New cargo boards the Falcon in Cow Country

Today we finally left Massachusetts, and drove north until we reached Vermont. To be honest, I don’t know much about Vermont at all, other than the fact that it produces a lot of maple syrup, and is supposedly filled with hippies. It’s also the one I always seemed to forget about when I was forced to memorize all 50 states in third grade.

So I’ve been excited to see what Vermont is really like, and I stayed glued to the window as we drove toward the southern part of the state. As soon as we crossed the border from Massachusetts, something in the scenery changed. Almost by magic, the hills seemed greener, spotted with cows and trees. There were no billboards rising up into the sky. Everything felt cleaner, brighter somehow.

I opened the nearest window and stuck my hand out, spreading my fingers into the wind. We passed a dairy farm, where cows clustered around a red barn.

“Ew,” Ray said, pinching his nose. “Did you just fart?”

I turned away from the window and glared at him. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s from the farm.”

“Well, shut the window! It smells worse than Dad does after Mom makes tacos.”

This is a photo I snapped driving through the lush rolling greens of Vermont

I made a gagging motion as George turned around from the front seat. “Ray!” he yelled. “It’s just fertilizer.”

Ray wrinkled his nose. “You mean it’s cow sh-”

“You better not finish that sentence,” George cut in.

“There are over a thousand dairy farms in Vermont,” Glenda said. I noticed that she had a guidebook spread out on her lap.

“That doesn’t seem like a lot,” Mom said.

“It is when you consider how small the state is. Vermont is one of the least populated states in the country. Only Wyoming has less people.”

“Are you brushing up on your facts, Glenda?” I asked, pointing at the book.

She adjusted her glasses, looking flustered. “This is a small state. I’m just trying to remember everything, that’s all.” Looks like I’m not the only one who forgets about Vermont.

I glanced out the window again. We were passing through a small town, with just a gas station and a post office. As we were driving past a tiny school, I saw a young girl walking down the side of the road carrying a huge backpack. She looked like she was struggling under the weight of it, and she stuck her thumb out at us as we got closer.

“George!” I yelled. “Stop the van!” To his credit, George pulled over quickly.

“What are you up to, Ami?” Mom asked as I opened the door and leaned out. The girl walked toward me. She had stringy brown hair, like she hadn’t washed it in a while, and plain, kind of sweaty clothes. I was kind of regretting making George stop, but then she smiled widely.

“Thanks for stopping,” she said. “I’ve been walking forever.”

“We can give you a ride,” I said, stepping back to let her into the car. “Right ,George?”

“I guess so,” he said, eyeing the girl. “Where are you headed?”

“Just a few towns away,” she said. “My name’s Amy.”

“That’s like my name,” I said. “It’s Ami with an I though.” She smiled at me and I smiled back. It had been so long since I’d talked with another girl my age! It made me realize how much I miss Trish.

“Why were you hitchhiking?” Mom asked. “It seems a little dangerous for a young girl. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m 16. I don’t usually hitchhike,” Amy said, dropping her heavy bag onto the floor. “But I’ve been hiking the Long Trail for the past few days with some of my friends, and I need to get back for my sister’s wedding in Burlington, by the waterfront. It’s a week away, next Saturday.”

“What’s the Long Trail?” Ray asked.

“This super long hiking trail that runs up through the green mountains, and all the way through Vermont.” She glanced around the Falcon. “I saw that you don’t have VT plates. What brings you here? It’s a little early for the ski season.”

Her question perked George right up and he talked for like 10 minutes about our trip across the country. It was kind of embarrassing, even though Amy seemed into it.

“Cool!” She said. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never really seen the rest of the country. Where are you staying?”

“First we’re staying in Manchester,” George said.

“Oh no, you can’t stay there!” Amy exclaimed. “It’s filled with tourists! You need to have the authentic Vermont experience, otherwise you won’t see anyone but flatlanders.”

“What are flatlanders?” I asked.

“Um, well, anyone who’s not from Vermont.”

“Really? Is it an insult?” I was starting to get kind of offended. After all, we’d seen much bigger mountains in other parts of the country. And Vermont might be pretty and all, but does it even have anything other than cows and trees?

“Sort of.” She looked uncomfortable. “Vermont gets a lot of tourism. It’s how the state makes most of its money. Skiers show up in the winter, and leaf-peepers in the fall. Those are people who come to look at the foliage. There’s a big divide between the locals and tourists sometimes. We can be territorial about our state. My dad moved here almost 25 years ago, but he’s still not considered a local.”

That sounded a little crazy, but whatever.

“If we shouldn’t stay in Manchester, then where should we go?” George asked as he drove.

“I’ll give you a list of the best, non-touristy spots,” Amy said. “But for tonight, you should head north a little until you reach Ludlow. There are a string of lakes out on Route 100, that you have to see.”

She started to tell us a list of places to visit, and Glenda diligently took notes. Pretty soon she asked to be dropped off, saying that a friend was coming to drive her the rest of the way. We left her on the side of the road, waving goodbye.

“What a nice young lady,” Mom said. I agreed, wishing she could have spent more time with us. It would have been nice to hang out with a girl my own age for a while.

We reached Ludlow just as the sun was starting to set. The downtown was a picturesque New England town, with a gazebo and only one stoplight! We had dinner at a local restaurant called DJ’s, and it was amazing. The hostess recommended a hotel for us near the lakes and we drove out there, passing a ski mountain called Okemo. The hotel was The Echo Lake Inn, and even though it’s a little more expensive than what we’ve been used to, it was worth it – it looks like a colonial mansion! All white and huge and fancy. Echo Lake was right across the street and we walked over to their boat landing after we got settled. So late at night, the water looked like glass. I was having kind of a nice moment until Ray threatened to jump in with all his clothes on, and Mom made us walk back to the hotel.

It wasn’t until we were in our rooms that I realized I forgot something in the Falcon, so I ran out there in the dark. After I got my bag, I noticed a small square box on the floor. Curious, I opened it, to see a diamond wedding ring! It must have fallen out of Amy’s bag when we gave her a ride. I remembered that she said her sister’s wedding was on Saturday, in Burlington by the waterfront. So looks like we need to make it there before Saturday or else her sister will be missing a ring!