Building the Dream Lodge “Killington Dream” Part 7
Everything happened from Friday to Sunday, so I felt like I was living a double life. Returning to “normal” in New Jersey was akin to acting in a surreal play.
I knew the magic would begin once I crossed the New York state line into Vermont. Our weekend was full of exciting surprises. I had no idea what was going to happen next. It was always a new adventure.
Growing up in suburban New Jersey, spending weekends in Killington allowed me to experience firsthand my father’s passion for nature. I, too, fell in love with Vermont’s ponds, lakes, streams, mountains, forests, woods, and abundant wildlife. My father taught me not to fear but to respect the natural world of which we humans are a part. Our environment was ideal for me to explore, wild flowers for painting and pressing, ferns for printing, bright foliage for bouquets, and I loved writing poems. I collected birch bark. There was no end to the creativity that Vermont inspired in my life.
Few of my friends from New Jersey knew what our weekends building ski lodges in the Vermont wilderness were really like. Only a few still had the courage to venture north with us. So I often wrote about our wild weekends for my English class. Some stories were so funny and outlandish that no one could believe they were real.
When I was old enough, I invited a friend from school to a weekend at Killington. Nancy had enough courage (or trust) to travel in our cramped station wagon and deal with outhouses, cold weather, mice, and roof repairs. I had fun taking her and showing her my favorite Vermont pastimes. She never revealed her thoughts after that, but it seemed like she had no desire to return. Go figure! After that, only my male friends attended. They loved to challenge and throw into the rough.
I helped Mom and Dad a lot with the kids, but I also walked around and played with the Ayers kids. I especially loved exploring Roaring Brook with Starr, a dedicated black researcher. After working hard in the summer heat, my father would often take us for a walk to Roaring Brook. There was a waterfall that was so tall that it just went over my shoulders and cascaded down my back. Dad was making strange noises and making strange faces. We laughed while cooling off in the cold water.
My father was influenced by indigenous peoples while living in Mexico as a boy. He admired Native Americans and their tribal ways of communicating with plants and animals. His sensitivity and sincere kindness were little appreciated in the workday world. But in Vermont, he was the founder of his own dream lodge and natural haven. Killington gave fulfillment and meaning to his father’s life and the beautiful legacy he created for us.
Her mother, on the other hand, loved living in Montclair, socializing, and teaching piano lessons. She was active in her PTA, the United Methodist Church, and the Montclair Dramatic Club. Mom and Dad sometimes played bridge and belonged to the Cosmopolitan Club, where monthly dances brought together people from all walks of life and countries. It was a chance for her mother to wear a glamorous satin and lace evening dress, a stark contrast to our life in Vermont. Her father grew up in different countries as the son of an American diplomat (he spoke Spanish like his native language), so the Cosmopolitan Club was a fun way to make friends from far away.
My mother came to Killington every weekend, even though she wanted a more genteel life. Although it was difficult for her delicate personality, her mother put on her work clothes and went about her business as long as the black coffee nourished her. First thing every morning, Dad would turn on the Coleman and boil the kettle of water. Then he made mom a cup of strong black instant coffee and served it steaming hot in her bed. It worked its magic on her and brought her back to life. Our “Energizer Bunny” has awakened and is back.
I cherish my childhood weekends and vacations in Vermont, which are lifelong gifts and formative memories that I now enjoy sharing. We received a comment from Lauren Traub Teton, a current Killingtonian and a rare snowboarder. I just want to say that I am very grateful for your comments about my columns and paintings. Even when writing a column and sending it out into the world, writers rarely know whether people are reading it and enjoying it. So, Lauren, thank you for making my day today! Tip: Comments are welcome!
Margaret Jill Dye is an artist and writer based in Killington and Bradenton, Florida. Contact her at jilldyestudio@aol.com.
