Finding Place and Inspiration After Following the Music

My second trip to Vermont started with music. I have long been a big fan of The Band, including Levon Helm’s solo work. Years ago, I thought about seeing him live but never made it. After he passed, I dove deep into the history of The Band and Helm. That is when I learned about his “Barn” in Woodstock, NY – a place where he hosted intimate “ramble” concerts with potluck dinners with the musicians. The Barn still hosts shows, and I had been keeping an eye out for one worth the drive that fit my schedule.

In March 2019, I saw that Luther Dickinson and the Sisters of the Strawberry Moon – featuring Helm’s daughter Amy Helm and Allison Russell, whom I had seen as a member of Po’ Girl, were playing at the Barn. I bought a ticket. With no kids that weekend, I decided to build a small road trip around it, checking for anything interesting in the greater region. 

As you may have gathered from my first post, my first trip to Vermont was not well planned.  I had no insider knowledge, no hidden gems to share with the kids. Ironically, most of our destinations were focused on Vermont brands well-known outside of the state, like King Arthur Flour and Orvis. I hoped this trip would allow me to explore more deeply and find fun things to do the kids the next time.  

While planning online, I noticed an author I enjoy, Diane Les Becquets, was doing a reading in Manchester Center. I also made plans to catch up with Ed, a former professor who lived nearby.

About a week out, I mentioned to my brother that I had not booked lodging yet, half-joking that I might sleep in the van. He strongly encouraged me to find a real place, for his peace of mind. I landed on the Inn at Manchester, a cozy place right on Main Street.

A Night at the Barn

Amy Helm and Allison Russell perform as members of Luther Dickinson and the Sisterhood of the Strawberry Moon at The Barn.

On the day of the concert, I left work early and drove north to Woodstock, NY. I expected traffic around Philadelphia and New York City on a Friday, but nothing too bad. I enjoyed the almost 300-mile trip up, especially once I was north of the city. I knew I was pushing it close, so I didn’t plan to bring any food and avoided the hassle of those logistics.

By the time I arrived, it was dark. The Barn was tucked down a snowy, winding road. I parked in a muddy field crusted with ice. Inside, the Barn was everything I’d imagined – timber-framed construction, folding chairs, and a crowd of about 50 people. The music was soulful, full of side stories from the band members. It felt like a living room gathering of people who cared about good songs and good company. I could not help but feel the presence of Levon Helm in that space.

Afterwards, I drove north through Albany and Troy, up into Vermont. Piled snow flanked the roads, but the driving was easy. I arrived late at the Inn at Manchester, quietly moving my way through the house to find my third-floor room, hoping I had not woken anyone.

Old Friends and New Roads

The next morning, I woke to the quiet of southern Vermont. At breakfast, I chatted with one of the Inn’s owners, watched a raccoon climb a tree, and noticed the table linens matched those my grandmother had bought through mail-order catalog from the Vermont Country Store. It was familiar and new all at once.

The fireplace at the Silver Fox.

After a mid-morning stroll through Manchester Center along marble sidewalks and under heavy snow flurries, I made my way to lunch with Ed and his husband, Steve, at the Silver Fork. It had been nearly 20 years since I’d seen Ed, my college political science professor. He is a poet, librettist, political consultant, and former marcher in Selma. We covered a couple decades and more over lunch – careers, shared acquaintances, politics, family, writing.

Ed and Steve offered me a tour of the area. They pointed out landmarks, mentioned businesses they frequented (or avoided), and shared places where famous people had lived or stayed. They showed me the H.N. Williams Store, which hosts a farmers’ market, and gave me a thorough tour of Dorset, including the closed marble quarry that has become a swimming hole.

Between places, we talked about the education system, local government, politics, and all things Vermont. As Ed drove, I gained a much better sense of the roads connecting Manchester and Dorset than I had during the summer trip. I left with a real sense of community. I told Ed and Steve I planned to return soon with my kids.

Where Words Take Root

Photo taken at Northshire Bookstore that I shared with my brother and my children.

That evening, I walked to the Northshire Bookstore for the Les Becquets reading. Northshire Bookstore is one of the largest independent bookstores in the country. With extra time, I browsed for more than an hour – poetry, plays, local interest – and was charmed by the handwritten staff picks and cozy layout. I grabbed a couple of poetry books, then walked up the street for a slice of pizza at Christo’s, returning just in time for the reading.

I discovered the writings of Diane Les Becquets through an NPR interview about three years earlier, when she released Breaking Wild. I usually prefer poetry, short stories, and nonfiction. I rarely pick up novels for fun, but that interview intrigued me.  Originally from Nashville, Les Becquets is a former professor of English and an avid outdoorswoman. At the time, she lived in New Hampshire and worked at Southern New Hampshire University. She had just released The Last Woman in the Forest, and I was pleased she was doing a reading on the same weekend as my trip.

It was a small, but nice crowd of people at the bookstore to hear her share her latest work, talk about her writing process, and answer questions. She was warm and generous with her insights. I especially appreciated her approach to research and her disciplined approach to writing, intentionally separating herself from the Internet and outside distractions while writing. She even had a small writing cabin just outside of her house.

Afterwards, I had the chance to introduce myself and speak with her for a few minutes.  I walked out into the still night, daydreaming about writing. The cliché is that people go to Vermont to write but that night, I understood it better. I knew I wanted to write more.

Until Next Time

The next morning, I asked if the Inn allowed kids. I was already thinking ahead. I took a slower route home, through central Pennsylvania, reflecting on a whirlwind trip that somehow felt grounding.

Looking back, it was another fast trip to Vermont, but this time I really didn’t want to leave. I wanted to teleport my kids up there and show them what I had seen, to share the community I was increasingly connecting with. I could not wait to return with them in the summer. 

As I crossed the Vermont State Line into New York, I said aloud, “Until next time.” That weekend was not just about scouting for summer – it was about finding what I had missed: a place that made me want to stay, and a focused goal of writing and storytelling.