I loaded my bike on my bike rack and left my home in Fort Ethan Allen, colloquially known as ‘The Fort’, an Army base in Colchester, Vermont that was decommissioned in the 1940s. I headed for Airport Park, close to Lake Champlain and also in Colchester. Formerly a private grass runway airport, it was purchased by the town and turned into a multiuse recreation facility, supporting multiple different playing fields and courts. I came here because it is an access point to the Island Line Trail built on the former tracks of the defunct Rutland Railroad where you can ride south to Burlington. I prefer heading north, towards South Hero. The first mile or so is in the woods, but then you arrive at the reason why you’re here, the Colchester Causeway which leads to the islands that make up Grand Isle County.

Completed by the railroad in 1900, with huge chunks of marble riprap hauled up from the quarries in Rutland, the causeway is now a recreational gem spanning about four miles of open water on Lake Champlain. Looking west, there are spectacular views of the Adirondacks in New York. To the east lies Mount Mansfield (Vermont’s tallest at 4,393 ft) and the Green Mountains. The views are stunning any way you look.

The swing bridge near the western end was removed at the same time that the tracks were torn up, leaving a 200-foot gap of open water for boats to traverse between areas of the wide lake. Local Motion has run a 20-passenger bike ferry spanning the gap for the last several years.

I paid the suggested $10 contribution and waited in line. The ferry had just left the dock, so there would be a few minutes wait for its return. There were only 13 people in line ahead of me, so no problem getting on the next one. I was sipping water to stay hydrated when the woman in front of me turned and asked, “Have you done this before?”

“Many times. Implicit in your question is that you may not have. Any questions?”

“Guilty. I just moved to Vermont for a new job. Folks at work insisted that I ‘had’ to try the causeway when they found out that I like to bike, but didn’t really say what to expect past the causeway.”

“I usually head up the West Shore Road when I start from here. It’s scenic, usually only has local traffic, and keeps you away from heavily travelled Route 2. I can give you directions or you could ride along with me and I’ll give you the guided tour.”

She looked at me for a minute and seemed to decide.

“You’re not an ax murderer, are you?” she asked with a smile on her face.

I smiled back at her. “Only after dark. There are too many witnesses during the daylight hours. You’re safe since the ferry stops running a couple of hours before sunset, and I’ll need to get back to my car.”

“I deserved that. I’m Molly, by the way, and I’ll accept your offer of a guided tour.”

“Jake. It looks like the ferry has docked.”

There were only two people disembarking, so we quickly boarded and grabbed our seats. I’m 31, and Molly seemed to be about the same age, a few inches shorter than my 6’ 3”, with an athletically thin body. She possessed a pretty face that had often smiled during the brief time since we met. Her bike and how it was equipped indicated that she was more than just a casual rider.

The ferry ride is short, so we headed up the trail once we got our bikes offloaded, until it ended on a town highway. We took the road to South St. from that junction, and headed north on South St. until we intersected with our goal, West Shore Rd. We were headed down a small hill after a mile or so. I told Molly that we were going to stop at the bottom, where we pulled onto the grass and dismounted.

“This is White’s Beach. Cars need a resident parking permit in the summer, but bikes are okay. Look across the street.”

There were hundreds of colorfully painted bird houses in the trees.

“What ... is that all about?”

“That swampy area breeds mosquitos. Two neighbors built 20 birdhouses years ago with the hope that they would attract tree swallows that evidently love to feast on mosquitos. They were all occupied the first year, so they added to them every year since. Rumor has it that there are over 800 now. They do seem to have cut down on the insect population and make for some amazing photo opportunities.”

“Low tech and environmentally friendly. I love it,” she laughed.

We remounted our bikes and climbed the hill leading away from the beach. I pointed out the local vineyard up ahead that hosts free concerts every Thursday evening during the summer. We passed a small bay farther along that edged up close to the road on the left. “You can see several Canadian geese families and their fledglings in the water if you look closely. The whole flock will often be in the field to the right if you come by later in the summer.”

We eventually came to the terminal where the car ferry to Plattsburg, NY departs from. I pulled over, we dismounted, sat down, and watched a ferry arrive and disgorge its vehicles. We hydrated and watched the procession of cars leaving the boat.

