Tucker Mountain, VermontNot unlike life, the road to Tucker Mountain is challenging and filled with difficulties and obstacles. At 1703 feet above sea level, Tucker Mountain is not a big mountain. It is not close to the majestic 4000 footers of the White Mountains to the east and is not even the highest peak in the neighborhood, Woodchuck Mountain being 1760 feet and Currier Hill holding the top spot at 1960 feet. Unlike those “giants”, however, Tucker Mountain has a road that can take you quite near the peak and so is much better known than the others.
Occasionally, Tucker Mountain is closed when the farmer who owns the peak decides to graze sheep on its flanks, but most often the access path to the very peak is ungated, and, if you’ve made it this far up the road, there is nothing to stop you from bumping over the rocks and ruts to the very peak. From the top you can see forever! Unlike many peaks that lie below the tree line, this mountain is crowned by a grassy meadow, and although the trees that surround the meadow have grown over the years to obstruct the view somewhat, one can still see mountain ranges in every direction – the Whites of New Hampshire to the East, the Greens of Vermont to the North and South, and the Adirondacks of New York to the West. The view is magnificent in every season!
I said that the road up the mountain is difficult, and it is only this view and it’s accompanying peace that makes it worth while driving. Most of the road is quite steep but where it levels out in brief stretches it is often muddy with deep ruts. Mud in Vermont has a season all its own somewhere between Winter and Spring, and most folks know enough to limit travel during this time to paved roads. If one must venture into the backcountry, knowledgeable Vermonters carry chains, knowing how the mud can put you off the road or, even worse, IN the road. Years ago my family and I went looking for a “Sugar House” which we had identified on the map and which had developed a reputation for producing especially good Maple syrup. Sugaring happens when the nights are cold and the days are warm – and the snow is melting! That’s the nicest way I can think of to describe “mud season”. In a moment of inattention I let the car drift toward the edge of the road. I was suddenly axle deep in mud, and we came to a jolting stop. None of my efforts at jockeying the car helped – in fact, they only made it worse – and so I sheepishly trudged off to the nearest farmhouse to seek help. In true Vermont form, the farmer didn’t say much but climbed on his tractor and headed out to lend a hand. As he walked around our car to assess the situation, he shook his head, let out a low whistle and said, “Ayeah, you’re stuck!”
The mud on Tucker Mountain road doesn’t limit itself to “mud season”, it’s there after every rain. On the steeper parts, one contends with large boulders, deep washouts, and where it really gets steep, loose gravel that easily gives way leaving your wheels spinning but not moving you forward much. Many is the time I’ve sworn never to make this drive again without a jeep!
The mud on Tucker Mountain road doesn’t limit itself to “mud season”, it’s there after every rain. On the steeper parts, one contends with large boulders, deep washouts, and where it really gets steep, loose gravel that easily gives way leaving your wheels spinning but not moving you forward much. Many is the time I’ve sworn never to make this drive again without a jeep!
Circumstances in the Fall of 2009, however, drew me irresistibly to the top of Tucker Mountain with only my little two-wheel drive pickup truck pitted against the road.
In reality this was a return trip. Just two weeks ago, my family and I, together with our good friends, the Pawluks, had gathered on this same peak to offer prayers of thanks for my beloved Sandra and our son, Nathaniel – and to scatter their ashes. Sandra had died suddenly six months ago and Nathaniel, the son we really never got to know, had died in childbirth now over 30 years ago. Somehow we had never found the right time or place to fully commit him back to the earth, but now his ashes had been mingled with those of his mother and we who remained had relinquished our hold on both of them. This peaceful meadow on the top of Tucker Mountain was the place that Sandra had chosen as her resting place many years ago, and now, as I stood alone on the mountain, I sorted through all the memories of the life we had shared, but particularly the memories of time spent in Vermont. Sandra had loved Vermont. We came here often to the little cabin by the lake. Our family grew up at the beach just around the bend from the cabin and many an hour had been spent chasing the elusive fish that we knew were just below the surface. But Sandra was never happier than when we challenged the road that took us to the top of Tucker Mountain. For her this place was a precursor of heaven.
In reality this was a return trip. Just two weeks ago, my family and I, together with our good friends, the Pawluks, had gathered on this same peak to offer prayers of thanks for my beloved Sandra and our son, Nathaniel – and to scatter their ashes. Sandra had died suddenly six months ago and Nathaniel, the son we really never got to know, had died in childbirth now over 30 years ago. Somehow we had never found the right time or place to fully commit him back to the earth, but now his ashes had been mingled with those of his mother and we who remained had relinquished our hold on both of them. This peaceful meadow on the top of Tucker Mountain was the place that Sandra had chosen as her resting place many years ago, and now, as I stood alone on the mountain, I sorted through all the memories of the life we had shared, but particularly the memories of time spent in Vermont. Sandra had loved Vermont. We came here often to the little cabin by the lake. Our family grew up at the beach just around the bend from the cabin and many an hour had been spent chasing the elusive fish that we knew were just below the surface. But Sandra was never happier than when we challenged the road that took us to the top of Tucker Mountain. For her this place was a precursor of heaven.
I don’t know how often I’ll return to this tranquil place. Vermont is a longer drive from home than I care to make in one day, and I will probably find many things to keep me busy at home. But when I can I will come, and when I do I will ask leave of the road to allow me passage to this peaceful summit where once and again I will breathe in the memories of a God-gifted life and exhale a prayer of thanks!
Written by David Halmers in memory of Sandra and Nathaniel and with gratitude to God for gifting us with them both. October 9, 2009
Photos by David for Eye and the Maker Graphics
1 comment:
David,
Your blog is the best! Keep it going I like following you! I remember that road up Tucker Mountain, Marina thinks I'm a sissy, not that road is aweful.
Linda
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