I moved to Connecticut many years ago, half a lifetime. It seemed a place of lost identity, and for me, that suited my wish for exile and hiding. I found work and eventually romance of a kind. I settled here, anxious to give my sons the kind of stable home I never knew, but always I felt this place was missing what I’d found in other places – an identify of its own.
Connecticut is a crisscross of highways, train tracks, and anemic cities, all aimed at giving people a way to go to other places. It sits almost equidistant between New York and Boston. It offers a straight shot to Vermont and, to a lesser extent, New Hampshire. People here traditionally talk of traveling to find their weekend. It’s been rare to hear people discuss this state as a place they purposely chose for enjoyment. Until now.
Climate change has shifted the temperatures here. Our season is now thirty days longer and the snows have moved to Spring. The storms, when they come, are violent but short-lived, and the vines flourish. There are over forty vineyards operating in Connecticut. They host tastings and music, and their venues are varied. You find traditional New England farmyards and patios set under trees that remind me of France and Tuscany.
For the first time I can recall, people talk of this state as a place worth being, and not just as a pass-through to where they wish to be.
I hope you enjoy the chapter today. Like myself, Sookie is finding those things and people that make her more at home in her surroundings.
Congratulations, Harlow Layne, on your original writing debut. Thank you, Ms Buffy, for your edits and comments. Thinking about you and wishing I could take you with me on my quest for a truly good Connecticut red wine.
All my best for your Sunday.