“So, what’s the new job that brings you to Vermont, Molly?”

“I just transferred to the National Weather Service (NWS) office at the airport. I grew up on a ranch near Fort Collins, Colorado, and did both my undergraduate and master’s at UC Boulder. I started with the NWS in Boulder with an MS in Atmospheric and Ocean Sciences, then saw and applied for a job listing in Burlington, and here I am.”

“Welcome to Vermont. How do you like it so far?”

“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but it’s nice. People seem friendly and there’s lots of new things to see and do. Very different from Colorado. I sublet a condo from a UVM grad student for the rest of the summer and the fall semester. That will hopefully give me time to find a place of my own.

Author’s Note: The University of Vermont, UVM, was originally founded as the University of the Green Mountains with the name spelled in Latin Universitas Viridis Montis)

“What about you, Jake? What’s your story?”

“Born on a farm in Sheldon a little north of here, I attended Johnson State, graduating with a BFA in Woodworking & Fine Furniture Design. I worked for a company up in the Kingdom for two years, then started my own furniture company seven years ago. I live in a condo on Officer’s Row in The Fort and my shop is in one of the industrial buildings towards the rear, so my commute is often by foot.”

“The condo I’m renting is also on Officer’s Row, so I’m familiar with The Fort. But what’s the Kingdom?”

I had to laugh. “Sorry for laughing, but you clearly are new here. The Northeast Kingdom, often referred to as ‘The Kingdom’, or NEK, is the area including Essex, Orleans, and Caledonia Counties in the northeast corner of the state, bordering on New Hampshire and Quebec. It allegedly was first called that in a speech by former Governor and Senator George Aitken and the name stuck.”

“Thanks for the education. It’s probably better if I heard that from you than embarrassing myself at work. Any other quirky Vermont names that I should know?”

“A couple come to mind. There’s Charlotte, a town south of Burlington, accent on the second syllable, and Calais, named after the French port, but pronounced like callous. Locals are particular that they are pronounced correctly.” After a brief pause, I continued, “I usually head home from here, making it a round trip of about 26 miles. However, we can take a 2-mile diversion and stop for ice cream if you’re hungry.”

Molly enthusiastically agreed, so that’s where we headed. We enjoyed our treat on this hot July day and headed back to the bike ferry. Several people were already ahead of us, so we had to wait for the next one.

Molly said “I really enjoyed today,” when we got back to the parking lot. “Thanks for the guided tour and the start of my education on Vermont place names.”

“You’re most welcome. There are two very nice rail trails nearby if you’d like a different biking experience. The Missisquoi Valley Rail Trail, MVRT, follows the Missisquoi river east from St. Albans to Richford, about 28 miles. The Lamoille Valley Rail Trail, LVRT, is currently open in 3 sections. The State of Vermont has heavily invested in completing the connecting sections by late fall of this year. It will stretch 93 miles from St. Johnsbury to Swanton when done, crossing the MVRT in Sheldon, the longest rail trail in New England.”

“Why don’t we exchange numbers? I’d like to join you for another ride he next time we’re both free and the weather cooperates. We seem to have compatible riding skills.”

We did exchange numbers, loaded our bikes, and headed home.

Wednesday, July 20

My phone rang.

“Hello ... Hi, Molly ... Saturday? Nothing planned so far ... Sure, I’d love to explore one ... I prefer the LVRT because much of it is in the shade this time of year ... I suggest that we start at Cambridge Junction. There’s a brew pub in Morrisville 14 or 15 miles in if you were interested. Food’s decent, beer’s good ... Why don’t you meet me at my place since you’re just down the road. I’m at 1403, unit 2. Pick a time... 9:00 works for me ... Great. Looking forward to it ... Bye.”

Saturday, July 23

Molly came over, we loaded the bikes and drove to the LVRT access point at Cambridge Junction.

I said, “Here’s a bit more information about the sometimes quirky Vermont place names. We’re technically starting from the Town of Cambridge, which consists of the villages of Cambridge and Jeffersonville, each with its own Post Office and Zip Code. Jeffersonville, named after Thomas Jefferson, is often referred to as ‘Jeff’ by the locals. Cambridge Junction is a settlement in Jeff. It’s fairly common to have villages within a town.”

