The drive from Lake George to our inn in Vermont is just over 50 miles as the crow flies but twice that distance via road. Traversing mostly two lane county roads, we wound around hills and across streams occasionally passing through small hamlets. Ahead in the distance, we see the Green Mountains, the state’s namesake; Vermont is a contraction of the French words, verde (green) and montagne (mountain). These mountains have an entirely different character and feel than the Adirondacks; they are gentler with rounded peaks and softer green vegetation. It was obvious as we crossed the state line from New York tino Vermont – the homes, churches, villages looked like scenes from New England postcards. We passed more Volvos and Subarus. Vermont’s COVID consciousness was even more intense than New York’s (remember this is August, 2020 and the reason we’d chosen to travel east instead of west!) with signs and warnings posted along the road. We joked, with just a trace of concern, that we might be turned around at the state line because our rental car had Florida plates, a state with a notoriously bad reputation for managing COVID.
We passed a rambling farmhouse with a large patio and open-sided dining tent near the small town of Wilmington. It was nearly 5 pm, we were hungry and concerned that we might not find an open restaurant, so we stopped. A sign said ‘The Roadhouse, Reservations Only’, so phoning from the parking lot, we made an on the spot reservation and waited in the car until the restaurant opened ten minutes later. Seated on the patio in the late afternoon sunshine, we filled out a contact tracing form, ordered a drink and toasted our successful arrival in Vermont. The weather cooled as the sun dipped behind a hill. A short fifteen minute drive later, we arrived at the Deerhill Inn.
The inn was perched atop a small hill and was exactly how I imagined a Vermont inn – clapboard siding, large paned windows, sprawling covered porch with pillowed chairs, surrounded by flowers and trees with hanging bird feeders.
Our proprietress, Ariane, welcomed us, reviewed COVID protocols (set dirty towels and linens in bag outside the door to be exchanged for newly laundered replacements, no in room cleaning, etc.) and other inn amenities while checking us in and then escorted us up a carpeted stairway with a polished wood bannister to our room, the Tamarack Suite.
The suite was cozy with both a sitting area and bedroom. A patterned sofa, coffee table and wooden rocker were arranged around a gas lit fireplace across from a king sized bed and and bath.
A door near the bed opened outside onto a small porch and a manicured yard overflowing with whitish pink hydrangeas juxtaposed against a backdrop of mist covered mountains.
We entered our room from a well appointed library with plenty of space to relax over a good book, although given our plans I doubted there would be much time to read.
There were thirteen rooms in the inn with only one other occupied for the night so Araine invited us to make ourselves at home and explore the common rooms. The coffee and breakfast rooms were airy and draped in greenery with beautiful views of the surrounding mountains.
We unpacked and then took a stroll into the small town of West Dover. After an afternoon of driving, it felt good to stretch our legs. Everything in town was closed for the evening, but the few stores and businesses we passed were housed in well-preserved and repurposed wooden buildings with placards dating their origins back to the mid 1700s.
It was a comfortable evening; crickets chirped, the air had a slight piney fragrance. As the sky darkened, the faint light of distant stars appeared. We were looking forward to our three nights at the Deerhill Inn and the opportunity to explore Verde Montagne.