Voyage on the Connecticut (page 8)

 

Several days later, plying the long straight stretch below Sumner Falls with Vermont’s Mount Ascutney growing in my field of vision, I came upon the longest covered bridge in the U. S. at Windsor, Vermont. I went ashore to have a look. I wanted to walk across the bridge, but the two-lane bridge had barely enough room for the two-way traffic, and it was pitch dark inside. Peering along the roadway from the entrance, I could just make out the car scrape marks on the oak planking along the side, and deduced there was not enough extra room even for an undernourished kayaker. I retreated and walked up the main street of Windsor. Along the way, I noticed a man working on his porch and a green plastic gold pan at his feet.

"There can't be gold in Vermont!" I exclaimed.

"Oh yes there is!" he replied.

He went to his car and brought back a water-filled vial with respectable-sized flakes, flakes a lot bigger than the pin-points I'd lately been finding back home in Idaho. He gave me a complete account of where he has panned, and what the rules for panning are. He reported that Vermont had a gold rush in the mid-1800s, with a six-ounce nugget found.

Further along, I took a picture of the Congregational Church, built in 1898, with its white spire soaring against the blue sky, and came upon the Windsor Diner, a local institution over half a century old. Theresa, the young brunette who owns and manages the place, is also the cook and she had her hands full that morning with orders pouring in from three waitresses. She was breaking eggs, chopping potatoes, sprinkling omelet fixings, flipping pancakes, opening and closing cabinets, her fingers and arms flying like a concert pianist playing a Chopin mazurka.

"When do you open?" I asked her when the pace slowed.  Seven in the morning, she said, and she closes at seven at night, and they’re open seven days a week. (With this number dominating her life, I think she should play the dice tables!). She bought the diner from her father last year but has been cooking there for, you guessed it, seven years.

“Sounds like you have a long day,” I commented.

"I love my job!" she volunteered. When I tell her about my trip down the Connecticut River, she says she’s always wanted to go kayaking, but is afraid. I promised to send a copy of my book to encourage her.

 

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