Vermont's Finest

Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Factory in Waterbury is well-known as the home of Vermont's Finest Ice Cream.

Even though the famously home-grown micro-enterprise has long since been taken over my megacorp Unilever (yes, them of Lifebuoy soap, Vaseline products, SlimFast weight loss aids and ... Ben and Jerry's Ice cream), they do still have some pretty good stuff there. We watched the staff make Pistachio Pistachio and Dublin Mudslide, both of which sounded pretty good, and got a pretty hefty sample of Cake Batter, which in fact tasted just like yellow cake batter with chocolate icing stirred in, and was pretty darn good.

But it turns out the Waterbury site is also the home of Vermont's Worst Ice Cream.

The Flavor Graveyard contains some pretty awful stuff. Like Sweet Potato Pie ice cream. Sweet potato pie in itself, though not so far removed from pumpkin pie, is pretty hard to get your head around. But then to stretch it out as an ice cream?

Vermonters have a fine, if flinty, sense of humour. This sign is in a store window in Stowe -- the store where many years ago Kelly's parents bought a Gerry baby back pack in which they carted her around Northern Vermont.

One of the places they carted her was this fine little library in the college town of Johnson, where they taught.

Is this where it all began? Kelly is a fine librarian, after all. (She even waives fines sometimes.)

We had fine weather.

And these daylilies sprouted wild all over the state. Here they grow up against a fine old mill.

It being a dairy state, we enjoyed some very fine cheese. Here's a Cabot cloth-aged cheddar, a Willow Farms "Alderbrook" semi-ripe sheepsmilk cheese, and a Blue Ledge Farm "Lakes Edge" sheepsmilk blue. Yum.

We brought this small amount back over the border, and enjoyed it as a summer supper with a good baguette and a bottle of Burrowing Owl Chardonnay that has been waiting for just the right moment.

But the finest part of our short trip to Vermont was, by far, connecting with old friends. We stayed a couple nights with Ann in Shelburne, talking about books and gardens, drinking wine, eating cheese, driving country roads and enjoying a lovely meal at the edge of Lake Champlain. I also ventured into the Laplatte River Marsh to look for birds one morning but my Birkenstocks were not up to the terrain. Nevertheless, I saw a bunch of American goldfinches and tree swallows, watched a blue heron fly in for landing, and got two life birds: a grey catbird and a wood duck. There were loads and loads of other fine birds that I could not identify by call. I will have to go back, with boots.

We also stayed a night in Brattleboro --that fine little town that has indicted George W. Bush and Dick Cheney for war crimes-- with Keith, whom we haven't seen for about 15 years, his wife Becky and their son Aiden (neither of whom we'd ever met). This did not deter Aiden from enlisting us both in some vigorous batting practice. He's a fine batter, and a fine boy.

And his parents are fine musicians -- those of you who don't know their blend of Newfoundland, Quebec, Scandinavian and American contra tunes should really check them out.

I wish I had some pictures of all these fine folks to share with you but I think I've discovered a serious limit to my new picture-taking habit. I find it very hard to pull out a camera and snap away in the middle of socializing.

Perhaps that's a fine thing!