I had another destination in mind to write about this week, but after spending the last few days watching flood footage, I can’t stop thinking of Vermont.
Where to begin with the Green Mountain State? My grandparent’s mountaintop cabin? The family graveyard that holds centuries’ worth of relatives? The college town where I spent two summer terms of graduate school? The small surrounding towns where I spent many hours camped out in coffee shops writing? There is much to be said about Vermont in time. Today, we pay tribute to the state capital of Montpelier.
This story begins at a Presbyterian Church outside Washington D.C. with my friend Renee. Renee and I met in the choir and began singing together in a smaller ensemble as well. We chatted each week, realizing how much we had in common. “We should get lunch sometime,” we would say, but never followed through. That is until I was about to leave for the summer, and we realized we would both briefly be in Vermont at the same time. Montpelier was the midpoint of our two locations, and so we made plans to meet there for lunch, nine hours from where we currently stood.
Fast forward to a few weeks into the term. The drive from my campus to Montpelier was about an hour and a half. In Vermont, driving is often as rewarding as arriving at the destination. Stately mountains stand guard in the distance along every road. The air is so clear that the sky reaches artistic levels of blue and white on sunny days. In the summertime, a rich emerald shade carpets everything in sight, from distant mountains to the grassy pastures.
The countryside stretches for miles, broken up by bright red barns or crisp white steeples.
Just off the interstate and across the now-famous Winooski River, is Montpelier.
The gold dome of the state capital shines like a jewel set in a rustic crown. Surrounding it, brick storefronts and quaint shops line the streets.
And it was here, on a cafe patio on main street, that Renee and I finally met for lunch.
Second Spire to the Right 
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