Since we weren’t in a huge hurry to get home, we took the longer scenic route back and that meant driving through the Northeast Kingdom.
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It’s a rural and mountainous region of Vermont, similar to areas in northern Maine with its low population density and differing political views.
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Unspoiled and undisturbed.
Beautiful? You betcha!
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This region takes their designation seriously so you’ll find “Kingdom” gas stations and “Kingdom” diners scattered throughout the area.
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There’s even a covered bridge staircase.
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While the majority of Vermont is an environmentally friendly, liberal, churn your own butter, Birkenstock type of place… the Kingdom is a bit wilder and leans much farther right. It’s often said there are two Maines, southern and northern.. I find that’s true of Vermont as well.
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And if you’re wondering how far north we were?
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I could see Canada from my window.
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And though we didn’t cross the border, Verizon let us know we might as well have.
After dealing with constant pain in my right knee for the past two years, I finally cried uncle and made an appointment with an orthopedist. Thankfully it was a different orthopedist than the one who told me “It will either heal or it won’t” two years ago when the injury first occurred. She diagnosed a deep root radial meniscal tear ( the worst kind, the kind that doesn’t heal) as well as damage to my MCL and told me I’d probably need surgery. Wanting to avoid that…. I tried everything else. Ice, heat, massage, exercise, even acupuncture. Nothing worked and instead of getting better, it actually got worse. Groaning every time I got up and coming down stairs one at a time like an old woman was getting, well… old.
The new orthopedist did tests, and told me what I already knew… nothing had healed, and to add insult to injury, I also have holes in my cartilage now. Yay me. The options were slim – have surgery to remove the meniscus which would alleviate the pain but hasten the road to total knee replacement.. to which I said no thank you… or start with a cortisone shot and try physical therapy. I chose door number two.
After an ultra sound guided cortisone shot I was a seriously happy camper. On day one I had 40% less pain. By day three I could take stairs normally and felt 70% less pain upon standing. Why had I waited two years!! It was a miracle.
But then…
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Then I had to enter the torture chamber.
The week after my shot, I met the man I would pay to hurt me. And that’s exactly what he did. After an initial consultation he put me on the table and gave me the most painful deep tissue massage imaginable. He informed me my hamstring had contracted over the past two years and it had to be pressed and stretched back into service. I limped out of the building with my hammy screaming, barely able to drive home. It’s a good thing they only scheduled me for once a week because it took that long for the pain to subside.
Week #2 he prodded and pressed and took me into the huge gym attached to the building. Physical therapy my ass, I felt like I’d been thrown into NFL training camp. A plethora of squats, band work and what seemed like 300 knee bends later he made me pull and push 90 pounds of some weird weighted contraption down and back the entire length of the gym. When I was done I must have looked pathetic because he let me sit down with a pressurized ice cuff.
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(If those things didn’t cost $3,500 I swear I’d have one at home.) And again, I limped out of the building, sore for a solid week.
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Did I mention the therapy room has an entire wall of windows so everyone in the waiting room can watch your torture sessions? Fun idea.
Not.
Session number three began with him asking how much better I was feeling and me answering not much. He did some manipulations, said my patella was aggravated and proceeded to smooth out the inflammation with some stinky gel and what looked like a miniature squeegee. Whatever, it didn’t hurt and I didn’t have to go back to the gym so that’s a win in my book.
This is an easy one for me. Calves liver with onions. My parents were fans, but I’ve been known to run screaming from the room at the mere sight of it. Basically any organ meat will elicit a similar reaction, but my mother cooked this on a regular basis so I had lots of practice avoiding it.
Liver tonight? Gee mom, I can’t. Softball practice.
Liver? Sorry mom, art club meeting.
Dessicated cow organs? I’d love to… but the circus is in town and they need a new elephant handler.
Any excuse would do. But she got wise after a while and decided to force me to eat it one night. Silly woman, thinking she could out stubborn 10 year old me.
She served dinner… I ate the potatoes and vegetables and left the liver untouched. She told me I would eat it. I told her I would not. She said I couldn’t get up from the table until it was gone. I said no problem and settled in for the night. If I wouldn’t eat it freshly cooked and hot did she really think I’d eat it cold and congealed?
