Category Archives: Carding Chronicles

Short stories about Carding, Vermont

It Takes All Kinds

I’m sure you’ve had an eye-rolling moment or two in your life, those times when your eyeballs drift upward because you just can’t believe how obtuse another person can be.

Over at the Crow Town Bakery, Stephen Bennett has become something of an expert on he calls “invisible eye-rolling.” But his ability to do that will be tested in tomorrow’s story.

I hope you can join us as we crack open the door of the bakery to listen in.

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

SH-It Takes All Kinds

The Traditions of Spring: A Carding Chronicle

SH-Violets

At this point in the year, Vermonters assure themselves that winter is absolutely, finally and resolutely gone. No more snow! No more snow!

Of course, we have had snow in the middle of May.

But we don’t want to think about that.

Let’s take a tour around Carding with Ruth Goodwin as she takes in the rituals of spring, shall we?

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

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There’s a weariness to the end of winter as it slides into spring. People are tired of boots. Tired of wearing heavy coats and mittens. Tired of shoveling.

So when they sense the advent of spring, people try their best to hurry it along.

When you think about it, closing the door on winter and opening it to spring is an act with distinct markers. You just know when it’s happened.

By contrast, when you round the calendar’s corner from spring into summer, there isn’t a single “event” that signals the start of the warmest months. It’s just less cold, the flowers are more abundant, and the scent of barbecue is in the air.

And the moving from summer into autumn is a slow parade of subtle changes—the weakening of chlorophyll in the leaves, fewer minutes of sunlight that gradually mount up to six o’clock sunsets, and then the sight of those first red leaves.

But spring is different and in Vermont, folks do whatever they can to push winter to one side. They cheer at the sight of the maple sap buckets hanging from the trees and steam billowing out of the windowed cupolas on top of the sugarhouses. They notice when the boot collections by the back door expand from just one pair of the insulated kind with crampons  to navigate ice to a variety of rubber boots, galoshes and sturdy sneakers.

People hurry to downgrade from their heaviest coats to the more middling variety of jacket. There’s always two in this category, one to throw on when you fetch the mail and another to wear into town.

The first ventures into the yard are to gather the fallen limbs and branches knocked down by high winds and ice. This is a great time for children of all ages to play with the water braiding its way down every available slope as the frost leaves the ground. (“Sailing away on a muddy day designed for play—tra la!”)

By this time in April, barring some strange weather occurrence, the timid lunges toward spring are behind us now, and the final push is at hand.

And that final push is raking snow.

Let me explain to the uninitiated. Vermont is a land of folds. Our ground is always busy going up or going down, and this unique feature provides an abundance of nooks and crannies  where shadows can hide.

Those shadows keep out the sun and keep in the snow far into April. This happens on the backside of trees on a sloped lawn, at the bottom of hills that face north, under rocky overhangs, and in the places where the winter’s army of snow plows, snowblowers, and shovels made deep piles of the white stuff.

Except by this time, it’s not really snow at all but ice crystals, and everyone is sick of looking at it.

This snow raking always amused Ruth Goodwin on her rounds for the post office. Agnes Findley was usually the first snow raker of the season. Armed with an especially lethal metal rake, Agnes attacked the pile of white on the northwest corner of the house she shared with her partner Charlie Cooper, pulling it into their driveway where it could melt.

Charlie, on the other hand, used a small hay fork on the last bits hiding behind the stone wall that marked their vegetable garden.

Up on Mount Merino, the grounds crew used a grader to break the last ice on the slopes into small pieces that disappeared in the now warming afternoons.

Everywhere she drove in April, Ruth saw people who lived on her mail route digging, gouging, raking, and sometimes even stomping the last ice of winter into oblivion.

And then as she turned toward home, taking the route that snaked by the marshy area at the east end of Half Moon Lake and the small field glowing purple with violets, Ruth slowed down, the windows of her Jeep wide open. When she reached a wide spot in the road, she pulled over, her Jeep nose to nose with Gideon Brown’s truck.

