Cider, Donuts, and Church

Day Five

I promised to let you know if anything noteworthy happened last night.  Well, other than getting slaughtered at cards by someone who claims she doesn’t know how to play the game, nothing happened at all.  Heads up though, if a sweet little lady named Verna offers to play you in any game, run the other way.  Especially if there is money involved.

We stayed at a Best Western Plus for the night and it was lovely.  They served us a chef-prepared meal, a steaming buffet of beef tips smothered in onions and mushrooms, chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, carrots, salad, and cheesecake. It was delicious.  This morning we were treated to the first hot breakfast on this trip.  Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and much more, again served buffet style.  I felt like I was back in 2018 again.

Paul led the devotional after we all boarded the bus and then we were off to visit the Cold Hollow Cider Mill.  We hoped to witness the cider being pressed but a more relaxed bunch of laborers I have never seen unless you count the road crews.  We never did see them use the press but we did see how they loaded it with apples.  We all got free samples of cider and it was every bit of good as the orchard back home.  I’ve never been able to say that before.  We also got a taste of cider donuts and then it was off to see a church.

The church looked like a Vermont post card. It was originally the Walter Harvey Meeting House, built in 1831. Later it was used by the Reformed Presbyterian Society for their church services.  Since the 1970s it is only open for tours. It remains well-preserved with decorative tin ceiling and walls in pristine condition.  Two old wood stoves were steaming out warmth, just like they’ve done for over 200 years. The pews were ancient, straight-backed and not designed for comfort.  Some of them still had worn padding, others were bare.  We were greeted by Ted who looked like he’d stepped out of history himself and whose great-grandfather had been the pastor for over forty years. 

Ted lives across the road where his father, grandfather, and great grandfather lived before him. Two thousand acres were purchased in the 1700s (I’m not sure by whom) and sold off in lots to Scottish Presbyterians who settled in the area.  At today’s prices the land would be worth over 17 million dollars.This little white church was one of many “farm churches” existing back then, serving the farmers and their families scattered throughout the territory. There was no town, only a tavern stop for passing travelers.  Handling maybe no more than $100.00 a year, the subsistence farmers were able to grow enough food to feed themselves and with taxes virtually nonexistent, they did not need actual cash to survive.  Not so today.  With rising taxes, Ted told us he “scratches out a living” with his welding business and working as a forester.  His ancestors gave up farming when bulk milk tanks came into use.  No longer could his father take a few cans of milk to sell whenever he needed money; now things were on a much more regulated and streamlined track.  A decision had to be made: either upgrade the equipment or stop farming.  His father chose to stop farming and get a job.

Another big change to the way things were was the arrival of the interstate highway.  Tourists came for vacations and fell for the beautiful Vermont countryside.  They bought land, built homes and moved in, signaling the end of the isolated farmers who had inhabited the area for almost 200 years.

Ted told us about his father’s history with the beautiful church we were sitting in. It was a “Covenanter” Presbyterian church meaning they believed that Jesus was the head of everything: church, state, government, everything.  Since the government was run by non-religious people, they did not believe in voting or participating in politics in any way.  Ted’s father disagreed.  He bucked the status quo and voted after which he was no longer allowed to take communion with the church.  However, he brought his family to every service; they sat in the back row on Sundays without fail.

I looked around the sanctuary and could almost hear the people, now long gone, singing hymns. I imagined how it must have been, hearty country folks, gathering from miles away to worship together in a free land.  At one time eighty-eight children attended Sunday school.  It seemed a high number to me when thinking how isolated the forested hills were, far from any town or city.  After talking with Ted for awhile we decided it was a good place for a group picture and he willingly obliged.

Just a few hundred yards from the church a man flagged us down and Laverne, our driver, stopped the bus.  An older man (well, older than Paul and I at any rate) boarded and told us that he used to be a tour guide for the Rock of Ages Quarry and he loved having tour groups from Pioneer come through.  When he saw the bus he had to flag us down to say hi. He got teary when he told us he stopped leading tours because of COVID and that while he missed it, he did enjoy his afternoon naps.

We drove through the beautiful Green Mountains, finally arriving in a town that had two restaurants but not much else.  Martha encouraged us to split up so we wouldn’t overwhelm the two eateries.  Paul and I headed to the Happy Hour Restaurant as did about half of our group, immediately overwhelming them.  Aged and seasoned to perfection, it reminded me of our own Boyd and Wurthman back home.  We were sent to the side room to tables set up there and as each additional person from the bus walked in they were waved on back by the locals eating out front. Only one waitress was on duty so she quickly called for help and another waitress, reminiscent of Flo herself, arrived from home within minutes.  We all, being the considerate sort that we are, made sure to order quickly, simply, and without complaint.

Flo was the soul of efficiency and had our food to us in short order.  She went home with the best tips she’d ever earned, I’m guessing.  She told us we were awesome and we told her she was too. 

Our next stop was in Lincoln, New Hampshire, at the local grocery store.  We are staying in nearby condos for three days and will be needing to provide our own breakfasts.  We could probably stay for a week and be well fed with everything we thought we needed while we browsed the food aisles.

For supper we dispersed to nearby restaurants.  Some of us found a tiny pub with amazing home-made pizza.  Walking back to the lodge we found an ice-cream shop and indulged in some hot chocolates and coffees.  I’m savoring every detail of this trip.  2020 taught me that taking things for granted is foolhardy and shortsighted.  Who knows when we can enjoy these simple pleasures again?  For tonight, I’m enjoying it to the full.