Just one year ago I returned from Antarctica after six weeks collecting fossils. I returned to a house full of people, to a drive full of snow and to a day length of barely eight hours of sun after six weeks at 24 hours of daylight. It took me weeks to feel normal, or what passes for normal. I think my pineal gland needed a half twist to fix things. It was a twist that only time could provide. I now have a slight appreciation for seasonal affective disorder.
This year, there is little snow and not much in the way of a promise for snow in the near term.
At one point I was trying to make good use of both roller blades and the steep incline of Liberty Street. Having seen some kids blading down the hill with as nice side to side motion, I figured I could do the same. I started down the hill slowly, moving across the fall line smoothly and with far too much confidence. As I passed Mike, who was in his yard working on some project, I waved. He called out, "Don't fall." To which I responded by turning (always a mistake on roller blades going down a hill) to say that all was well. As I turned, I fell and scraped my hip and thigh to a nice, oozing red street burn. I thought then, and each day driving to Hanover, sitting on the ever so tender wounds, "God damn you, Jones!"
When Barb and I began to get to know Mike and Vera (all because our children were hanging out together), I discovered that Mike was a truly fine person. He was the king of the deck and the grill. His smoked trout, and in fact his smoked anything, was beyond fantastic. He and Vera always put on the best spread for even a quick visit for drinks. They seemed to revel in the entertaining, regardless of the reason for or duration of the visit. I had heard of this level of welcome from Jay some years before, but found it hard to believe. Probabaly the best part of visiting Mike and Vera was seeing the two of them working together. While many have noted Mike's cooking talents, Vera is as gifted. The two of them both working on a meal was always a treat. They enjoyed having guests, but they clearly enjoyed each other even more. Having been married for twenty five years, they seemed to still be slightly breathless at their joint great happiness. It was nice.
It was also interesting having friends so close. Vera pointed out that we could see into each other's kitchens. From their house looking up, from ours down, given the odd topography of Liberty Street. She suggested that we should all be careful about what we wore in the kitchen. She was also concerened that she couldn't see the few Christmas lights we put up in front of the house, so I had to put some up in the back yard for her. It is now a standard installation at Christmas.
It turned out that Mike, having been born and raised in Montpelier, knew as close to everything about the town and its band of 8,000-odd inhabitants as anyone could know. Name a building downtown and he probably knew the history of it - who owned it way back when, which stores were in it over the years and the like. He also probably knew the value, but that was not information he would spread around. We could always count on Mike to have some tidbit of information about anything related to Montpelier
Then Mike found he had pancreatic cancer. Until close to the end, some nine months, he was his old self, always cheerful and quiet. Even when he was clearly feeling bad, he would respond to a casual inquiry that he was doing fine. Save for our memories of him, he is gone now, and I can only think, "God bless you, Jones."
