Saturday. Brattleboro.
The parking area at the Brattleboro Farmer's Market is an orderly line-up of Subarus (the vehicle of choices for bohemian Vermonters), rusty Mercedes Benzes, and boxy old Volvos. Imagine, then, the patrons themselves, sporting naturally-silver hair, neatly plaited in single braids down to their bums, with weathered faces, tanned calves (effortlessly toned by hilly bike commutes), and baggy cotton shorts. And then guess at what might be on offer at such a market. Brown bottles of homemade root beer, hot sugared doughnut holes, delicate date-filled ma'mool, iced soy lattes, steamed spicy pork buns, pretty pottery berry bowls, chair massages, bright red strawberries, and soft black sheep skins.
And then take your mind across town to the Brattleboro Food Co-op, where you'll run into several of the same people you saw at the market (and all of them will say hello). And where you'll pick up picnic foods: black beans with corn and cilantro, slippery mushroom dumplings, crispy tofu tenders in a smooth ginger glaze, French onion potato chips, broccoli spears with miso and toasty sesame seeds, unsweetened ice tea (the American way!), and Lake Champlain chocolate.
Stroll, afterward, to Sam's Outfitters (of course, they have free popcorn! don't all stores do things like that for their customers?) and Twice Upon a Time (just across the street) to poke through a few thousand square feet of teak deer sculptures, framed needlepoint, mismatched cuff links, go-go dresses, and turquoise-coloured salt and pepper shakers.
You'll be tired after all this, of course, so ask your friend to drive you back to The Putney Inn, which is stuck in a Victorian time warp, a phenomenon that will lull you, finally, into the small town mindset that you remember from your Maritime childhood.
Of course, your friend might not be tired. Send him to the first-annual Brattleboro Brewer's Fest, so you can be lazy, just for a little while.
While he's gone, you may wish to scuff down the road to the Putney Food Co-op, marveling on your way there at the warm sky, gently quilted with clouds. You'll pass Curtis' BBQ on your right, a hang-out for bikers and people who drive old convertibles painted in unappealing colors. Giant puffs of sweet-smelling smoke rise from the BBQ shack, and an old cowboy sings 'Hallelujah' from a picnic table near the back.
At the co-op, you'll fill a basket with all kinds of delicious things. Woodchuck draft cider, tiny tomatoes, Vermont Smoke and Cure beef sticks, peanut butter cookies, oatmeal soap and apple butter, a chocolate truffle, raspberry fig bars, and Vermont Common Cheddar Crackers.
On the way back to the inn, you will realize, thoughtfully, that everything else can wait.
