Sheltered from the Wind

The Farm is at 1,300 feet in an area that has been referred to as the snow belt of Vermont. It sits up high with what must have been a nearly unobstructed and stunning view back in the sheep days of the 1800’s when the forests were cleared and pastures carpeted the land.

Contrary to all good sense, we have been rebuilding the roof this winter. Weather at the Farm has been variously bone-chilling, snowy, rainy, sunny, but the work has progressed thanks to the dedication and skill (and beards) of our carpenters and roofer.

Our carpenter mentioned to me on one particularly frigid and windy day that the house was perfectly protected. Once the sun lazily climbs above the ridge, the house warms up and feels sheltered. As he was performing major surgery on the rafters, he could see down the field that the white pines were being whipped mercilessly by a wind out of the northwest, while he was relatively warm.

I hope to find out who built this house someday, because he (or she, but probably he given the time) picked a damn good place for a house. The cliffs and ridge across the road knock down the weather beautifully. The house sits in the lee of the hill, and is warmed by sun on its south and east facing sides.

And it is amazing – standing in the unheated and uninsulated house several weeks ago, it felt warm – further reason for its survival all these years.

I am starting to feel similarly protected from the cold wind of Baker’s loss. I can still see that the chilling wind of his death swirls around me through the pines, but the sting has softened. I have found shelter in our friends and family. I have taken refuge in the wonderful memories of his life in the womb, and his baby spirit is a bulwark against the storms of sorrow. The sunshine of his life has to overpower the cold of his death.