Driving has never been my favorite thing, but having my daily route take me along a river and into a village to drop the kids at camp and then up to the top of the mountain for a workout before heading home through the woods, all in the space of a few short miles, makes it a pretty pleasant thing to do. This morning the moutain was wrapped in low hanging clouds and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the road instead of the view.
I'm sure there will be days when the smallness of the place grates or the months of snow get old. And I'm still learning to slow down, to realize that sometimes, when a storm knocks out the power for the night and the internet for the next day, well, you just curl up with a book and chill. Because eventually, everything will be working again. Although- note to self-spinning by the light of ones ereader does not smooth yarn make. And it's nice to have the people at the post office know your name, and to see everyone stop patiently on the highway while a heard of ducks ambles s-l-o-w-l-y across, and to have folks already notice that your boy-o is an excellent big brother. Ever watchful. So I think those little niggles, well, they'll be well worth it.
But I've been feeling a little self-concious about my Vermont-love, not wanting to seem like such a newbie with my enthusiem (or worse, a tourist, you remember how much I hate to play the tourist). It's hard not to start every conversation with "Holy cow is it beautiful!" Becuause surely, surely, folks here are used to living in the middle of all this outrageous georgousness. So when, yesterday during camp drop off, I heard one mother say to another "Wow, is it beautiful. We live in Paridise, you know? We really do."
We really do.
I felt immensely glad that I'm not the only dweeb that cant seem to get past that.