Previous: I decided to share my family’s adventure of building a ski house since I was a little girl.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing my early memories of Killington in a column.
Is it any wonder that as we live our lives, we often lose sight of what’s special about people, places, and all the things that help make us unforgettable? , as I write down my most cherished memories (some of which I had forgotten), I realize just how unique and impressive the architecture of the ski lodge in Killington was. Following my father’s dream, commuting every weekend from Montclair, New Jersey, has been a life-long journey. Now we live here half the year (we have running water and running water) and we cherish the years we spent here, ransacking it and building a lodge. . I have come to appreciate the gifts my parents have given me more than I ever imagined possible.
Vermont or bust?
We began our weekly pilgrimage to Vermont in Upper Montclair, New Jersey, where we lived. I was 7 years old at Killington’s when it first opened in 1958. My father had just purchased two acres of land near the start of Brook Road when he rolled off the Killington Access Road. There were no bridges, so we waded through the river (later the first fire station was built), around corners, up hills, and then up driveways (as steep as Mount Everest). Our home site was the first home site on the left. The Ayers house was a little further up, and Preston Smith’s house was a mile away at the end.
Her father was a mechanical engineer for Foster Wheeler and her mother was a piano teacher/poet/writer. My wonderful brothers, Jack and Bill, were 10 and 7 years older, respectively. They joined us on weekends whenever they could in between other jobs. Jack studied forestry at the University of New Hampshire, and Billy played football at Montclair High School and then attended Bates College in Maine.
As an up-to-date young woman living in Upper Montclair, moving north to Vermont was a great escape for me. It was the complete opposite of life in New Jersey, where they enjoyed luxury and comfort. She put on her tomboy clothes, grabbed her gear, and got ready for an adventure in the great outdoors. Life in Vermont was challenging and demanding, but I enjoyed the freedom it afforded me.
Hours into the six hour drive, we stopped for a midnight snack at an eatery like the Silver Dollar Diner in Whitehall, New York, or the Coffee Cup in Castleton, Vermont. Mom adored clam strips and onion rings at Howard Johnson’s until the day McDonalds opened in at the Albany exit off the Northway.
We left New Jersey on Friday night as soon as my father got off work. Sometimes we would pick him up in New York City and then ride the Taconic or Merritt Parkway past the iconic Taconic Diner. When my father’s office moved to Summit, N.J., we drove north on the Garden State Parkway to Route 17 for the cheapest gas, then drove to a motel near the start of the New York State Highway. We passed On the Mountain. Every week, my mother would tell me a story about a Japanese architect who camped there to find the best view of sunrise and sunset. He arranged the motel based on the aesthetics and feng shui of the location. (I think that’s what prompted her mother to make sure our views were Sunset, Pico, and Killington.) We continued north to the Northway and east on Route 4. and continued on to Rutland and Killington.
Our Labrador retriever, Black Star of Highland, stays on duty all night long, panting on Dad’s shoulders and ears, searching for squirrels, groundhogs, deer, and any other visible moving object. I was there. My mother drank hot coffee from a thermos. Dad drank postum. He tasted hot chocolate. We looked for our favorite landmarks while eating bologna sandwiches and tuna fish sandwiches.
A few hours into the six-hour drive, we grabbed a late night snack at eateries such as Silver Dollar Diner in Whitehall, New York and Coffee Cup in Castleton. Her mother loved Howard Johnson’s clam strips and onion rings until the day McDonald’s opened at the Albany exit of the Northway. And hot coffee, hamburgers, and fries were the foods she craved every weekend. Her father liked hamburgers, but she preferred Western sandwiches. It reminded her of her childhood, when her father was the U.S. Consul General in Juarez, Mexico. (I still choose Western-style sandwiches whenever possible.)
I was already asleep so stopping in for a bite was a dreamlike experience. It was well worth waking up to experience food, friendship, tradition, and excitement on our way to more adventures in the Green Mountain State. Continued next week…
Margaret Jill Dye is an artist and writer based in Killington and Bradenton, Florida.
Provided by Killington Resort