They nodded at one another then leaned against their vehicles, their arms crossed over their bodies as they stood in silent vigil listening to the first glowing notes of the spring peepers.

It had come again, and for the moment, all was right with the world.


Remember, you can visit Carding any time by scouring the archive of older stories or by reading one of my four Carding novels, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, or Lights in Water, Dancing.

Thanks for stopping by.

The Traditions of Spring

At this point in the year, Vermonters assure themselves that winter is absolutely, finally and resolutely gone. No more snow! No more snow!

Of course, we have had snow in the middle of May.

But we don’t want to think about that.

Tomorrow, we’re going to take a tour around Carding with Ruth Goodwin as she makes note of the rituals of spring. Here’s a sample of what’s in store.

SH-Violets

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

Mrs. Mozart: A Carding Chronicle

Mrs. MozartAs the last of the winter snow—long past its prime—recedes, Vermonters rush to be outside.

Gardeners stroll among their dormant beds, picking up the stray branches brought down by the ice and wind of a season that’s already receding into memory. Carpenters start measuring and cutting lumber for the new projects they planned back in February. Walkers don their muddin’ boots to march off down the rutted dirt roads, their dogs wandering as far afield as they can manage.

While Carding’s Episcopal priest, Gordon Lloyd, enjoys the outdoors as much as everyone else in town, this morning he’s looking forward to an indoor activity, one with poignant appeal.

Let’s join him, shall we?

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

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Gordon Lloyd, the Episcopal priest who lives and works in Carding, Vermont, will turn 70 years old later this year. So it’s normal that thoughts of retirement flit through his head from time to time.

Some days, such as when the ladies who decorate the altar disagree over peonies versus lilies for the various Sundays in May, his retirement thoughts are more numerous. Everyone likes the notion of escape from time to time.

But there are days, such as today, when he knows he wants to practice his priestly profession for all his days. Because Thursdays are the days he visits patients in the Jack Byrnes Center for Hospice and Palliative Care over in Lebanon, New Hampshire.

It’s the first of its kind in the area, a specialty care center for the terminally ill. The central idea of the center is respect for the dignity of death, something that Reverend Lloyd thinks is sadly lacking in our contemporary society—especially in the medical field.

Now it’s understandable that some folks would think that visiting a place like this would be morbid. But the good reverend finds the palliative care center a place of solace so he looks forward to Thursdays as a day to refresh his spirit.

“These people sure know how to live,” he told a nurse there once. She wasn’t surprised by his remark at all.

“Yeah, you can learn a lot here,” she said. “And most of it isn’t medical in nature.”

She thought about her words for a moment, and then added: “It’s just nature.”

He was more than usually eager to get to the center this morning because one of his favorite parishioners, Josephine Lehtinen, had reached the point of accepting hospice care for the last of her days. Josie, as she liked to be called, was known far and wide in Carding because she’d taught music to every student who came through the local school system.

In Josie’s world, everyone had musical talent. “If you don’t want to play the violin or the piano, you can try a recorder or a guitar or the drums or bang a gong or just hum along. Everyone needs music.”

And she proved, time and again, that she was right. Carding’s band concerts were always crowded by folks who enjoyed music as well as the usual plethora of proud parents. The school’s choral group was so popular, it actually toured the region, performing in nursing homes, at the Carding Fair, and for area elementary schools.

In addition to Josie’s enthusiasm for all things musical, everyone learned (sooner or later) about her passion for the man she called “the Little Austrian,” Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. She kept a small bust of the composer on her desk and her husband, Conrad, swore that she kept an altar for him at home. All of her instrumental students started their musical careers by mastering the twelve variations of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” that Mozart composed.

So it should be no surprise that Josie Lehtinen is remembered as Mrs. Mozart by several generations of Carding students.

Gordon heard music as soon as he stepped through the front door of the Byrnes Center. It was a cello, one of his favorite instruments. He stood still, absorbing the notes, unsure whether it was a Mozart composition or not. The great composer never wrote a piece of music dedicated to the instrument. No one’s quite sure why but the thinking is that cellos just weren’t that common in the late 19th century when the Little Austrian was about.

