Through The Frozen Tundra, To The Game!

By G. E. Shuman

Last Tuesday afternoon and evening my kids and I had a great adventure. At two thirty Emily and I left the parking lot of their school, Websterville Baptist Christian, and followed the boy’s basketball team van north. And I mean north. The team our son Andrew plays on was scheduled to play the Richford varsity boys at six pm, and off we went.
I need to tell you that in summer, or in the three or four weeks of summer the Richford area likely gets, our ride would have been a lot of fun. Last Tuesday it was not. The wind was howling all the way up route 89 and far beyond, and the highway was covered with a below-freezing salt laden slush which had to be constantly wiped from the windshield. Two miles or so into the trip I remembered the three gallons of windshield antifreeze under my carport, just as the supply in the windshield squirter ran out. This wouldn’t have been as aggravating as it was, if it hadn’t been the second time in a week that it had happened to me. The boy scout motto is to be prepared. I never made it past cub scouts. So, the remainder of the ride from dear old exit 6 in South Barre to exit 19 way the heck up in St. Albans, was a real hoot. Our Vermont winter wonderland looks different when seen through mud.
In any case, we left the highway, I mean we exited the highway, at exit 19 and our sports junkie caravan stopped at a convenience store for the obligatory coffee, junk food, and for me, gallon of overpriced windshield wash. Then, you guessed it, off we went again.
You know, Vermont is a very large place. It may not appear so on a map of our country, but it is a very large place. Our trip from that convenience store up to Richford, to me, was nothing short of amazing. I have been to the northern reaches of our state several times over the years, but seem to forget just how much, or perhaps how little is up there until the next time. I have to tell you, if you have never taken the trip, you are likely in good and large company. The land is flat, and the snow covered fields go on forever. They don’t just seem to go on forever, I think they really do. (At one point I’m pretty sure I spotted a polar bear in the far distance.) We drove on, and on, and on, past the occasional farm, by one small business or another, further and further along that cold, snowy, north east bound road.
Emily missed nearly all of the desolate beauty of the frozen tundra we traversed in my little car last Tuesday. She had put her seat back, and was peacefully snoozing away for most of the ride. The fifty mile an hour wind hitting the car broadside must have rocked her to sleep. Plowing through endless drifts of snow across the road must have softened the ride to help her relax. Kids have it so rough. As she slept, I kept my eye on the back of that school van, and wondered a bit about the first travelers to explore this part of Vermont in winter. The further we went, the more I wondered about them. If I could, I would ask them a question. That question would be: “Why?” Or, maybe: “What in the world is WRONG with you?” Or: “What is up here that you wanted so badly to see?” With each of the three or so small towns we passed on our way to Richford, I imagined those same wintry explorers, stopping at about the time one of their members’ feet froze off, and saying: “Hey, now this looks like a dandy place to build a town. Let‘s just stop and live here!”
We saw many interesting things along our trek toward the north pole. One thing that amazed me was the number of large and beautiful homes along routes 104 and 105. Those first explorers must have been successful after all. If we had time I would have stopped at a cool looking, (no pun intended) business simply named Sticks And Stuff. From the outside I wasn’t sure if it was a building supply or furniture place, but it looked like a fun store. And later there was the very expensive looking, hopeful sign for an ‘Industrial and Business Park.’ This sign, from what I could see, was the only structure in a very large cornfield. I also witnessed two of the biggest, fastest spinning windmills I have ever seen, right beside a huge barn. I doubt if that farmer had to worry about his electric bill.
Two hours into our trip, after plowing through the very nice little towns of Sheldon and Enosburg Falls, we arrived in Richford. My father would have called Richford “the last jumping-off place.” He would have been right. I hit the brakes soon enough to avoid sliding into Canada. Then we enjoyed a tough and rewarding (for our team) basketball game at Richford School’s beautiful gym. Thank you Richford. We headed home, tired and a bit tested, pushing once more through wind and whipping snow. It was dark. I didn’t see one polar bear.