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Friday, October 25, 2002 [Continued from entry of 10/23] After the road passes the house/brook/cows, it crosses Pekin Brook Road. Peck Hill Road becomes George Road there, running by a working farm whose house sits right at that intersection, a big, old two-story structure of weathered wood topped by a metal roof whose peak is studded with lightning rods. There's a sizeable old barn, miscellaneous farm machinery strewn around outside, a small pond by the road in front of the farmhouse and up ahead a stream that winds its way alongside the road for a while before trees obscure the view. It's all lowlands there, damp and green, often featuring cows hanging about. After the farmyard, the road curves to the left then sails ahead, finally mounting a steep hill and turning back on itself with a hairpin turn where one is obliged to shift down to second gear, hoping no cars are approaching the turn from above ‘cause the road's narrow and vision is limited. Once up in elevation, the road passes acres and acres of wooded land on the right, a hunting camp plugged into it not too far from the hairpin curve. On the left, trees giving way to meadows, views of hills/mountains -- green as all get-out in the warm season. Now that stick season's here, that's changed to greens, browns, grays. Also beautiful, just more austere. George Road straightens out and races ahead then, fields on the left dropping away into ravines, until it reaches the end of the driveway to the Hudson farm and dips steeply down, the land on the right suddenly opening out to open pastureland. This is where the drive gets a bit more interesting. (And about time, huh?) George Road ends at another road about a quarter mile beyond the driveway to the Hudson farm. As you drive that last distance, you may notice that out in the fields on the right, on a small rise, is what looks like a memorial. You can see one large headstone-shaped stone and a few feet from that another stone, smaller, shaped like the cross-section of tree trunk, standing up on its edge. The sprawling expanse of fields that stretch away in every direction from this rise is allowed to grow during the warm season, harvested twice during the season for hay. No matter how high the growth, a wide mown path is maintained between the road and the rise. When walking that path toward the rise and stones, the first thing one notices on nearing them is a garden of shrubs and flowers planted in front of the rise, a few granite steps set into the soil at the garden's center point so a visitor can step into the middle of the garden and read a small stone there, into which the following verse has been carved: "If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to Heaven and bring you home again." The two stones on the rise are arranged so they face the garden and the road, the smaller one reading: "I have believed it was my path in life to save this old farm. Was it all in vain?" The larger one bears the following: "Do not dwell in sadness and despair of things that are gone and cannot be. Life is a gift that must be fulfilled. I let mine become empty and I want everyone to make life whatever you want of it and let nothing stop you." Beneath that, carved into the granite, is a reproduction of a signature reading "Dwayne." When one mounts the rise, you find the two portraits etched into rear side if the large stone, the image to the left that of a smiling young man, under which is inscribed: "Dwayne Paul Hudson March 7, 1973 -----------> Dec. 20, 1998" (Above and below the line of the arrow, respectively, are the words 'Too' and 'Short.') Below that is inscribed: "You were respected, admired and loved. May peace and happiness be with you now." To the right of Dwayne's portrait is an etching of a labrador retriever, standing at attention – beneath that is the legend: "Quarter – your friend" Beyond the stones are some saplings that have been put into the ground, beyond them a granite picnic table with two benches. In the wrong setting, all this could come off as treacly or morbid. Out here, in the middle of the Vermont countryside, it feels sweetly emotional, heartfelt. Beautiful land extends away in all directions, striking views lay beyond that. And there's not much else. In all the times I've driven George Road, I've never seen anyone out in the field at this memorial. This particular morning, on impulse, I pulled to the side of the road and walked out to the rise where I paid my respects to Dwayne. Crickets sang in the grass as I stood there, voices from the people out in front of the farmhouse, a fair distance away, drifted by on the wind. A couple of brawny pick-up trucks sat parked in the yard there, one of them hooked up to a horse trailer. A white horse grazed in a fenced-in area by the barn. The larger memorial stone, like many stones of its type, had a large base that the vertical piece rested on. I noticed someone had left items on top of either end of the base, up against the vertical part of the stone – to one side a small, mass-produced ceramic piece of a bed made up with a quilt and a plump pillow. Across the quilt, on his stomach, snoozed a fat, smiling Garfield, his teddy bear at his side. On top of the pillow sprawled a sleeping mouse, complete with a nighttime stocking cap. To the other side of the base, someone had left a large smooth stone and a rusty pair of grass shears. Something of Dwayne's? There for more utilitarian reasons (trimming the grass around the stone)? Got me. I spent a moment taking in the views – mountains off to the northeast, woods to the east across George Road. The land rolls away to the south and west, gradually rising to meet stands of trees, a country house, more fields. Green Vermont countryside everywhere. [Continued in entry of 10/27] rws 6:22 PM [+]
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