I just returned from a two month trip to the North East Kingdom of Vermont - and yes - they really do call it the Kingdom, and no, they don't have six fingers. What they do have there is pretty phenomenal though, and it was cool to experience.

A couple of days after I returned from Panama this past June, I loaded both of my dogs (Harley and Cleo) into the cab on the back of my truck along with my camping gear, and hung a makeshift clothes line in the small space behind the seats in the cab to hang a few of my favorite long skirts, some tank tops, a couple of sweaters, and my jammies, tossed in some tunes to listen to and of course, my requisite thyroid drugs - and headed north to join my friend Steve Myott in a short-term venture running "Let's Make A Movie" workshops for school aged kids in Northern Vermont.

This was a pretty bold move for me - I had left all the arrangements to Steve, which meant I had to completely trust in another human being as far as my living arrangements were concerened for the summer - and my dogs too - and that was hard for me to do....but heh - I was busy building the house for my gravity fed water catchment system in Panama until a couple of days before I was to leave, so it was all I could do to put together a presentation for him to sell the program a few months earlier.

First of all, you should know one thing: I do not like to drive - never have, never will. I don't mind being driven and enjoying the ride, but I don't like to drive on long trips. One of the reasons I love Panama - I can afford to hire a driver there! Miles of endless highway to concentrate upon just don't do anything for me. Road trips being what they are, however, I did encounter some interesting people en route. They added color to the trip and certainly made it more enjoyable, if not more rewarding. The first of these memorable encounters occurred in North Carolina, after a long day, and a bad hair day to boot. Early in the day I had tied a faded old pink bandana around my thin, stringy, life-deprived hair; a bandana I had brought along for my dog Cleo to wear which was supposed to mark her as a female. Everyone assumes she is male because she is large and a brindle, and perhaps a bit masculine in her clumsiness - she is a puppy after all! She hadn't worn ithe bandana yet - and I needed something for my hair - so I tried it first as a headband and then tied it as I had in my youth, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. Cool......I like the look! The synthethic thyroid drugs I take daily have yet to work well, evidenced by the straw-like stuff that represents my post-chemo hair. Enough of that....

I was still wearing the soiled white tank top I had been driving in all day, along with my favorite but faded long black patterned skirt from India. The fabric has been washed so many times over the years, that many of the little round mirror ornaments have fallen off, but even with a broken zipper, it ranks amongst my favorite for comfortable clothing. Odd, but that makes me think of my friend Cheryl Ford, who insightfully told me key that I marked key points in my life by what I was wearing. Perhaps I have some subliminal relationship with my clothes?

The end of my first days drive deposited me in a soy bean field behind the Microtel, chucking a ball for Cleo and Harley to chase.....deep in thought as to what was going to happen, a bit bewildered by the uncertainty, evidenced by the cold beer in my hand. This moment was a key turning point for me, because it marked the begining of a ritual of drinking beer from the tailgate of my pick up truck. It represented my freedom of choice and my rebellion against ridiculous laws at the moment, but later, I came to see it as my initiation ritual into a transformation into a bonafide red neck, sneaking off to drink in order to escape stress and a feeling of controlled oppression. I am, after all, a free spirit. At least it was a microbrewery beer :)

Now Cleo loves to chase a ball - what dog doesn't? As I was standing about repeatedly chucking the ball from my perch on the tailgate, I noticed that the soy bean field had lots of dead weeds in it, yet the soy beans still lived and were struggling to grow in the sandy soil. I was deep in thought about the defoilants used to kill the weeds and not the soy beans, and wondered what kind of effect the poison had on the soy beans. I was thinking that if asked, the FDA would say the defoliant had "acceptable levels" of carcinogens, like we have in our drinking water. Chlorine is a known carcinogen. Yeah, right!

Soy is in EVERYTHING these days, lauded as a wonder plant, federally subsidized, blah, blah, blah. Try buying products without soy in them! When I was growing up, there wasn't soy in anything. But then again, people rarely got cancer either. I thought about my liver, my HCV, and shuddered as I recalled my chemo - I don't ever want to feel that ill again, not as long as I live. The world is full of toxins, our food, our homes. Scary. Have another sip of beer.

Once again, I digress. About that time, a man approached from across the parking lot - very conservative looking kind of fellow sporting traditional khaki's and short sleeved shirt, with an interested look on his face. I thought he might be lonely and want to play with the dogs too. They are so much fun to play with! Anyway, he introduced himself as Robert Guertin from Boston, a magnetic physicist from Tufts headed to Florida to play with magnets, so to speak. Immediately I started reaching into the cobweb laden grey matter for any relevant information stored about physics - which isn't much to begin with. I tried to recall what I had read, about magnetic physics when I had delved into string theory so that I could at least talk to this stranger intelligently. I know Brian Greene addressed several topics regarding magnetics in The Fabric of the Cosmos and in The Elegant Universe, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember anything. Darned.

