Live Free or Die

Day 52

When Fred, the innkeeper, was getting us settled yesterday, he told us to come hungry in the morning because they serve a world class breakfast. I admit, I was skeptical. However fancy and trimmed out, B&Bs usually leave me wanting to boot the cook out of the kitchen and cook breakfast myself. Not this time. The beautiful little dining room is laid out with sliced fruit, yogurt, actual from-scratch blueberry muffins and two types of home made bread, plus their very own house blended coffee. Fred greets us and asks if we'd like blueberry pancakes, or an omelet with Vermont cheddar and breakfast potatoes with caramelized Vidalias. Well, well, one of each we say.

Guest room bouquet

These are the best potatoes I've ever had. The omelet is fluffy and filled with just enough perfectly melted cheese. The pancakes are moist, crispy on the edges, and chocked full of blueberries. If this breakfast wasn't already world famous, I'd make sure it became so.

Once we're fueled up on all of this deliciousness, we jump on the Girl and continue our westerly ride inland. We are riding through New Hampshire all day, and have decided to try and stay in the White Mountain range as much as possible. This means taking the Kancamangus. The Kanca-what?? Also known as route 112, the Kancamangus guides you through the very heart of the White Mountains, up and over some pretty good sized peaks, and along side about 30 million other bikers. The weather is so beautiful we can hardly stand it: bright blue skies with fat white clouds; shining sun and fall-like temperatures. This is the first time to be in New Hampshire for us both, and we like it.

Cliff on the grill

We stop at an overlook and eat boiled eggs. Soon after this we swear off boiled eggs. We are so sick of our on-route food: boiled eggs with hot sauce, water crackers, granola bars, blah blah. I would rather get the whole kitchen out and cook than eat this anymore. It was funny when we both came to this realization at the exact moment. We each had a cheek stuffed with egg, and looked over at each other rolling our eyes. We cracked up, and swore them off for the rest of the trip. To be clear, we would still eat deviled eggs, egg salad, Hungarian potatoes, etc, but not boiled eggs with hot sauce.

At the end of the Kancamangus, we travel slightly south on the 118, passing through forests and tiny villages. Soon, we are in Vermont and heading to Colleen and Cliff's place in Hartland. I met Colleen several years ago at a retreat where I was doing massage and an anointing oil talk. The next year when I was back doing another anointing oil evening, Colleen was there as well. She bought one of the gorgeous anointing oil pouches that Natasha Shealy and Lisa Mandle and I collaborated on during the spring of 2010. Since then, Colleen has followed this blog and remained in touch via good old facebook. She was kind enough to offer us a place to lay our heads should we ever pass through Vermont. We have decided to take her up on it.

Stella

Colleen and Cliff live in Cobb Hill, an intentional community with several beautiful, modern homes, many acres, by laws, cows, sheep and a farm stand. It's an actual manifested version of what I've overheard idealistic hippies and the green-riche discussing for years. Houses are separated by flower lined pathways rather than roads. Neighbors greet us with warm curiosity as we walk up one of these paths in our leather, looking for Colleen's house.

Once we find it, we're greeted by not only Cliff and Colleen, but also Stella, the sweetest little back and white dog ever. We all chat for awhile, then we are settled into our room, a north facing sanctuary with a lovely antique bed and a cool loft space. We unpack and get into more comfortable clothes, and join everyone back down stairs near the kitchen. Isaac, their 17 year old son, has joined us, and there is no time wasted before tales of his road side potty training are told and giggled about. He sails through it gracefully, then leaves. Poor kid.

Poor kid, mostly because he misses out on this dinner. We all decide to eat at the picnic table outside. As we carry plates, wine and food out to the table, a hot air balloon drifts over the river, so close we can see the pleats of the balloon. This feast is a true celebration of season local fare. When I say local, I mean just about every morsel of this meal came from these very acres. We have a fresh cucumber salad, sliced tomatoes, grilled eggplant and squash, roasted peppers and onions and, drum roll...barnyard burgers. Barnyard burgers are two parts ground beef (from here), 1 part ground lamb (from here) and 1 part ground pig (from down the road). They are divine, grilled to perfection by Cliff and scarfed up with relish by us.

We sit at the table talking and laughing so long that Stella digs a hole under our feet to sleep for the night. We talk about travel, fresh food and Ohio. Cliff is from Cleveland, and Isaac was also born there. We decide that all roads lead to Ohio. We compare Cedar Point stories, and stories of life-on-the-lake. Once the evening chill settles on us, we move the gathering indoors, laughing and telling stories until we're all yawning and it's time for bed. This is exactly how I always pictured Vermont; super friendly, outdoor-centric, locally gourmet and cool in the evenings.