The war of wills had begun, but after an hour and a half my father… ever the peacemaker…. let our notorious food stealing beagle in the back door and I ( accidentally, of course ) dropped my plate on the floor.
Bye bye liver.
My mother lost that battle and never tried to force me to eat it again. She did continue to serve it though.
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How about you? What meal haunted your childhood dinner table…
Heading back to the resort for the last time it looked like there was a hole in the sky…
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And before long we were approaching the Notch.
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These signs are on both entrance sides to the road and it took me a few minutes to figure out what they were talking about.
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TT’s won’t fit?
How odd.
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As we entered the Notch, rain. I swear the mountains make their own weather.
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Godzilla barfing?
No, just falling rocks.
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Not sure if you can tell from the photo, but the road is positively pink. Vermont has the oddest color tar in places. Perhaps it’s mixed with Ben and Jerry’s Strawberry Shortcake…?
Since our neighbor was caring for Lord Dudley Mountcatten… as well as feeding the fox and deer.. a thank you gift was required. This meant dragging my husband shopping and you know if it isn’t antiques he isn’t happy.
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A bottle of local Vermont wine…
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And some Vermont chocolates were perfect, but then I lost the husband in the store.
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You knew he’d find something vintage, right?
He actually collects these old gas station oil bottles and was thrilled to find a complete set with the holder. He was less than thrilled to find they were being used as decoration and not for sale.
He was so grumpy about that he wouldn’t let me go back and purchase this special maple syrup.
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Which in hindsight was probably a good thing…
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Because as soon as I saw they had various Dog liquor I wanted one of each.
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But at nearly $200 for the pair it’s a good thing they were under lock and key.
Dudley does well on his harness/leash and knows his limitations, which in actuality is 30 feet. His chest to my wrist. His Lordship chooses the direction and we walk, stroll, sit and occasionally sprint. What we don’t do is climb trees.
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Until the other day when he sat at the base of the Bradford pear watching a bird one minute….
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And jumped onto the bark the next. Problem is, his lordship does not have any tree climbing experience and literally just hung there.
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He scooched a little farther up, with me trying hard not to laugh …
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And finally made it up on a lower branch. Which is when he looked at me as if to say, what the Hell do I do now?
One aborted climb later..
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It was over before it really begun.
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I give him an A for effort, but a D for technique.
As we were randomly driving around Vermont we hit Montpelier, the capitol, and remembered there was a fabulous high end restaurant we’d enjoyed on previous trips.
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Welcome to J. Morgan’s Steakhouse.
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A fabulous place that’s actually part of a hotel. It has a very retro, 1920’s, prohibition era type feel….
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And we hit it at the perfect time since you can rarely get in without reservations.
Apple cider mule?
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Don’t mind if I do.
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It was 3:00pm… but since we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, we decided to be tacky (really) early birds and go straight to dinner. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Which kind of sucked because this place can be pricey.
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A marvelous wedge salad with maple bacon and homemade blue cheese for me, the prerequisite French Onion soup for the spouse.
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The rack of lamb was tempting but I opted for the jumbo shrimp scampi instead.
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Good call. It was scrumptious, with just the right amount of garlic and wine.
And because we were in a steakhouse?
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The filet mignon with burgundy reduction for the husband.
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We basically had the whole place to ourselves, just a few customers scattered here and there. And those amazing lights?
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Made sure the rare filet my other half ordered was definitely that.
If you’re ever in Montpelier? Be sure to stop here. You won’t be disappointed.
I used to love shopping at Victoria’s Secret when I was younger, not to mention thinner. They always had beautifully sensuous lingerie and a nice selection of comfy pajamas in wonderfully soft fabrics.
Now that I’m a menopausal woman of a certain age, my desire for the secrets of Victoria have waned and I haven’t visited one of the stores in at least a decade.
This is probably why their ad on my Facebook page came as a bit of a surprise. And from the look of the items they’re offering now? I’m actually glad to be 58.
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Seriously, who the Hell would wear this? In my opinion it’s not the least bit attractive, no less sexy. And damn, for $1.98’s worth of electrical tape you could pretty much make one at home.
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And speaking of tape…
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 