To make a short story long, he emanated a warm energy and was an inviting converstationalist, willingly joining me in a beer in the parking lot of our hotel as we explored ideas on the topics which had been on my mind as he approached earlier regarding the carcinogens in our country. I told him about my project in Panama, and as it turned out, both he and his daughter have danced with cancer, he was in remission, and she was still undergoing treatment. I have found an instant bond of comaraderie develops between people whom have faced a loss of control over their bodies due to disease - perhaps it is a shred reality of what is truly important in life, the strength of character to overcome illness - but it is always evident. Whatever it is, it connects people, and has been instrumental in how I relate to others now, how I connect. One lesson this encounter brought to me was a reminder, a reminder that if I am not happy with a current situation in my life, it is up to me to change it. It is my life, after all. And this lesson came into play a couple of months later when I left Vermont.

He was a nice man, and I left with a respect for him as a human being, one who continued to teach physics while he was undergoing chemo. Incredible. I would say he truly loves teaching and magnets! When I went to my truck to leave then next morning, I found he left a notecard on my windshield with his email address - and this is funny - he said he thought I was a dancer. I may have been flattered by that - my beautiful daughter Erin is a dancer, amongst all the other things she is! I meet the nicest people travelling.

In New York I met another woman through my dogs, one who really touched my heart. I was sitting in a chair in front of a little two bedroom cabin we had rented, and the dogs were running loose in the circle of grassy field in the center of the cabins. Cleo saw a woman with a cane walking towards a cabin on the other side of the field, kind of lumbering along with her bag, and ran over towards her. Steve was concerned the woman might be frightened of Cleo since she is so large, so I went over to retrieve the dog and salvage my peace. I introduced the dog and myself to the woman and offered to carry her bag since she was obviously struggling to walk with her bag and cane. As we slowly moved down the paved circle around the grassy park, she shared her profoundly sad story, one which I will never forget.

She told me how she was on vacation years ago in Orlando, and it was there that she was brutally attacked by a man who tried to rob her. It was incredibly moving to see her partially crippled, the nerves on one side of her face immobile, and yet, to hear the pride in her voice as she described how she was determined she was not going to let that man take her purse from her. She described how he beat her with a pipe - beat her until she was almost dead, and described the nerve damage it had done to her face, leg and arm as well as the surgeries it required to get her to the place she was today. Unfathomable. It was hard for me to think of one human being doing that to another human being. The most amazing part of the story, however, came at the end, when a part of her lip curled up in what must have once been a smile, and she told me "He never did get my purse." Wow. I took something away from this which would apply to me later: the price of pride is too high!

The next day I arrived in Vermont, the land of so-called six-fingered people. Actually, that phrase was coined by my friend Elizabeth Orum, whom attended a language school in Middlebury when she was working on her doctorate in cultural anthropology at Yale. She is a dog groomer now. Life has lots of interesting turns. She described the folks who lived there as a staunchly independent breed of New Englander, intelligent, yet red neck. Interesting.

Vermont. It was 'Green' before 'Green' became cool - this second time. After all, it was a haven for communes and hippies in the 60's and they have all aged and created a really cool state. I liked it. The air was fresh and clean, untouched by pollution, and the grass was phenomenally soft. I loved the feel of it under my bare feet. Each time I walked the dogs up on the hill, I left my shoes at the edge of the field and off I went, indulging myself in the soft, damp grass squishing under my toes. I don't think I will ever forget that feeling!

As to Steve's plans: were going to spend a couple of days with his parents, Romeo and Marion Myott, who live in an old restored farm house in the center of the village of Westfield, until he could get ahold of a man he had talked to about a house to rent with a garage to run workshops. That couple of days turned into a couple of months.

I met the Myotts at their grand daughter Lia's wedding in Raleigh earlier in the year, so it was good to see them again. I was tired from the long drive, and was looking forward to sitting down with a cocktail to unwind and visit. That was not to happen, for although they really are good people and a cute little couple in their 80's, drinks were not part of thier life vision. OOPS. Well, it was only for a couple of days, right? After we ate her fare of simple country cooking and got settled in, we walked over to the little village store and I discovered the local microbrews sitting on a shelf, soon to become my very good friends, and bought a six pack - he first of many.

