When I moved to Vermont, I really noticed the local vernacular and colloquialisms right away. I heard the words “dooryard” (as in, what is that person doing in my dooryard?) and “downstreet” (as in, I need to go downstreet and get some groceries) and all intersections seem to be called four corners.. there is Scrabble four corners, Spoonerville four corners, etc.

After awhile you get used to it and start using those phrases yourself. You learn all the very local nick names for places and things.. like the end of my road is called the “hole in the wall”.

If I was from “away” (as in—perhaps, egads, being a “flatlander” ) and

asked for directions.. I would be lost before I knew how to turn right at the four corners and a left at the hole in the wall. Just before you get to the hole in the wall, you pass by Uncle Raino’s water garden which is a big swamp where believe it or not— a person by the name of Raino hayed once.

This is along the “S” curves, where many years ago we were driving Teena during mud season and the telephone man in a rush to get home, came speeding around the corner, nearly ran into us.. but Teena, being the wise old lady that she was, politely ran him and his speedy telephone van into the ditch instead… well, luckily he was the telephone man so he could phone for help.. because we went happily trotting off. Mind you- this telephone van had a habit of driving too fast on his way home every evening, so we did not feel any guilt. Right along this same place on the road is also Teena’s beaver… where the water from the Raino’s hay field runs under the road – a beaver came up, slapped his tail and nearly unseated my daughter. If you continue trotting up to that great old hole in the wall and take a left .. you’ll come to the spot where my dear old Tuff ‘Nuff saved my life.

As you turn left, you can get a beautiful canter up and around the hill. That day, we were flying comfortably along when old Tuff came to an abrupt HALT.. as I was about to curse her, the whole top of a dead tree came down.. a miracle of sorts—because had she not stopped dead in her tracks, it would have come straight down on us ! Whew.. In a quarter second, Tuff went from poophead to heroine in my eyes ! The remaining tall stump still remains there.. I ride by it and immediately all my memories of riding Tuff flash through my mind.

Over time, as my daughter and I ride all the trails and roads, we have initiated a dialect all of our own to describe the places we have ridden. As we saddle up—we discuss where shall we ride today? The teapot trail, the sap bucket trail, the white trail, the silver disk trail, Mythical trail or up the drug house trail. How did these trails earn their monikers—those are stories for another day, so stay tuned.

If we decide to stick to the dirt roads, we can go for the 6 mile loop (where we ride to the hole in the wall, take a right toward the four corners.. well you know the rest!) or we can opt for the 10 mile loop which has a nice mile long hill for conditioning, or go even further if we have time and energy.

Then, there are the “sub” trails.. depending on the turns we take and where we want to exit. From the drug house trail, we can get on the extended loop, or head toward the cabin, trot between the 2 birch trees, down a VERY steep hill, cross over onto the Apple Tree farm trail, which has an excellent brook crossing- a tricky step down and step up. Sometimes we choose the trail we are up for riding; sometimes we choose the trail for the obstacles we want to expose the horses to. If we want deep mud and brush—we’ll take the Kingsbury trail or the Scott trail. Sometimes, there is a time factor—as we pretty much know how long each trip will take, so how much time we have to ride will decide where we go. There are so many options and routes and combinations where we go out one way and return from a whole ‘nother direction.

We have lost quite a few really nice trails to construction of homes or acres of woods get logged hiding trails with brush and left behind logs.. but that only motivates us to find detours. One of our favorite trails for example—the White trail – was lost to us because the owner decided he did not want horses on his property. It took us days of dedicated riding and exploring (bushwhacking ? ) to find the way around his boundaries… but now we have a new trail that hooks us up with the old ones. Lately, we are annoyed by the increase in ATV traffic. I have nothing against 4 wheelers, as I have one and use it all the time on the farm. However, they can completely destroy a good trail over time with mud and wash outs. Then it’s time to play Lewis and Clark again on horseback.

One trail that we have ridden since we moved here, we ride up the mountain, trot right down a little path that we can tell used to be an old lane from the way the rocks are lined in the woods to delineate a very old road, probably used to move cows or sheep from pasture to pasture. We pass by the 2 old blueberry bushes and open out onto a narrow little path which loops around. If we go straight, we end up down on the road, the other way takes us toward a nice up and down path through woods that is like trotting on a roller coaster, past the old Watkins house that has been crumbling for years. When we first started riding this trail, the house was standing-- still had plaster walls. Just a few years ago.. the front door was still there. Now it's merely a sad heap of history.

Over time, the path widened just beyond those blueberry bushes, until it came the day—a road was built, houses sprouted. Co-incidentally, my daughter and her family just bought one of those houses and now we can ride to her house in a matter of minutes through the woods.


Sometimes we can ride an area for years.. and find a trailway that we had previously been looking for. It’s like—all of a sudden the woods open up and expose the way. Well, when I say a trail we have been looking for I mean a certain way through the woods that makes for the best passage. The trail evolves as we travel it over and over again. -- This is how we came upon the silver disk trail. We both knew there was a better way to traverse that section of woods, and each time we meandered through the pine tree wood, taking a different turn each trip out. Somehow we managed to find this path which is perfect and loops onto one of our very often ridden trails.

We study old maps that designate the abandoned roads with various styles of dotted lines. It’s fun to search for those. There are days we veer off on what looks to be a trail.. and have an awesome ride, coming out onto a road somewhere.. and we have to get our bearings with landmarks to figure out where we are. Other times, we are totally lost and end up somewhere surprising.

Every trail we have ridden has a story that gave birth to the name. Along the way are markers like, Memmie’s rock – which is a big rock at the narrowing of the dirt road at which a horse named Memmie liked to spook. One day, the town crew came and widened the road a bit and took Memmie’s rock away—most of it anyway. But 8 years later, when we trot by, we smile and think of Memmie. We have stored away about 20 years of riding memories.... and every trail or road we ride, we reminisce about a ride and remember the horses were we astride. Some of our travels stand out because they were such awesome rides...but a lot of these memories involve some kind of silly spook. It’s funny what little landmark can spark such grand treasured memories.


Enjoy all your memories and make some more ~