Vermont

I just finished up my requisite three weekends in Vermont for 2010. And as always, as I drove down the windy road through the woods headed for Route 30 and ultimately Route 91 in Brattleboro, I felt sad. I always feel sad when I leave Vermont. Been feeling it for about 25 years now.

I was raised by a village. Hillary knows what she's talking about, and my parents and their village made it work long before folks knew the phrase. My dad has a group of friends he first met at the pond house where he grew up with his grandparents, and they translated into ski friends. They began renting houses at Mount Snow, Vermont together in about 1965 or so. The mountain was still relatively new, and dad was one of the ones in college at the time. They kept renting together (different houses, always for the whole season) straight through till they got girlfriends, and wives, and the first round of children. I was in that first round, along with Tracy and Kristyn.

These same folks also continued to be pond people, too, so my exposure to them was year round. I know it was a conscious decision to choose to have us kids call the adults by their first names and to eliminate the formality that a Mr. or Mrs. or Dr. creates. They also decided the "Aunt" or "Uncle" that many kids grow up using for people not actually related to them was not what they wanted. And so I have a pseudo-parent I call Barbara, and one called Eddie and one called Charlie, and one called Renee, as well as some real Aunts and Uncles in the group - the list goes on - to go with my regular Mom and Dad.

And at some point, they decided they could all speak up and discipline us all. I posited to the group this past weekend that perhaps that was because Mom/Cheryl was one of the first to have kids and she was willing to discipline just about any child within a mile radius of her, and others followed suit. Nobody argued. However this got decided, it was a pretty great way to grow up.

And while I have only 2 siblings, I actually have about 15 people I would consider almost-siblings. Some of them I really like, others I have learned to stay an arm's length from - sort of like some real sibling relationships. We fought/fight, we cry and love and we talk to, annoy, yell at and bully each other with no holds barred. Just like real siblings.

At some point in the mid-70s, people started buying houses, having more kids, and slowly figuring out that skiing was expensive, especially with small kids, some of whom wanted no part of the whole thing. So they stopped renting a ski house. The pond continued, since all those houses were owned by grandparents or parents or aunts or uncles and were sort of free for the using. So I've never spent time in my 37 years out of touch with this group of people.

And then everyone got more stable financial lives, and taught their kids how to ski at Nashoba or somewhere else close to home. And we began renting again - in 1986. At the one of houses where they had rented before - the one where I had taken my first steps, in fact.

From 1986 through 1995, I participated. Every weekend through high school graduation; less frequently once I went to college. Then I moved to Maryland and LA, but they kept renting the same house together until 2000. (I'm the oldest kid with my sister being the next by a lot of years over the other kids.) I actually don't know why they stopped in 2000. There was a break for a few years. I think a number of the "First Generation" stopped skiing, and with fewer kids around, the novelty wore off.

For those 14 years, though, on any given weekend, there was between 8-10 adults and between 10-15 kids in that house. For a while when we were younger, each family had a room and we slept 5-up in a 12x12 room complete with Dad snoring like a buzzsaw. As the years progressed, we slowly migrated from our parents' rooms into the loft, a large furniture-less room at the top of the house. There were some fun nights in that loft. I distinctly remember one night when Dad, all 6'4" and 220 lbs of him, made his way up the stairs to the loft. We all had heard him coming and had lapsed into a stunned, breath-held silence. He was Dad to three of us, but he was Fred to the other 8 or 10 kids in that loft. I'm not sure who is scarier when he's annoyed, Dad or Fred, but we all knew the jig was up. When the curtains that acted as the door to the loft parted and my hulk of a bear of a Dad stood in the light coming through the plate glass windows behind him, it only took "BE QUIET!" for us to be all done. Dad/Fred doesn't get upset or involved in disciplining us all that often, but when he does, watch out. I think we were all asleep about 10 seconds after he left.

