|
|
|
|
1990
Literary Art
Visual Art
|
|
|
Acceptance
Fred Bowman
My friends told me that I should think twice about building my dream cabin in the Green Mountains of Vermont. "But why?" I asked. "Well," I was told, "Vermonters, especially those who live in the hills, don't readily accept outsiders. They're suspicious. And you with your education and coming from California — well. It's not that they won't like you or will bother you. It's only that they like their own kind. You know how it is. They are very reserved." Nevertheless, I started to build. The site and land had been chosen carefully, six acres, a road that was plowed in the winter, a trout stream, near a ski area and with an electric line. What more could one ask?
I did nearly all of my own work from drawings to pounding nails, and each day as I worked, I wondered about my acceptance in this rural Vermont mountain community. As the days wore on, I began to see my neighbors in Edson Day's general store, and sometimes on the road in front of my cabin. Sometimes I'd see them fishing in the stream that ran through my property. I'd always smile and wave, awkwardly, I must admit. Sometimes they would return the greeting, but most times not. No one made any overture of welcome. Even the children seemed distant and aloof. I wondered if I would ever be accepted.
Then one day a friend of mine drove up to the site with me to help lay some girders. He said, "I know these people up here and they have some strange customs. They stick close together and support one another and don't like outsiders, but that doesn't mean they'll never take you in. Give them time. Always be friendly. Don't post your stream and try to buy as much as you can at Edson Day's general store. And, by the way, when he stops dealing with you in pennies, that's the signal. That means that the people in the community have gotten together and have agreed to accept you as a neighbor." "What do you mean not deal with me in pennies?" I asked. "You know," he said, "if your bill comes to $1.87, for example, and you give him two dollars, he'll give you 130 in change. That's if they haven't decided on you yet or don't like you. But if he gives you 15$, a dime and a nickle, then you'll know you've made it." What a strange custom. Vermonters were more reserved than I had thought.
I started the construction in early April and each day after work, on my way home, I stopped in at Edson Day's general store. I did this very casually, of course, not to arouse suspicion, and carefully plotted my purchases so the bill would always add up to an odd amount. Day after day I stopped in at the store. Sometimes I bought things I didn't need, but always with those odd totals in mind. April turned into May and May into June. Summer became Fall and the odd pennies in change continued. How long does it take anyway, I thought?
When the snow started to melt the following Spring, I had pretty well settled into my cabin. Spring in Vermont is a wonderful time of the year. The weather changes from Winter to Spring seemingly overnight. All of a sudden the crocuses peek through the snow. The forsythia bursts into bloom and the sap in the maple trees starts to flow. But still the pennies.
One day I stopped by Day's store for some bread and milk. The bill came to 77$. I gave Mr. Day a dollar bill and in habitual anticipation, extended my hand for the change. Then it happened. He gave me twenty-five cents in return. Nothing was said by either of us. Then we casually passed the time of day and I left. "I made it," I said to myself almost before I got out the door. "By golly, I made it!"
When I returned to the cabin I found a neat box of kindling by the front door and a box of handpicked wild strawberries. There was no note. The next day when two neighbors were fishing in my stream, one came over and handed me a nice brook trout he had just caught and said, "Thought you could use this." Now it seemed that not a week passed but what something nice was given to me or done for me. One time, children came by with some wild flowers. I was invited to give the invocation at the Town Meeting. And once when the rains had all but destroyed my bridge, I didn't even have to ask for help. A truck and four neighbors arrived almost immediately and restored the timbers. My whole life had changed. I was a member of the community. I wasn't feared or distrusted. I was accepted.
As I remember this incident over the years and recite it to my friends, some will say, "What an odd and strange custom." Odd and strange? Of course. But we all need acceptance, to be told in one way or another that people care, that we're loved and needed. The hill people in Vermont do it by not dealing in pennies. Sometimes when reaching for my change at K-Mart, and looking down at my hand, a time long ago and a place far away flashes through my mind. Pennies? Really!
|
Home | Awards | Issues
|
|