But several of his works have been transcribed for the cello in the centuries since, a trend accelerated by Yo Yo Ma.

Gordon tilted his head, turning his good ear toward the sound. It was a sonata, the priest wasn’t sure which one, but he liked believing it was by Mozart and until proven otherwise, that was what he was going to believe.

The music, so soothing, flowed down the hall as Gordon made his way toward Mrs. Mozart’s room. All of the doors to the patients’ rooms were open to hear the musician bowing the beautiful instrument, its age-darkened wood catching the spring light streaming through the windows. 

The staff had wheeled all of the patients’ beds closer to the open room doors and stood listening in respectful silence, their faces rapt, embraced by the music.

All except one. Josie Lehtinen.

Gordon’s heart sank when he realized she was missing. He’d been hoping for one last good-bye. 

He crept up to her room, careful not to disturb the musician who played with such intensity and fervor. A nurse, standing where the bed should have been, caught Gordon’s eye and pointed toward the double doors that opened onto a small balcony. Every bed in the center had wheels and every room had access to the outdoors. Patients craving a communing with nature could be wheeled into the open air, no walking needed.

Josie’s bed faced the trees surrounding the center, all of them still naked. All except the pines, of course.

Josie’s husband, Conrad, sat in a chair facing the priest, his hand full of Josie’s hand. He smiled when he spotted Gordon and beckoned him to join them.

Mrs. Mozart stirred as the priest approached her bedside. A small breath of a breeze ruffled her white hair. Gordon was glad he’d worn a sweater.

“Aren’t you cold Josie?” he asked. “Would you like me to get you another blanket?”

“Oh no, no. I am basking in this glorious air,” she said. Mischief gleamed in her eyes. “This may be the last time I get to be cold, you know.”

Gordon shook his head.

“It’s one of the great pleasures of life, Reverend,” she continued after a long pause. She made a small gesture toward the trees. “It all comes down to the ordinary details in an ordinary life, you know. The way the pines move, the shadows on the ground, the notes coming from the cello. Isn’t it amazing what sounds you can get from a wooden box, strings and a bow? Just listen to that.”

Gordon perched on the far corner of the bed and let his head fall forward but he didn’t pray.  There was no need. The notes from the cello flowed the air, the pines exulted with the spring breeze, the sun creased the cobalt sky, and Mrs. Mozart squeezed her husband’s hand.

It was a perfect ordinary day.


Remember, you can visit Carding any time by scouring the archive of older stories or by reading one of my four Carding novels, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, or Lights in Water, Dancing.

Thanks for stopping by.

Mrs. Mozart

As the last of the winter snow—long past its prime—recedes, Vermonters rush to be outside.

Gardeners stroll among their dormant beds, picking up the stray branches brought down by the ice and wind of a season that’s already receding into memory. Carpenters start measuring and cutting lumber for the new projects they planned back in February. Walkers don their muddin’ boots to march off down the rutted dirt roads, their dogs wandering as far afield as they can manage.

While Carding’s Episcopal priest, Gordon Lloyd, enjoys the outdoors as much as everyone else in town, this morning he’s looking forward to an indoor activity, one with poignant appeal.

Here’s a sample of tomorrow’s story. Hope to see you there.

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

Mrs. Mozart

To the Rescue: A Carding Chronicle

SH-sable storyThe dog in the illustration for this story was rescued by my son and daughter-in-law. Her name is Sable and we get to take care of her while they are at work.

She is a love.

And she inspired today’s Carding Chronicle, To the Rescue, one that I repeat this time every year.

I am so glad you stopped by to enjoy this story with me.

Patting—and rescuing—dogs is so important, don’t you think?

Welcome to Carding, Vermont where life always includes a dash of the unexpected. And you can find it any time, right here in the Carding Chronicles and in the four novels of Carding, Vermont, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, and Lights in Water, Dancing.

If you haven’t already, don’t forget to subscribe to the Chronicle by clicking the link on this page. That way, you’ll never miss a story.