“It sounds complicated.”

We unloaded our bikes and headed east towards Morrisville on the LVRT. The engineers who laid out the rail line 150 years ago did a marvelous job, designing a roadbed that crossed through the Green Mountains, while minimizing the grades and curves, to facilitate the optimum efficiency of the locomotives. For bike riders of today it means a gentle but generally continuous climb to the east, before it descends into St. Johnsbury.

We secured our bikes to trees next to the trail in Johnson and walked the short distance to Dog Head Falls. This is one of the many spectacular spots along the trail to stop and enjoy. More of a cascade than a true waterfall, the Lamoille River drops through a narrow interval between the rocks. There’s plenty of space to sit on the rocks and enjoy the riverscape as about two dozen people were doing.

“This is so beautiful, Jake. Thanks for showing me. The whole ride has been wonderful. Skirting along the river, crossing cornfields, through wooded sections, and past moss-covered ledges shows a side of Vermont that I’m glad to discover.”

“Glad that you’re enjoying yourself. This is one of my favorite rides.”

We remounted and headed east, shortly reaching the river and a long truss bridge. I pointed out an active osprey nest on one of the high cross-members. We eventually continued on to Morrisville, stopping at the brew pub located adjacent to the trail. The server dropped menus off.

“What’s your pleasure, Molly?”

“I think I’ll start with an IPA. I’m going for a meal rather than a snack since it’s nearly noon, maybe sticking with a classic burger and fries. And you?”

“I’m not an IPA fan, too hoppy. I’ll ask for their darkest ale and follow your lead for food.”

We ordered and the beer shortly came out.

“You mentioned that you saw a job listing for Vermont. Why Vermont?”

“I lived in Colorado all my life. Boulder was only about 60 miles from home. I wanted a change. What I read about Vermont indicated that it seemed fairly laid back, and it has a scale, a quality of life, that appeals to me. While Burlington is large by Vermont standards, it’s actually the smallest ‘largest city in the state’ of any state in the country. It has the lake, mountains, several universities and colleges, with the arts and activities associated with them. It has four distinctive seasons from a meteorologist’s perspective, with interesting weather patterns.”

“For the record, most Vermonters will tell you there are five seasons.”

“Five?”

“Yes, fifth is ‘Mud Season’. The unpaved backroads often become nearly or totally impassible for cars when they thaw and turn to mud in spring. This year was one of the worst in recent memory.”

Our food arrived, so conversation ceased while we ate. We hit the rest rooms once we finished and headed back. It was a slight downhill for the return ride since it had been a slight uphill grade going east, an appreciated benefit when the temperature peaked in the high 80s. We loaded the bikes and I cranked the air conditioning up for the ride home.

Molly said, “I had a wonderful time, Jake,” as we unloaded at home. “Thanks for the opportunity to explore Vermont with you and thanks for buying lunch. My treat next time.”

It took a few seconds for that last comment to register. Oh, I guess there’s a ‘next time’ in our future. I decided to go for it. “Would you be interested in kayaking next weekend if the weather holds?” I suggested.

“I don’t have any experience nor a kayak.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got two. Let’s talk later in the week.”

Wednesday, July 27

I was jogging around the perimeter of the parade ground between Officer’s Row and Route 15, when I met Molly running in the opposite direction. We stopped and she inquired, “Want some company?”

“Sure.”

We started running together. I completed my five miles with three more laps. I stopped in front of the bandstand. We climbed up, sat down, and drank some water.

“I was planning to call you later about kayaking this weekend,” I told her.

“My prognostication is that the probability of rain is nearly 100% on Saturday morning, tapering off in the afternoon, clearing during the night, with a delightful day on Sunday, with a high around 86, but with fairly low humidity.”

“That sounds very official.”

“Well, it’s not the official forecast, but Sunday will definitely be the better day.”

“Are you still up for kayaking?”

“I think so, but what exactly am I getting into? I’ve no experience as I said, and don’t want to encounter rapids or rough water the first time out.”