Marion is a nervous, busy woman, and keeps a spotless home reflective of the level of control she likes to have over her life. A place for everything and everything in its place. No towel was used and left unwashed, no dish or glass unwashed, nothing left sitting out of place - ever. It was part of her nature to do everything herself, so there was not any role helping with the cooking, dishes, hanging laundry or cleaning. One last thing - it is a small village with a leash law, so dogs cannot be out without a leash, and they certainly were not allowed in the house. It was going to be a long two days. Romeo was a poker player, and my having been raised by a father who loved poker led us to become fast poker pals. We played Texas Hold-em, and I cleaned house more times than not, often with a lousy hand. But that is what poker is about, isn't it? It was fun, and we played while Marion was out playing bingo.

All that activitiy has kept Marion active and her mind alert ....quite remarkable! She and her sister play bingo 3-5 times a week, winning about half the time she plays - and no small wonder, she plays 12 cards each game! Two of her sisters live in the village, Beverly and Hilda, one of her brothers, Mitt, Hilda's adopted daugther Mary Lee and her child, Walker. I think that is half the households of the village center. My second night, Mitt and his wife Annette brought a large bucket of raspberry's as a welcome gift, along with some real vanilla ice cream. Yummy. Those berries were so sweet, and really helped soften the blow when Steve told me that the house he was going to rent didn't work out. That was a bummer and meant we would have to stay with his parents a couple more days, but we could easily find someplace else to rent to live and host the workshops. After all, I wasn't planning to return to Panama until September, so I was going to share the rent with Steve unitl I left since I was going to be living and working there. Steve was moving back to Vermont to stay, so the living situation was really more of his choice than mine. That evening when I got out of the shower, I found that Steve had unloaded all of my things out of my pick up truck - except for my dogs - and moved them into his parents house. His father said he was welcome to live there as long as he wanted - and I was too. That was generous, but I felt a knot in my tummy starting to grow, and a bit nauseated. Maybe it was too many raspberries? There is a big difference between two days and two months.

Exploring New England village life became my daily norm after walking the dogs. On Thursday mornings, the former school turned Community Center is bustling with activity as musicians from around the area gather to showcase their talents. Everyone gets to perform their two pieces, no matter how good or bad they are, but to my surprise, everyone was really great. During my first month there, Mike Hamer came to play his hammered dulcimer and warmed everyones heart. Mike is from the area, and although he and his sister had sold the family farm, they kept some acreage and built themselved a home there for the summer months. Mike is Steve's best friend, an incredible person, warm-hearted, kind, and a talented musician. I have attended several venues where he has played, and really enjoy his music -especially his latest CD which really touches my heart. Mike is also a quadrapalegic.

The women of the village come together on Friday's during the summer for a Farmers Market in the village commons across from the Communtiy Center, a Farmers Market which doesn't sell much farm produce. It is more like a bake sale combined with local handicrafts. Steve's cousin, Mary Lee, makes soups which she sells, trying out different recipes each week. His aunt Beverly bakes breads, sweet rolls and pies all week long in preparation for the big sale. There is a woman who lives without power or running water, way up on the mountain, named Sandy. She brings her sons photographs to sell. Another local woman makes jewlery out of beads, the kind which would appeal to older country women. But most of all, it is something that they do together, a bonding time, and it makes them some extra money. Everyone in the village comes to buy something and visit, as do people passing by from nearby communities.

Uncle Mitt lives across the street from Steve's parents, and has an antique shop in his mothers old house. He is an endearing old coot, who sets select items out on the roadside, and then sits on the porch and waits for people to stop by to chat and buy things. He goes to yard sales and has filled the house and barn with thing he sells to tourists, making a good living at it - he reminds me of my father in that way. While I was there, I learned that the Canadians - who live only six miles away - pay dearly for wooden snowshoes and ski's to decorate their homes, as well as moose antlers that have dropped at the end of a season. If it wasn't raining, Mitt was outside with his wares - and part of the village life was to visit and see how his day was going. I miss that part of life there, it left a warm mark on me.

This part of the Northeast Kingdom is dotted with picturesque dairy farms, small cottage industries, very few chain stores, and lots of small, homey villages. Maple syrup, sugar houses, covered bridges, and moose crossings are a part of daily life, as well as musty basements. And like most small communities, everyone knows everyone else, their entire life history, as well as what they ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I think this is what Elizabeth meant by the six-finger analogy. A finger in everyone else's life. By the time I left, I met so many people and their heard snippets of their life histories, relationships, affairs. I may only have five fingers right now, but I do miss the atmosphere, the sense of community there - a sense of belonging.

