Venturing into unfamiliar territory today, the girls and I unexpectedly found ourselves on Horn of the Moon Road, and then crossed the dam at Wrightsville Reservoir. One of the beauties of living in Vermont is there’s often no one else around, so we simply stopped, abandoned the car, and walked along the narrow road, each side sloping steeply, covered with rocks.
My older daughter and I reminisced about when the reservoir had been nearly drained empty, and, conversely, when the water level had risen so high that trash lingered in the treetops for months.
On this giant earthwork, we were amazed at the work man’s hands have done, so much sod and rock moving, the immense depths of concrete and steel. What a different view of water today. All summer, my daughters and I have swam and canoed in clear lakes and remote ponds, and then today: the rugged vision of men enacted on the land. Tonight, reading van Gogh’s inimitable letters, I remembered how much van Gogh taught me as a writer: to look, and look, and not to be afraid to take in everything. More pieces of the evolving puzzle.
It is looking at things for a long time that ripens you and gives you a deeper meaning.
— Vincent van Gogh