I spent two spring breaks during college in that house with friends. We stole more signs (from the mountain, homes around the valley, stores and restaurants) than we can count. People put cars in ditches on snowy nights, got stuck in the mud and rescued by the likes of Hans Mueller, and ate a lot of hot dogs. There were many hilarious drunken moments as well. Some by parents when they were quite young - before and after they were parents. Some by the "Second Generation" as we approached and passed legal age. Mom/Cheryl was Carol Bottom of the Barrel and I once had quite the evening involving Sunny Delight and vodka. One parent who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this post would climb up on a bar stool, plop a 30 pack next to him and make his way through it in a night. That same dude fell asleep once in his steak out to dinner and was mad the next day when we kids had eaten his doggie bag.

We learned to gamble. Skat, or 31 was always one game; for quarters at first and then dollars. Kids would arrive with cups full of change and be begging Butch before he had even finished unpacking the car for a game. I am a pretty good Blackjack player in Vegas because of my Vermont-based training. To this day, Skat is one of this group's favorite ways to pass 2 hours or so. And the last one standing walks with 30 or 36 or 14 dollars in ones, depending on how many people play. Great fun!

A word on money. The family we rented from all those years gave us some sort of deal, I've never known how much. And I know that one member of the group who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this post subsidized the rent for a number of years with help from his parents so we could all enjoy the house. And, one member of the group was able to secure drastically reduced ski passes for a number of years as well, so we could all ski for only $25 a pop. This, I know, is the main reason our family was able to participate. I owe a debt of gratitude to these folks for making this possible for me and my family. And I'm really glad my parents made sure we understood that we had guardian angels in the form of people who loved us enough to help out the group when needed.

When I returned to Boston in 2004, it was winter. I had been gone since 1995 and I had largely left skiing behind during those 9 years. I longed to ski again, with the folks I know best and associate with skiing. And so, that 4th of July, at the Pond, I said to the "Second Generation", "We should rent a house." And we took a pulse on who could afford such a thing. Kathleen wound up buying a house instead, and we all kicked in toward her mortgage. She only had that house for 2 seasons, but it was great while it lasted. After that, I did a season-long share with 19 strangers, and while it was a great winter, I missed my peeps.

The next year we did Killington for a change of pace and because my brother-in-law, who grew up skiing in Colorado, has a hard time enjoying the tiny Mount Snow. We had a great year that year too, but decided no Killington after that - it was a further drive and my sister and brother-in-law moved to Texas. We wanted others to join in; those who didn't want to do a season-long rental. And so, for the 2007-08 year, we gathered the same group back again and rented a place for 3 weekends. And this appears to be our new tradition, as we just finished up the third year of this.

I have to say, I love it. I get most weekends in the city in the winter, and everyone can afford to go in for one or two or three weekends. We've kept costs very low doing it this way. And when I announced my retirement last year as the house organizer, Fran stepped right up and took over.

I love Vermont. I relish every minute I get to spend there each year. And I love to ski. And now I love to snowshoe. I love when it snows, I don't mind when it doesn't. Even when it's -23 degrees and we can't go skiing, I still love being with that group of people in a house in Vermont. Oh, we have our ups and downs. We've had our bumps in the road. We've had to navigate unpleasant moments. But that's what families do.

Amazing thanks to the "First Generation" - the ones who started it. Who taught us how to ski, play pool, steal signs, drive in blizzards, skip lunch on the mountain in favor of the shorter lines when everyone else is in eating, drive in ski boots, play cards, drink, and make community dinners. Amazing thanks to the "Second Generation" of which I am the oldest regularly participating member. We've carried it on, brought our own traditions, and made time for each other and "the mountains" even when we didn't really have the money or the means. And here's to the "Third Generation" of which there are only two born so far (my counterpart, the oldest: Mia, and my niece Sonia). I hope that you too will be able to participate in something akin to what we have had.

It's not everyone who can tell their friends they were raised by a village. I get to tell people that. And I get to add that I still live and love in it every day. What a blessing.