During the summer, Steve showed me around the NEK and it is phenomenal. I want to live there in the summer months, if only I could put together a workable business - which is not an impossiblity! I played in trout streams daily, where Cleo stuck her nose under the water to fetch a rock to toss about in the air and move across the ground with her nose. He showed us waterfalls were the dogs could swim, minutes away from his parents home, and miles and miles of beautiful mountainous vistas at the end of long hikes. We went to see Peter Schumacher and the Bread and Puppet Theater, which was phenomenal.

I attended jam sessions with fabulous musicians, county fairs, and explored a world that I was falling in love with. Steve's cousin Tina invited us to her home near Barton, and we bonded as we shared a bottle of wine, wonderful vegetarian food (my favorite!) a kindred spirit, and a flair for life. I really wanted to know more of this woman who writes a politcal magazine and runs a green house. She has a creative son who participated in the movie workshop, Colton, whose father works with the Dave Matthews Band. The artistic spirit of the people ensconced in this corner of the US really touched my soul, and made me want my own home there, my own space, where I could have the artistic freedom to release my creative spirit, to write, and integrate myself into this phenomenal six-fingered world! Yeah, I fell in love with Vermont, and felt a sense of belonging for the first time in a very long time, maybe since I was first divorced ten years ago!

Steve's parents don't drink or keep any alchohol in the house, and helet me know they didn't think much of drinking - so I took to buying beer and drinking it on my tailgate or sneaking it into a satchel as the dogs and I went walking about the hills of Westfield. Forbidden fruit is always scrumptious! I would have drank wine if were available, but there wasn't any. What I did find, however, was an incredible selection of local micro brews which were delicious. Cool! Beautiful scenery, cool summer days, and great beer! It was certainly an oxymoron - one of the most beautiful places to be, yet the most repressed with my living situation. I felt like I lacked the freedom to breathe. I mmissed cooking, internet access, having a place to put my clothes, and was not comfortable having to tiptoe to the only bathroom which adjoined Steve's parents bedroom at night, worrying about squeeking floors. I missed my dogs and hated keeping them in the truck. Being a guest like this didn't fit me - and I recalled my thoughts from the first part of my journey when I met Robert Guerin in the soybean field. Life is too short to be unhappy. If I don't like how I am living, I am responsible for changing it. A cold sore grew on my lip, grew as an outward sign that I was feeling stress and needed to deal with it somehow.

I took a break for some personal space and time shared with my dogs who had been living in the cab of my truck while I was staying at the Myotts. They didn't allow animals in the house or the yard, and I found myself always on edge if the dogs barked at people waking down the village streets. Go figure. I needed to get away, and decided to go north, as far north as I could go, until the road ended. I needed to run. That is what I do, after all. Run. I have a PhD in running - and surpass most people in that arena of experience. Within a day I loaded the truck with my camping gear, a picnic basket bequethed to me by Marion, food, a map of Vermont and Quebec, and hit the road and started driving. I got as far as the border to Canada are realized that I had left the dogs rabies papers at the Myotts so had to turn around and go back...retrieved the papers, and went north on my next journey. That trip is the topic for another blog!

When I returned from Quebec it was time to prepare for the final film workshop - and it was a great experience. The kids were phenomenal, creative, innovative, and although some were shy at first, or perhaps intimidated, either Steve or I was able to reach them and really connect. The workshops were wonderful for the kids, and definitely food for thought for a business. We met with the kids on the first day and just chatted and got to know them, and out of that simple begining, a story line was created, with the kids being what ever it was they wanted and we, as directors, pulled it together, with Steve operating the camera. The end product was an original film recorded on DVD, where all the kids felt great about themselves, their abilities, and felt like a movie star. Each workshop culminated with a showning of the DVD and popcorn, just like a real movie, where the parents, family and friends could come and watch the movie and share in the pride which each child emanated. Of course, everyone from the village came. Good stuff.

The last day of the the last workshop, I loaded my things into my truck along with my dogs, and left. No, I didn't leave, I fled. I couldn't stay any longer, not a minute more. It had been a wonderful place to be, the people delightful, the scenery breathtaking - but I could not be a guest for another minute. I had to run. And run I did - I got into the truck and weeping deeply for hours I drove, I headed south. My chest hurt from crying so hard, the sadness of leaving. Part of me loved Vermont and the people whom I had shared my time, Steve, Romeo and Marion, Beverly, Mitt, Annette. I wept because I would miss all the people whom opened thier lives and welcomed me, made me connected, yet still I had to run. I needed to feel my own personal space around me. I needed home.

I learned a lot on this journey - and a lot about myself. Home. My things around me, the freedom to be me in the place I sleep and eat, my dogs about me. Home. No place like it, wherever we create it.

They have six fingers up there, don't they?