed a few sips from a tin cup he kept handy.  I can still see the little sample bottles lined up on the kitchen window sills, the syrup starting out a light liquid gold, progressively getting darker with each batch until it was deep amber by the end of the season.  I don’t remember exactly how much he charged for his syrup but I’m sure it wasn’t enough.  It was more a labor of love than a capitalistic venture.  

Listening to the man talk today, telling us all about the Morse farm, their gathering and cooking methods, and how much sap it takes to make a gallon of syrup (forty gallons), I had some déjà vu moments.  When we walked into the store and I smelled the smells, in the words of Yogi Berra, it was “déjà vu all over again.” 

We all sat around wooden tables in a side room and another farm worker gave us each a small bowl of ice and a little container of hot syrup.  She showed us how to spread a small amount of the syrup on the ice, let it cool, and eat it like candy. Fun and tasty. And sticky.  I somehow managed to get it on my fingers, the table, and everything else within reach.  I know, it’s a gift.

Next stop: Smuggler’s Notch Distillery.  Beside that store was a cheese store and beside that a chocolate shop.  Since one truffle cost over $3.00, I decided to forgo the pleasure.  Paul did buy several very sharp cheddars for me though and I look forward to sampling some later.

Not being much of a shopper, I spent my time at a picnic table, enjoying a drink and some conversation with other non-shoppers until it was time to board the bus.  And we’re off to Ben and Jerry’s.

Because of COVID concerns we were not wanted in the Ben and Jerry’s store since a busload of us would have certainly been in each others spaces.  So they brought our orders (we filled out what we wanted before we left home) to the bus.  This suited me just fine.  We bypassed the line and never left our seats. I picked the flavor American Dream.  A crunchy, chocolatey, caramel concoction that will definitely add some weight to my already ample hips. The graveyard for discontinued flavors is near the ice-cream shop and each dead flavor is given a stone with a memorial write-up.

We got to our hotel early this evening.  Our supper will be served here and then I hope to play some cards.  If anything noteworthy happens I'll let you know tomorrow.