Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a weekly Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, some wry exchange with a stranger or acquaintance… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and strikes a contributor as interesting or funny or poignant—or that makes us appreciate living here.

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Dear Daybreak:

Last Friday during an intense rainstorm, I was returning home with a car full of groceries. I drove up Beaver Meadow Rd from Norwich, intending to turn onto Mitchell Brook Road, which leads to Tigertown Road, where I live. I didn't get very far—there was a huge washout across the road, and a neighbor was walking along, warning people not to try to get through.

Some people behind me had also hoped to take this route, as there was a big tree down on Beaver Meadow Road, just past Mitchell Brook. We all turned around and by that time, half of Beaver Meadow was clear. I had no idea how I would get home, but I followed the line of cars on Beaver Meadow to Sharon, and called my husband (one of the few places where there is cell service in the area). We decided I should take RT 14 to the other end of Tigertown Rd, and hope that Tigertown wasn't washed out as well. It turned out to be solid, and after much anxiety, I got myself and the frozen food home. It will be a while before Mitchell Brook gets repaired. We will have to make long journeys to get to Norwich town.

Mitchell Brook Road during the storm. Video by Wayne Cripps.

Mitchell Brook Road during the storm. Video by Wayne Cripps.

I thought about all the people that have been stranded with flooding these past few years in Vermont, and how climate change threatens the Upper Valley—with even tornado warnings. In that light, I suppose we were lucky: no damage to home or car, just inconvenience. My home is up on pillars. I hope we never get a tornado here. I don't want to end up in OZ!

— Cynthia Crawford, Norwich

Dear Daybreak:

A Chicken Tale, or Why did the Chickens Cross the Field?

One of the great pleasures of living where we do in Vermont are the wide open spaces and the lovely fields alongside the road. One can get lost in the gorgeous vistas and serene scenery whizzing by.

Such as the other day, as I drove up on the New Hampshire side of the Connecticut River. I looked to the large field next to the road and saw two chickens sauntering along. There was no house or barn nearby. It was hard to imagine where they had come from or where they were going. I began to imagine that I knew these girls. Perhaps they were sisters or maybe mother and daughter. Or maybe they were just two girlfriends out for an afternoon stroll. Maybe they had escaped the farm to get away from an especially randy rooster. I can hear that conversation now- “Harumph! Enough is enough. We’re outta here!” But something about the image of these two birds really spoke to me. A well-known philosophy of mine is, “maximum freedom for everyone” and they certainly looked like they were gleefully on the lam.

We raised chickens for a number of years and it can be a heartbreaking business. We seemed to have a carnage-in-the-coop episode just about every season. If it wasn’t a weasel, it was a fisher cat or a fox or even a hawk. But between the heartbreak, there were also wonderful moments of pure country joy. One summer, we let one of our girls hatch some eggs. She had gone “broody” and we just decided to let her go for it and have her babies. Once the chicks hatched, we kept them in a fenced area to keep them safe from bullying by the older girls. There was one chicken who clearly yearned for her own babies. She mooned around outside the fence, looking longingly at the baby chicks. We named her Aunty.

When we sold our old farmhouse, we got rid of our flock. I miss my chickens and dream often of having another flock. For now, I’ll just admire the brave, intrepid girls that I see marching through the fields and imagine the life they lead.

— Perry Allison, Thetford

Dear Daybreak:

Like many Upper Valley parents, my husband and I have felt caught in an endless race these past few weeks, cramming end-of-school events, spring concerts, and baseball games into already jam-packed days. Staring down a summer with less structure, three young kids, and two jobs, carving out time together feels nearly impossible.

Our favorite thing to do for a "date night" is to be outside, hiking or biking, at this time of year. It seems like every potential window we had ended up getting rained out after weeks of relentless precipitation. On Sunday night, we made a plan for an evening date-night hike up Mt. Cube. We packed a picnic, got the kids settled with a babysitter and drove off.