“Valid concern. I’m a flat-water kayaker myself. Mostly lakes, ponds, or slow-moving rivers. My plan was to head up to Swanton, put in on the Missisquoi River, and paddling through the National Wildlife Refuge. The river there is virtually flat, with almost no current. I’ll also supply and insist that you wear a lift vest. I use a self-inflating type, which are very lightweight and won’t restrict your movements.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Bring crocs for the launch if you have them, flip flops are a second choice, but they tend to easily come off. Wear nylon or some other quick drying shorts in case that you get wet. Bring sunscreen, plenty of water, and a wrap or something easy to carry and eat for lunch. There’s generally plenty of opportunities for photos, so bring a camera or use your phone if you are interested, but keep it in a Ziplock bag. Although it hasn’t happened to me, cars do get broken into in parking lots like boat launch and trail heads, so I don’t leave anything valuable in the car. I usually only bring my driver’s license and a couple of 20s for emergency needs, and keep them in a Velcro pocket. It usually takes a couple of hours from the launch site to get to Lake Champlain, and the same to return. Why don’t you meet me at my place at 9:00. It’ll take about an hour to get there.”

We shared some more small talk and departed for our homes. The more time I spend with Molly, the more I want to. I was looking forward to Sunday.

Sunday, July 31

We put in just after 10:00. The weather was as Molly predicted. Both my kayaks are the same model, 12 feet long, so they are quite stable. I purchased the second one for my then long-term girlfriend, Heather, as we both enjoyed kayaking. Alas, she moved to North Carolina for a great job opportunity last fall.

The Missisquoi is wide, relatively shallow, and slow moving from the boat launch area to Lake Champlain, a trip of about 3 miles. It’s not a challenging trip, but rather a relaxing way to spend a few hours. It wanders through the river’s forested delta, with plenty of opportunities to see wildlife. We shortly came upon a doe and fawn drinking at the edge of the river. Great blue herons were abundant, and there are multiple active osprey nests high up in the trees as we approached the lake. We reached the lake and stopped to eat our wraps, watching the sea gulls on the rocks in the shallow bay ahead of us.

“This has been delightful and so relaxing, Jake.”

“Glad that you are enjoying yourself. This is one of my three favorite places to paddle.”

“And the others are?...”

“Green River Reservoir State Park and Somerset Reservoir. Both are essentially undeveloped areas. Green River, near Morrisville, is extremely popular with 27 campsites, all of which are only reachable by kayak or canoe. Parking is very limited, so you are sometimes turned away for day use kayaking. Best chances to get in for a day trip are to go on weekdays. Somerset is in southern Vermont, 10 miles up a dirt road from Route 9, and is owned by a hydro-power company. No camping, but much more parking. It’s about a three-and-a-half-hour drive, so it involves an overnight stay, but it’s really worth the trip.”

“They both sound enticing. Maybe someday. You really know your way around Vermont, but then you’ve lived here all your life, haven’t you?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on it,” I grinned.

It took her a few seconds before she laughed.

“Ready to head back?”

I was slightly ahead of her when I heard, “Look up to your left. There’s a bald eagle up there.”

We stopped and watched it for a few minutes. It didn’t seem interested in moving, so we started paddling again. We were side by side when we saw an osprey swoop down slightly ahead, catch a fish, and head upward. The eagle almost instantly dive bombed the osprey, which dropped the fish in fear. The eagle then caught the fish in midair and headed back to its nest. We looked at each other in disbelief.

“I’ve seen eagles here before, but never anything like that.”

“Makes the day memorable.”

We got back to the boat ramp, loaded the kayaks, and returned home.

“Would you like to join me for dinner, Molly? I was planning to pick up and grill some swordfish and corn on the cob.”

“That would be lovely. What time, and can I bring something? Beer or wine?”

“Why don’t you come by around six. Wine would be good.”

I picked up the fish, corn, and bread at the local fish shop, farm market, and bakery respectively after she left. I tidied up my place and took a shower. I changed the sheets on my bed in a burst of optimism, or perhaps some residual ‘be prepared’ from my time in the Boy Scouts.

I made a salad and prepared a marinade, placing it and the fish in a Ziplock bag at 5:30. I had the table set and some relaxing dinner music softly playing in the background.

