Tag Archives: vacation

The Notch and a (boozy) meal.

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Since resort check in wasn’t until 4:00pm we had some time to kill. And when you have time to kill in this area of Vermont? You drive through The Notch.

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It’s basically a road cut right through the mountain and it’s one of my absolute favorite drives.

Twisty, turny and littered with glacial granite boulders…. it’s a rock lovers dream.

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Not that it’s the easiest road to navigate mind you. The switchbacks are breath taking, the proximity to boulders cringe worthy. In places you’re absolutely blind and are left crossing everything you have that nothing is coming the other way when the road narrows so tightly only one car can pass.

My husband drives it like sport.

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On the other side of The Notch? Stowe… a lovely village I’ll highlight later. And in Stowe?

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An amazing local brewery.

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We had to stand in line half an hour to get in, on a Tuesday, at 2:30 in the afternoon. It’s that good. I was willing to wait longer to sit in one of the artfully decorated dining rooms (the giant velvet cow print couch was calling my name) but the husband snatched two seats at the bar as soon as they became available.

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One flight in…. on an amazing polished copper bar, we were already loving this place.

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The Kolsch was delightful, the Pink and Pale seriously puckering.

And since we were at a brewery….

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I had to try the monster soft pretzel. Not only does Idletyme brew their own beer, they make their own beer cheese and grind their own mustard. A win win.

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As was this hot spiced cider with rum. Hey, when in Rome…

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My chargrilled mushroom Swiss burger with crispy onions and Caesar salad was good, but my husband’s choice?

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Ooh la la! So beyond the normal pub fare … we might have drooled. Butternut squash ravioli with maple cream sauce, sliced almonds and a hint of cayenne for bite. It was utterly fabulous.

Too stuffed for dessert, we headed back through The Notch and it’s amazing selection of rocks.

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And mini waterfalls breaking through at random intervals.

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And by then, it was time to check in.

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Yes, the resort is named after The Notch… which was originally used by smugglers and bootleggers. Yet another reason to love it.

A little history if you’re interested…

With cliffs on either side that sometimes reach a height of 1,000 feet, it’s also easy to see how very few people would have been caught on their way to and from one country to another. The landscape looked completely different in the early 1800s and there were far fewer people – and towns – meaning this region was even more remote. After former president Thomas Jefferson passed the Embargo Act in 1807, the restriction of trade between countries had a drastically negative impact on the state of Vermont. As the state shares a border with Canada, this trade route was by far the easiest to use, and once that was cut off there were many citizens and businesses that suffered in the northern part of the state.

This route was not only used for trading. Fugitive slaves would also utilize the route to make their way through Vermont and into Canada, which gave it another historic purpose.

The use of Smugglers’ Notch didn’t just end there, though. As Vermont progressed into the 20th century, they would be subject to yet another restriction – this time, on alcohol. When Prohibition came about in 1922, the state was lucky enough to have opened Smugglers’ Notch to automobile traffic. This meant that those using the route would no longer need to cross on foot or horseback, which opened up even more illegal trade route options. In this case, it was Vermont’s loophole during the time when it was legally a dry state.

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*Not my photo , but it gives you a better idea of the scope*

The Notch is closed to tractor trailer trucks due to the precarious turns, and though there are ample signs warning them not to enter, a few idiots try it every year, getting stuck and causing horrible traffic jams and back ups.

The entire road is closed for the season starting in mid October so we were lucky and slipped in right before the gates came down.

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The journey.

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We set off early Tuesday morning and it was a perfectly beautiful day. Sunny, with a delightful bite of crisp fall air.

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We hit the western Maine mountains before 10….

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And the New Hampshire White Mountains shortly after. Leaves were just beginning to turn and it was wonderful.

At 1:00?

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Hello Vermont! We’ve missed you.

And you’re welcome, though I’m not sure what we did to deserve your thanks.

If you’ve never been to Vermont? I have one word for you… go!

Verdant green fields and barn red barns. Gentle rolling hills and well tended farms. Picturesque mountain villages and of course, cows.

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It’s gloriously scenic, delightfully quirky, and utterly addicting.

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We were sad to see The Farmer’s Daughter gift shop had lost its daughter. There used to be a large sign out front of a farm girl with her skirt blown up… but all that’s left now are the hands, hanging disembodied and more than a little creepy.

We did see a giant hammer wind mill down the road…

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But it doesn’t bring the same smile to your face as that saucy wind blown wench.

When we headed north and west towards our resort, the weather took a turn.

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Eerie, ominous skies dominated the rest of the way and by the time we arrived in the little town of Jeffersonville?

