My friend Trisha goes to Vermont each year and stays near a town that is right near where my blog friend Indigo Bunting lives (and Lali as well).
For a long time Trisha would say, "Sally, you would love Vermont," and then goes on to describe some hardscrabble hippie thing that is just. like. me. And she's right. I would love Vermont.
The tenor of this conversation has changed over the years. It has gone from, "we should go/you should go/you would love Vermont" to something more hesitant.
"I'm afraid that if you went to Vermont," she admitted, "that you would never come home."
I laugh, but she is probably correct. I think there is probably something very Vermont about me. I didn't see it, but as I hear it told to me again and again, I think I can believe it after all.
It feels a little bit like Passover when I think about it.
Next year in Vermont. Next year in Vermont. Next year in Vermont.
Have I been to Vermont? No, but someday when I'm strong enough to know I'll come back, I'm going to go.