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A Time of Quiet Wonder

A Time of Quiet Wonder

A Time of Quiet Wonder

STORY BY Reid Bryant
PHOTOGRAPHY BY Brian Grossenbacher

A Time of Quiet Wonder

STORY BY Reid Bryant
PHOTOGRAPHY BY Brian Grossenbacher

A Time of Quiet Wonder

STORY BY Reid Bryant
PHOTOGRAPHY BY Brian Grossenbacher
‘‘

Each year, a certain autumn day breaks and slips over the Connecticut River, covering the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont with morning light. It is the beginning of a reunion for me. It happens on a weekend in October, when the leaves are radiant and still on the trees, and the sun spreads westward through all that color, coating the land like spilt maple syrup. Each year I return to see it, driving east to make a homecoming. I leave my in-laws’ house in the crackling cold and stop in Eden, Vermont, for coffee and a cinnamon doughnut, at a store where bear hunters buy tins of chew and dairymen scrape their boots on the mudroom sill.

Over Eden Mountain, the road turns down and the coffee is weak but hot; it scalds my fingers when the washboard dirt road shoves my rear tires toward the ditch. On the east side of the Lowell Mountain ridge, the stars shine brightest, and I know I’ll be meeting that advancing day in the scrub edges of the sleepy countryside ahead. There will be dog bells and scratched hands and sweat-stained shirt collars, and everything I’ve waited for since the last bird season closed, a long nine months ago.

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ARTICLES FROM THE OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 2015 ISSUE
Life in Bronze

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This month’s cover photo of the German shorthaired pointer was taken at Pheasant Ridge by Terry Allen during our June-July 2015 feature coverage of Ferrari. As we traveled to Pheasant......

Bertuzzi Gullwings

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Bertuzzi shotguns have the unique design characteristic of ali di gabbiano, Italian for “the wings of a gull” as the sideplates spring outward like wings, revealing the lockwork inside. ...

Stealthy Ghosts

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Judy Balog, who owns and runs Silvershot Weimaraners in Michigan with Jerry Gertiser, has owned Weimaraners for more than 20 years....

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A Time of Quiet Wonder

Each year, a certain autumn day breaks and slips over the Connecticut River, covering the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont with morning light. It is the beginning of a reunion for me. It happens on a weekend in October, when the leaves are radiant and still on the trees, and the sun spreads westward through all that color, coating the land like spilt maple syrup. Each year I return to see it, driving east to make a homecoming. I leave my in-laws’ house in the crackling cold and stop in Eden, Vermont, for coffee and a cinnamon doughnut, at a store where bear hunters buy tins of chew and dairymen scrape their boots on the mudroom sill.

Over Eden Mountain, the road turns down and the coffee is weak but hot; it scalds my fingers when the washboard dirt road shoves my rear tires toward the ditch. On the east side of the Lowell Mountain ridge, the stars shine brightest, and I know I’ll be meeting that advancing day in the scrub edges of the sleepy countryside ahead. There will be dog bells and scratched hands and sweat-stained shirt collars, and everything I’ve waited for since the last bird season closed, a long nine months ago.

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