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Rain. And so much high fog you couldn’t see the mountains.

To be continued….

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A random post about mushrooms and menopause.

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Our neighbor across the street is an organic farmer who supplies some pretty swanky restaurants. So when he found a giant chicken mushroom like this one on a tree on his property?

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He harvested it and sold it for $250. That’s a fungus worth knowing.

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No, it’s not cool. It’s ridiculous. Please stop.

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Birds.

They live to tease Lord Dudley Mountcatten.

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Just… no.

I don’t want a vacation that revolves around discussing hot flashes and bloating. That is not my idea of money well spent.

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Let’s play.

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This one’s easy. It won’t hurt at all.

I promise.

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There’s only one answer for me. Disneyland. (Or World). The planet’s largest theme parks hold absolutely no appeal for me and at this point in my life I think I’d rather take a cruise ship straight to Hell than stroll the over crowded streets of the over priced plastic fantastic pinnacle of capitalism that is Disney.

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But then, I dislike theme parks in general. Busch Gardens? Great Adventures? Been there, hated them both. Honestly? I didn’t even like them when I was a child. They’re just so… fake.

So how about you…

Where do you never want to vacation that everyone else loves?

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Selfies ruin everything.

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I admit to taking a selfie now and then, usually when we go somewhere wonderful… but mainly because I have a husband who never takes pictures. Ever. It’s a harmless if slightly narcissistic endeavor, and my mother is dead… so if not me, who?

Then there’s the Instagram crowd. The influencers. The vapid youth of today who get paid ridiculous sums for photos that go viral. They’ll go to any lengths to get a breathtaking selfie and call me cold hearted, but I rarely feel bad when I read they fall into the Grand Canyon or off a speeding train.

Which is probably why I cringed when I read this article.

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I have been to Le Gorges du Verdon and it was fabulous. Mainly because there was no one else there.

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The husband, a friend and I drove through the French Alps for a solid 10 hours and saw only one other person. A sheep herder with his flock. It was beyond marvelous.

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That’s me sitting on the wall filing my nails waiting for the husband to climb back up from below.

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The gorge was wild and wonderful. Unspoiled nature ruled.

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As did the goats.

We visited in the early 90’s. The fact that’s it now jam packed with insipid, shallow Instagram tourists breaks my heart. And I bet the goats don’t like it either.

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Discovering a hidden gem.

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I love randomly exploring an area we’ve visited often and stumbling on a new place. Last week it was the Boathouse Hotel and Marina in Kennebunkport.

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The perfect location for a leisurely spring afternoon lunch.

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And in true River style I worked my way down the cocktail menu.

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The Watermelon Sugar to start….

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A Walk of Shame with appetizers. Crab cakes for me, lemongrass ginger mussels for the husband.

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White Lemonade Sangria with a chicken Caesar salad for me, sherry baked haddock for my other half. It was a wonderful meal in a pleasant spot made even better by the friendly couple we met at the bar.

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They were visiting from Wisconsin for a college graduation so we happily gave them some local destination suggestions. Turns out they run a pub of their own in Wisconsin with the same town name as one in Maine.

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The Presque Isle Pub. If you’re ever in the area, stop by and tell them the boozy couple from Maine say hello.

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News you can’t use.

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The plethora of stupid headlines assures I will never run out of things to share.

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I’m going to pass on ordering one of those, just as I do on the extended car warranties.

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Now there’s an item positively screaming to be hung in the man cave bar.

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I don’t know about you, but I honestly don’t want to know the answer to that.

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*crosses Texas off her vacation destination list*

Who am I kidding? It was never on there in the first place.

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I am not a pioneer woman.

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Not traveling for the past 2 years has been tough. It seems we were just getting into the swing of navigating our time share resort catalog… culling the ordinary and finding some fabulous spots… and then Covid slammed the door. While I’d be up for getting back on the road, my husband is still hesitant so we’re sticking close to home for now. I’ve been slowly researching some New England escapes my spouse might be comfortable with and the other day I came across this:

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Let me state for the record… unequivocally and without a doubt… I am not a camper. I have absolutely zero pioneering spirit and require hot and cold running Egyptian cotton sheets.

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While I love nature, the outdoors and hiking during the day, ( before my knee injury, damn it ) I prefer to sleep in air conditioned comfort on a king sized pillow top not sweltering in a 12×6 wagon with mosquitoes large enough to carry you away.

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Trust me, it’s not. And I wouldn’t.

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The words magical wagon and camp grounds are not used in the same sentence, not in my world.

And when I heard they rent for $1,500 a night? Yeeha! That’s a hard pass.

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