Toni Stone
Wonder Works Studio
401 Buck Hollow Rd.
Fairfax, VT 05454 April 1996
SOMEWHERE
over the border
at one point it would have been inconceivable that being somewhere could affect me…
that going somewhere else could alter me…that land masses somewhere
could mean something to my own life, but, as i think back to places in the past
that i have made friends with, i was affected by them in great ways, not always noticing
it at the time. they made a demand on me, Vermont was like that…
on Cape Cod where i lived ten years, i had students from Vermont.
they invited me to Jericho, V t to teach a class. the walls came tumbling down
on our break, talking to a man in suspenders from Kansas who had been living
in the mountains of Vermont a goodly amount o f years. it was early summer season.
birds were flying everywhere. one bird was all-birds to me, i didn’t know
their names, i was moved to see so many everywhere in hills, trees, bushes.
bird traffic was as busy as vehicle traffic in Boston. the sound of birds singing,
bright flowers everywhere, deep green of seeming everything pressed a picture into me
that was hard to leave behind, that first class recess in Vermont. it didn’t go away.
i returned monthly to teach in Vermont, see clients, do groups, stay at motels,
hotels and students’ homes always looking again outside at majesty of mountains,
birds so bountiful and the greenest-ever-of-green, I’d ever seen…
i couldn’t get over it. the demand began as sheer joy.
each return to the city, i was struck with what had been done to rivers and shore lines.
cranky traffic, airplanes overhead, dirty buildings had always been there, yet I never felt
the insult of them so deeply. these moments of return got more difficult each time.
my face hardened and shoulders tightened as i entered the city limits,
still on the highway Monday mornings. i could feel the physical, mental, emotional drama
of re-entry! the demand created dissatisfaction, but still subtle, not seen…
i would pack up, set off, leave the hotel on Monday mornings and end up at a roadside rest area,
reading books under a tree, looking at hills; appreciating the quiet, loving bright-shades-of-
green painted everywhere. i t became apparent. i was loving this land even while being a critic
of inertia and apathy in the business community. how slow the response. how long one had
to wait for service. xerox copies, magazines, tuna fish sandwiches; checking out of the hotel.
everything took two to three times longer than quick, slick have-a-nice-day clerks of Boston.
exasperating t o city-mind-timekeepers, were the continuous continuations of everything.
we wanted it all done fast, brisk, chop-chop, yesterday, in-a-jiffy, lickety split,
like a bat out of hell, go for it.
i t wasn’t happening hasty i n Vermont. i saw that everything takes longer. i moved to Vermont
after three years of monthly consultations. being drawn by the Piscean spell of pine trees,
the evergreen of woodsy winters, fireplaces, birds that stay on all year
and days where you don’t wander out at all. i finally left Cape Cod. i backed out on Boston.
it was december, 1989. i didn’t punch the clock coming over the Conneticut River.
i did throw away my highheels, and myriad perfumes, cosmetics, beads, and beautiful baubles.
my desire for symmetry, artistry and elegance has been met by looking out the window.
mountains, chickadees, pines and rolling hills are always everywhere, out every window,
anywhere. i don’t have to try to recreate harmony in the midst of disorder.
beauty is already apparent every day i n Vermont. i don’t have to spray it on me,
wrap it around my neck or purchase it at Filenes jewelry counter.
it can be upsetting to go places. they speak to you too…
