churchin' up the Harley way...

We spent all day Saturday working on the farm, deconstructing the horse training arena. I plan to put the flat four acres into a soft fruit plantation. The old riding ring is the only sand I own on that piece of land. It will make a perfect spot for the raspberries. So then, the 80 x 120 foot three rail arena must come down. Last year, oldest daughter and I started that process and gave up with three quarters of the circumference to go. So there it stood, waiting for decommissioning. I say we worked; really I watched a very strong friend work, when I wasn't napping in the shade. He is so good to me. We stuffed the back of the mini van full of the salvaged wood for future barn projects and drove the sagging car to the hen house. Mission accomplished, I stole a kiss from each and sent them on their way, the day well spent. The sun easing behind the hills left me looking ahead to Sunday services at my beloved "Jeff Church~ the little church with a big heart..." a quiet day of rest and reflection...the usual small town day of comfort. That all changed when a brilliant beam of morning sun awoke me, with my little blue-eyed wonder boy jumping on my bed. No sleeping-in that morning. It's all good as I was wide awake when my riding partner beeped me on my cell. "So I was thinking of going for a ride today, wondering if you'd maybe wanna skip church and join me?...? his thoughtful lure. It took me less than the time to click his number in my call list to reply: "yes!" I love my church community, loving and giving people all of them...but I reasoned that God would allow if I got a little "churchin' up" on the back of a gleaming Harley behind a very good friend. My ride arrived on schedule; younger daughter tended the horses; older daughter tended the boyz. I leathered up and we poached a Sunday twirl. (poaching is taking a ride when maybe we should have been more dedicated to our responsibilities). "have you had breakfast?" he queried. "nope, I am hungry though," my earnest answer. "let's get breakfast up by Jay Peak then..." his solution. We headed east and north over the ragged back roads of Lamoille county. I zipping my jacket against the morning chill and closing up a little tighter to his broad, shoulders, holding tight over the broken black top. Seems like they pave our roads after all of everywhere else gets done, or so it seems. Early enough on a Sunday morning, we did not see a soul on this road. And quiet, not even a barking dog in a yard nor any lawn mower worshipers clipping grass. Only the rhythm of the loud pipes to lull us in the morning light. We rolled into our destination, a small home cooking kind of place in a tiny town. We grabbed a deuce in the middle of the crowded room and studied the menu. We were the only breakfast couple in riding gear; all others in their Sunday shirts...we stuck out just a little. With the order placed, we warmed up and plotted our ride. North to Newport, east and south to Lake Willoughby, down to St. J. and circle back home... its the nickel tour of the North East Kingdom. I never tire of riding up here, expanses of time and space that lift your troubles away. A brief chat with a patron and we were ready to ride, wet or dry. This day, we would head for the sun as we cheated the looming storm front. Skylines that looked ominous, storm fronts that promised mean weather. Bursts of sun streaking through darkening clouds, we followed their light. We journeyed up to Newport, counting more churches than I think Vermonters could fill at any given time. Another reminder of this day of rest. Amazing Grace would linger in my mind as the breath taking views would emerge. Rolling into main street Newport, our northern most "city" on the shores of Lake Memphremegog spanning the US/Canadian border, it is one of my favorite burgs in Vermont. We parked the bike in a generous lot at the lakeside boardwalk. The sun dazzled across the water as the wind snapped the flags at full mast in the court yard. We pulled up a bench and I leaned  my head on my abductor's shoulder pondering the "then and now" of this once thriving railroad town... The storm front was gaining on us, we had out run it so far, but we needed to head south and east if we had any hope of staying dry... a challenge in the Vermont spring time if one is any where near the mountains. Snapping a few pics before remounting, he grabbed a happy shot of our twosome, evidence of our day of "hooky"; I won't be able to fib my way out of this one...we were only half way in our day's venture. On the further journeying, still no traffic, the road and the vistas all ours. Looking westerly, the storm was coming and my belly was groaning..."I need to grab some pepto..." He spotted a small market, in Lyndonville, I think. He elected to stay with the bike while I procured the blessed pink tablets. In and out, we'd be off and out running the rain. Not today, everyone in town must do their grocery shopping on Sunday, no blue laws here, and no express line either. I found the shortest wait, I thought. I thought wrong. Though they had only a small inventory to purchase, the couple in front had coupons, lots of 'em. My tummy was aching, in my chaps and road jacket, I caught the eye of a beefy biker who slid in behind me and started the usual "what, where, how" chat. I learned that he "hated Harley's, what was I on?" I didn't answer, I was in no mood to defend my favorite ride, mustering small talk as I counted minutes, too many minutes. I finally got to pay, my cell jingled, I didn't hear the clerk's cost for the pink medicine rightly, "sorry, it's a loud pipes thing..." as I fumbled for bills, tried to answer my phone and get out the door. While I was nursing a belly ache, my driver was getting soaked. The rain found us, or more accurately, him. But still, he was smiling and that alone was worth the price of ditching church. I dried my seat and saddled up behind my soggy chauffeur resuming our course for St. Johnsbury and homeward...It all rolled gently by, a few more cars, the occasional bike, Sunday bliss. Meandering on rte 15 westerly homeward through the tiny towns left behind by time, the familiar landmarks more abundant now as we glided into Lamoille county. I'm 19 days from my BRC moto class, it was here in East Johnson, just 12 miles from my farm, I witnessed the stopping proficiency of the front brake. In a small line of traffic, we were cruizing nicely until the lead car stopped and turned left without warning. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! what the f_ _ k" I gasped as we decelerated from 50 mph to a near stop, running out of road and shoulder with another sedan in front of us. My driver's wits, calm and experience bought us the inches we needed to escape a ruined day. I was shaking, he was not. "sorry I cuss like a carpenter and swear like a sailor...that was close," my weak remark. "ahh, you said it for me" as he reached back to assure me, "it was all under control..." the moment crystallized a sobering note: three motorcyclists died on Vermont roads last weekend...its by God's grace and the biker's savvy that all's well that ends well. Breathing more lightly, holding on more easily, enjoying the view over this big man's shoulder, I mused the reassuring words Pastor Peggy opens every service with: "this is a day that God has made, let us rejoice in it..." Amen ~ let it be so...
luv and peace ~ ell

