From the Director’s Desk

by Rob Terry, Executive Director

In late November last year, in what now feels like a different world, I ducked into a local general store on my way to town. As I scurried from my truck to the door, doing my best to limit my exposure to the freezing rain and snow, thunder rumbled across the valley. Somewhat startled, I looked up to see lightning flash on a distant ridge. I ducked inside, out of the wintery mix, while the sound and light show continued. It was not the sound itself that surprised me, instead it was the timing. Thunder and lightning are typical of a late summer afternoon after the sun has spent the morning baking heavy, humid air—not late fall, when thoughts have turned to crisp, dry winter days and the promise of snow.

Walking into the store, I ran into a friend who was clearly as startled as I was by the unseasonable weather. A good Vermonter, he had a quick quip at the ready, “You know what they say, thunder in fall, no winter at all.”

Vermont’s cultural heritage is steeped in working farms and forests. As such, Vermonters have a near bottomless supply of idioms for the weather. Quite a few of them begin with the classic “you know what they say.” I’ve often imagined who “they” might be. I like to think of “them” as the eclectic crew that gathers in just about every general store across the state for their morning coffee, clad in a mixture of flannel, tweed, farm boots, loafers, long wool town coats, and heavy canvas barn coats. Whoever they are, more often than not, they’re right. Winter did come this year, but not with its usual purpose. Thanks, in part I suppose, to that late fall thunderstorm, this winter had a little less snow and a little more rain, a little less freeze and a little more thaw.

Now, as spring approaches, mud season is upon us. The access road is rutted from the thaw, while the tell-tale tink of sap droplets into buckets, and the hum of pumps pressurizing tubing, is reaching a crescendo around the state—spreading south to north, and valley to summit, as the maple sugaring season progresses. Up on the hill, the trees are tapped, boiling is well underway, and our Sap House has become the epicenter of activity in an unsettlingly quiet world.

In some ways, a lot has changed. In the moment, while we shelter-in-place, it feels like COVID-19 has already fundamentally reshaped the world. Children are schooling at home, employees are working from home, and “non-essential” businesses are shuttered. For many, health risks and economic insecurities loom large. The rhythm of our daily lives has been deeply disrupted, and it’s impossible to say what the lingering impact of this time will be.

Meanwhile, nature persists. The sun continues to rise in the east and set in the west. In many ways, the world is exactly the same as it has always been. Late March storms are blanketing our enthusiasm for spring with heavy, wet snow. Frogs and salamanders, awakened by the season’s first warm rain, are leaving their terrestrial wintering grounds behind for nearby vernal pools. Before long, Dutchman’s Breeches will be blowing in the breeze as the forest floor is carpeted in spring ephemerals. On the farm, our resident ravens have been seen feathering their nest in preparation for this year’s brood. A quick glance at the flock in our pastures shows clear evidence that lambing season is almost upon us.

As we adjust our daily lives to our new, albeit temporary, reality, reports from around the region share news of packed trailheads. In recent weekends, the parking lot here has been nearly full. While people are keeping their distance, and hiking individually and in small groups, it is clear that many of us are thirsting for a connection to the land, seeking the normalcy of nature’s cycles in these otherwise uncertain, challenging times. Like the fall storm that brought unexpected thunder, this too shall pass. That is not to say that we won’t remain changed in unexpected ways by the experience.

For now, it’s sugaring season, and we’ll be boiling until the trees bud out—and you know what they say, which holds true even in these strange days, “wind from the west, sap runs best.”

Board Of Trustees

George Hatch, President

Ann Jackson, Vice President

Kat Deeley, Secretary

Keld Alstrup, Treasurer

Dinah Buechner-Vischer

Jeromy Gardner

Jim Hand

Mark Lourie

Sam Schneski

Sue Van Hook

Brian Vargo

STAFF

Eli Crumley

Grounds/Maintenance

Ethan Crumley Consulting Forester

Cara Davenport Program Coordinator

Kim Davis

Weekend/Visitor Center

Tim Duclos

Conservation Manager

Dylan Durkee Farm Manager

Stephanie Breed

Visitor Center

Chris Ferris-Hubbard

Education Director

Kathryn Lawrence

Assistant Executive Director

Marybeth Leu

Communications Coordinator

Darla Belevich

Visitor Center

Liz Ruffa

Director Of Institutional Advancement

Rob Terry Executive Director