Every year, on one weekend in February, the Hulbert Center on Lake Morey is taken over by Village Harmony—a beloved Vermont institution—and around 90 people who have come to dance and sing traditional songs. From Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Oregon and Chicago, these farmers, teachers, massage therapists, librarians, and artists arrive travel-weary, some driving cars with stickers that say “Warning- driver singing” or “Honk if you love polyphonies.”
These are folks who are happiest when singing village music or southern blues or shape note songs in four-part harmonies and circle dancing till the wee hours. After a weekend with these folks, I go home to Strafford, wonderfully exhausted and filled with songs and stories. The two little brown dogs, the LBDs and I reunite with much tail-wagging.
Looking out upon our kingdom of half acre more-or-less on the Ompompanoosuc, we sense that something is changing. Large flocks of finches and siskins are singing too. Cardinals — so many of them that I feel I might be back in Missouri — crowd around the feeders, flying up in a cloud of red when the blue jays come. Heavy-bodied turkeys descend from the tall pines like overloaded cargo planes cleaning up whatever is left on the ground. So many birds. And I swear I’ve been hearing tree frogs trilling. The tracks on the frozen river betray the drama that comes here every night — fishers, coyotes and foxes are courting, mating, and fighting.
They know something is happening with these longer sunshiny days. I am filled with joy for the thought of spring. Unashamedly, I am an optimist. I know the world stage is a tragedy and if I spent more time on my phone, I would do nothing more than weep, but I was born this way, it is not my fault. I grew up in a family traumatized with the death of my father. But I was just a baby and became everyone’s comfort cuddler, like the little Japanese macaque Punch’s stuffed orangutan. The situation was sad, but I was well loved.
I sometimes wonder if we don’t all have a karma cup that fills up with goodness, then tips over and lets the hard stuff in. If we survive the hardships, then the cup gets filled up again with blessings. I am enough of a scientist to not believe in woo-woo; however, I have noticed this karma phenomenon in my own life.
Our winter was going along beautifully, with daily skis in powdery snow and playing lots of music with friends, then a little bump into a wall and a couple hurt teeth that needed gruesome surgery involving cadaver bone. This was followed with the little LBD spraining a shoulder in the deep snow, the death of our old cat, Muki, and the near death of the larger LBD from a newly diagnosed disease called Addison’s. So far, we have survived, except for Muki, and I am hoping it is time for the karma cup to start tipping the other way.
I went to see my grandbabies in Burlington this weekend and taught them to sing and dance to a couple of songs, one about the Magpie who can foretell the future and one about a wolf whisperer who leads the wolves away from the village. They learned them easily and sang them all day. Today, the LBDs and I laid out on the porch after a long walk. We lay side by side in the sun with our bellies showing under a deep blue sky listening to the chickadees and goldfinch and the river thawing and singing her river songs.
I think perhaps the cup may be tilting.