this one is for my "big man" who brings us home safely every time...

secret gardens...

Finishing up an evening ride, he turned and asked me, "Where would you like to go?" as he scanned the Vermont road map in his hands. "Have you ever been to the Weston Priory, downstate?" was my gentle prompt. "Nope,what's that?" says he. "It is the most special place I know...I spent 5 days with the Benedictine monks who live there back in August '07," was my happy reply. "What, did you wear a robe and all that?" he was puzzled. A female with a bunch of monks, how could this be so? "No, it's a priory. An open monastery where people can come and visit for a while. They eat really good(those boys can cook), raise their own food, pray five times a day...everyone is welcome. It's very Quaker like as the prayer service is in the old barn. It's the rule of Benedict...hospitality." He studied his map more closely; I wondered, 'did he see my longing to revisit that secret garden...?' He confirmed it, "we'll take rte 100 down to it; it will be an adventure." He picked me up Monday at 9am(his day off of work) and we set out on our 280 mile tour, we dodged a Memorial Day parade and headed for the old stagecoach route that traveled the north-south way in VT. Wind in our face, we cruized through a dozen small towns, tiny towns, following the ribbon of canyon and valley bottoms surrounded in vivid spring greens. In places the road was carved into ancient granite tracing sparkling streams and unfolding ferns. We spotted a few waterfalls, some soothing wetlands and always great scapes of rocky hill tops. Few if any cars, random groups of motorcycles, but mostly all ours. Just cool enough to discourage the bugs until afternoon. We found a fabulous eatery in a tiny town near Okemo I think. The Back Behind Restaurant and Saloon ~ Bikers Welcome the hand painted sign said, "must be good" he affirmed. He treated me to the best Bar-B-Q I've ever had in VT, done up southern style and complemented with roasted corn...more than I can eat as is often the case. But always, there is room for something chocolate. My standard query for the waitstaff: "whatta you got that's chocolate?" They offered a decadent fudge brownie Sunday with chocolate ice cream (his excellent idea) and the works on top. This is heaven...good road, great ride, luscious eats, exceptional company...well fed we mounted up and headed for the priory. Rumbling over a few more miles, trolling for the hand blocked sign: Weston Priory...finding it we entered the private road rolling up, as quiet as one can make a HD purr, and embraced the bliss. Stepping off his Custom Classic, I felt like a prodigal child returning home "...come on, I'll give you the nickel tour" It was really the penny tour as we skipped the chapel and barn church crossing the court yard to the gallery where I divined another amulet from the collection of simple hand-formed ceramic medallions. Blue this time; the color of eternity. I love the weight of it next to my heart. He spotted some music he liked and we settled up. Taking my hand into his, we strolled to the pond and settled into some chairs by the waterside. With bull frogs rippling their throaty tones across the pond, I dispensed a little history, a little reverence, a passing chat with Brother Daniel (the bee keeper I knew from last visit)...peace was all around us. We talked some, smiled lots, mellowed to the scenery...a restive, soulful place. I probably talked too much of this secrete garden; "...people come here to heal; they ask the brothers who gently refuse but all the healing comes from within..." I think my friend enjoyed this visit; he looked relaxed and happy...it takes terrific focus to ride motorcycles on roads with cars, critters, boulders and even bugs...the concentration is intense; in the spell bound quiet, I watched him soften, if only a bit. It is an enchanted place, it made for a lovely adventure, we will find it again...but for now we had to saddle up and head north and ease into home... for those who'd like to know, I have listed the link for the priory, and the Rule of Benedict chapter 53... http://www.westonpriory.org/
the rule of Benedict:
"Let all who come be received as Christ himself,
for he will say: 'I was a stranger and you welcomed me.'"
It was a grand day out and it's only May...gentle thoughts go out to you.
luv and peace ~ ell
this one is for "my big man" who brought me back to this secret garden~ xox