I gave Molly a tour when she arrived. My place is small like most of the condos on Officer’s Row, consisting of a kitchen, adjacent space that serves as a dining area, which then transitions into the living room. I technically have two bedrooms, but I use one as an office.

“I do all my design work in the office, using a decent CAD program. It’s quieter, has fewer distractions, and is more conducive to being productive.”

I started the grill to preheat and opened the bottle of wine that she brought.

“I’d like to see some of your work.”

“Except for the floor, anything wooden here is actually something that I designed and made: the bedroom furniture, dining room table and chairs, coffee table, floor lamps, butcher block counter top, and even the kitchen cabinets.”

“Your work is truly beautiful, Jake. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. Time to get things cooking.”

We ate and engaged in small talk during dinner, getting to know more about each other. Our conversation momentarily lapsed after we cleaned up the dishes.

“Would you like to take a walk around the Fort? We can stop at my shop and I’ll show you what projects I’m working on now.”

We followed the sweeping curve of the buildings on Dalton Drive, the road that fronts Officer’s Row, then headed towards the back of the Fort where there are about a dozen long, narrow buildings, originally built as stables since Fort Ethan Allen was designed as a cavalry post. There are multiple and varied businesses that call these buildings home.

My shop takes up the front half of one of the former stables. I’ve heavily invested in equipment in the seven years since I started on my own, so I now have a fairly complete small shop. I have two full time employees and two very experienced older gents who work part time. They help us process the backlog when orders pile up and production is at capacity. Neither wants to work full time, but this arrangement helps to supplement their retirement income.

There were several projects in various stages of completeness. Molly stopped in front of a dining room set: a drop leaf table, chairs, and a hutch in cherry.

“These are beautiful, Jake.”

“Thanks. They’re going to a rather difficult client in the Hamptons, but they’re finally waiting to be shipped. They flew up last week just to ‘approve’ them prior to shipping.”

We wandered through the rest of my shop.

“It’s so neat and clean.”

“I spent a fair amount of time designing the layout before I purchased anything. I also had a professionally designed dust collection system installed.”

We closed up and completed our walk around the Fort.

Molly remarked, “I’m scheduled to work every fourth weekend” when we arrived back at my condo. “My turn is next week. I’ll be tied up until 5:00 PM or so. Would you be interested in coming over for dinner and maybe a movie afterwards on Saturday?”

“I’d love to. What time?”

“Say 7:00? That’ll give me time to get home, shower, and get dinner started. Any foods to avoid?”

“7:00 is good, and I’m not a fussy eater.”

Molly gave me her address, a nice hug, and left. I guess that I needn’t have changed the sheets.

Saturday, Aug. 6

Not knowing what Molly had planned for dinner, I picked up a nice Zinfandel, and arrived just after seven.

“Come in, Jake. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Come sit here while I finish. It’s a shrimp, corn, and rice stir fry with a few other things thrown in.”

Molly retrieved two Greek salads from the fridge and served up the stir fry. I opened the wine and we sat down.

I said, “That was really good,” as we finished dinner.

“Thanks. It’s one of my favorites, especially when corn is in season. What movie genre are you interested in? My collection of DVDs is in that cabinet, or we can stream something.”

Her assortment ran heavily towards rom-coms, both recent and older. Since I can appreciate a good rom-com and that’s clearly where her tastes lay, I picked up Groundhog Day. “How’s this?”

“I haven’t seen that in ages.”

We settled onto her couch, close, but not invading each other’s personal space.

Molly said, “I really like you, Jake, and I want this relationship to blossom into what I hope it can become,” after the credits rolled. “You’re smart, successful in what you’re doing, we seem to have many common interests, and you’re sexy as all hell. It’s just that I’ve seen too many friends jump into a relationship really fast, they initially sizzle, but then quickly burn out because they didn’t know each other well enough. I do want to keep seeing you and for us to learn more about each other before we prematurely jump into something. This is not a ‘I don’t want to see you’, but rather a ‘we need a little more time to get to know each other better’. I realize that I may be a little old fashioned and out of step with the times, but that’s who I am.”