———————————————————————–

Andy Cooper, the owner of Cooper’s General Store the everything-you-need emporium in the center of Carding, never meant to get another dog. As he told his best friend, Edie Wolfe, he’d lost enough fur-bearing buddies to last him a lifetime.

But he still retains a very squishy spot in his heart for dogs which is why he’s been letting the folks from Vermont Dog Rescue park in the store’s lot for information and adoption days for so many years.

If there’s one thing that Vermonters share, it’s a deep love of dogs. The Coop’s parking lot overflowed all day with people stopping by to pat the would-be adoptees, donate to the rescue organization or take home a new pet.

Every time the latter happened, Andy heard a large “Whoop! Whoop!” from the crowd, and he smiled to know that another little one had found a good home.

It was a busy day so he never got the chance to venture outside for himself until afternoon. By that time, the volunteers from the rescue organization were starting to pack up to head home.

“Thanks Andy,” Ellsworth Fynn said as they shook hands. “I always appreciate that you let us come here. Carding’s such a receptive place.”

“Did the Elliotts come by? They lost their big German shepherd last fall, and I know that Bruce and Cate planned to get a dog today,” Andy said.

Ellsworth looked down at the paperwork on the clipboard in his hands. “Yep, they were the first ones here this morning. I think if it had been left to their kids, they would have taken all the dogs home.”

Andy laughed. “Yeah, there’s a lot of energy there. I expect I’ll see them all racing through town this summer.”

Just then, a low moan made his head turn toward the organization’s van. “Somebody sick?” he asked.

“No. We had one little girl left,” Ellsworth said, reaching in to stroke the ears of a large brown dog with expressive eyes.

Andy leaned over to pat her as well. “Soft ears,” he said. “What’s her name?”

Ellsworth looked at his paperwork again. “Sable. We rescued her at the last minute from a place down South. The family who dropped her off said they had too many dogs and couldn’t take care of the ones they had. Too typical a story by half.”

Sable groaned a little louder, rolled over on her side, and embraced Andy’s arm with her front paws. “Aawww. She’s a charmer.”

Ellsworth cocked an eye in Andy’s direction. He was well aware of the store manager’s objection to owning another dog, and he appreciated it. Pets leave big holes behind in the lives of their humans when they move on to doggie heaven. But he said nothing, just in case Andy might change his mind.

“How many dogs did you bring today?” Andy asked as he sat down next to Sable to give her a more thorough rubbing with his hands. Her fur was short but not coarse, and he guessed her name came from the way she felt. Sable closed her eyes in appreciation of his gesture.

“There were a dozen with us,” Ellsworth said. “It’s been a good day for a lot of dogs as well as humans.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Andy drew in a large breath, remembering the promise he’d made to himself about “no more.” He pulled his hand away. Sable sat up, her nose pointed down, her deep brown eyes flicking back and forth between Ellsworth and Andy.

Andy rubbed his face. “Oh man,” he whispered, shaking his head. Sable’s head drooped. “How long have you had her?”

“She’s been with her foster family for about a month,” Ellsworth said. “Though I think we’re going to have to move her because they’ve got three other dogs, and Sable is so docile, she never gets her share of food or attention.”

Andy sighed, and stood up. Sable moaned, a low tone that probably reached only Andy’s ears. They looked at one another for a long, long, long minute. Ellsworth held his breath. He knew this was the crucial moment.

“I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Andy whispered to himself. Then he turned to Ellsworth. “So, how much is your adoption fee?”


Remember, you can visit Carding any time by scouring the archive of older stories or by reading one of my four Carding novels, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life, or Lights in Water, Dancing.

Thanks for stopping by.

To the Rescue

The dog in the illustration for tomorrow’s story was rescued by my son and daughter-in-law. Her name is Sable and we get to take care of her while they are at work.

She is a love.

And she inspired tomorrow’s Carding Chronicle, To the Rescue, one that I repeat this time every year.

I hope you can stop by to enjoy this story with me.

Patting—and rescuing—dogs is so important, don’t you think?

SH-sable story