Chrome in the Twilight Zone

Yesterday, was an unusually stressful day, aggravation galore, addled plans...."fear not" (it says that 365 times in the Bible ~ coincident? but that's another story),in the green mountains the twilight zone awaits. A portal to another place and time. A sensational experience to sooth the soul...if, you know a good man with an awesome Harley Davidson. Just so happens, I know such a man. I called him: "please, if you don't have a better offer, can you take me for a twirl...I've no curfew tonight...we can ride in the dark, I've never been out after dark..." The kind man appeared, HD tee-shirt, shiny bike, big smile, bigger hug. It was 90 degrees, warm enough to ride sleeveless but I'll not give up my chaps. He picks on me for that, I harp back at him; "gotta keep something between me and the road if we ditch and you don't catch me..." We mounted up, rolled away from the grazing horses and headed up hill. "Where we going?" I asked. "Do you need to know everything? It's the driver's choice...to a mountain you don't work on." He cranked her up and over the Notch. I leaned up on his shoulder and lamented; "burrrr...'ride in a tee-shirt', you said, 'there's nothing like the wind in your shirt', you said...I know your game..." He laughed; asked "do you want your jacket?" "no, I'm good...for now..." I lasted another 5 minutes. He felt me shiver, pulled off and broke out my jacket for me. We watched a sport bike ascend for the third time, cranking the twisties as fast as he could grind them. I noticed he was riding alone and fiercely. "He needs a girlfriend; only an angry, lonely man would be so frantic for speed..." I said this out loud. My driver laughed; we mounted up and rolled gently down into Moscow, through Waterbury and then where I no longer knew the roads we were on. The sun was dropping and reminding me how much I needed glacier glasses for the brightest days. Easing into the Mad River Valley, I finally knew where we were. Another placid, pastoral Vermont burg. The birds gave up for the day and the peepers amplified their chorus in the night air as we stopped for a stretch. Even over the loud pipes their rhythm was in perfect time with the bike. All of the day's flack peeled away as I squeezed up close to my biker friend in a vain effort to stay warmer than the night air. Stopping for a rest and some chocolate it was time to turn her around. He had an early morning, it was getting past my bed time. Following a different road back, beautiful white pines with arching green canopies cloaking the road. The massive HD head lamp lit up a perfect halo leading our way. A rare window light could be seen. Only us and the occasional car on the blacktop. It was the most peaceful part of the day, this twilight. At our last stop this big man lit up the gleaming engine in blue twinkle lights. The reflection off the chrome was celestial. Like some ethereal spirit we rolled across the miles. Looking west, the sun was below the ridge line back lighting the height of land in pristine silhouette. "ohhhh, it's so beautiful..." I whispered as he pointed to the spectacular scene while we cruised along, the road all to ourselves. He put her in a low gear evoking the soft purr of his machine; his warmth in my face,,,I was blissed-out, perfectly content, meditative in my thoughts. Time slowed down, Vermont revealed her glory, Harley Davidson earned a fan, and I fell in love...
peace out ~ ell

this is in praise of God and a life worth living,,,