A short reflection on last month's trip to Vermont.


The weather was picture-perfect: mid 70s, light breeze, clear blue skies, enough evening chill to warrant a sweater.  I'm not overly picky about weather; I can handle drizzle, grab mittens if it's cold (between exaggerated shivers), adapt and strip down in excessive heat, but this was your guide book New England summer day.  I actually don't even thing of Vermont being New England - it is a place of itself.  My picture of New England was firmly shaped in my first 5 years while visiting my grand parents in southern New Hampshire.  Vermont is fiercely independent, yet simultaneously intensely community loyal.  90% of the time I feel like a wanderer, but Vermont makes me feel unjudged and at home.

I overplan most things, but the moment I enjoyed the most was entirely unplanned, on the frisbee golf course in Johnson, VT, where a scant orange cat befriended us and followed and led us through the woods and fields, chasing frisbees, disappearing amongst the ferns, deep green setting off his pumpkin-ginger fur, crying at us to continue on the trail.  Purring, rubbing, mewing, loving.  Oh, I could have snatched him up in an instant and loved him for life.  






Be well, JJ Kitty, be well and help others on the course find their way.

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