VERMONT WINTAH 1973

Vermont Wintah 1973

A blizzard buried Montreal
The temp was arctic.
Minus zero.
I was staying with two New Zealanders
Across the street
From the Winston Churchill Pub
Only forty feet
Going out for beer was a gamble.
Life, death or frozen limbs.

The snow was chest high.
More storms on the way
A day of sun came.
I said good-bye to my friends
To Marie-claire
A waitress at the pub
"I'll be back in the spring."
I hitchhiked south.
Boston bound.
Grey low clouds
Overhead
Snow dropped like clots of cream

A farmer took me to the border.
I was waved through the frontier.
I stood on the America side.
There were no cars
No trucks
Only snow.
And cold
And the cold wind.
It was getting dark.
I was freezing
Bones shivering
My tears were ice. No traffic and snow and cold.

Headlights
An Oldsmobile Toranado
Front end transmission
A Rocket V8
Over 4000 pounds.
It was made for the snow.
It stopped
The lock popped up
I brushed off the snow
Sat inside.
It ws warm

The driver was an old woman.

Her headlights barely pierced the snow.

"My name's Meryl. You want to drive? You can drive in this."

"I'm from Maine."

We switched seats.

I drove 20 mph.

The only vehicle on the road.

Into the night.

To Burlington.

I stayed the night

Meryl had stew slow cooking on the stove.

She started a fire in the living room.

We talked about the cold.

The snow howled around her house.

The fire burned in the fireplace.

The room smelled on New England

The North

Wintah

1973.