This is how outsiders visit Vermont. There are so many possibilities for idling, you tend to panic trying to fit them all in. I loved the leather-bound editions of the Rubaiyat and Anna Karenina in the inn's library. I loved the Irish knit sweater draped over a wing chair, as if this were someone's house. And I especially loved the pub, carved out of a two-story wooden barn and decorated with hunting and farming artifacts.
Dormers let in the sound of a rushing creek.
When the old wooden door silently shut and locked itself behind me, I realized this was a subtly contemporized version of the past, one with oiled hinges, thermostats, and carefully concealed elevators. I'd planned on a nap, but having seen the pub and its big fireplace, I decided to have a drink instead. The bartender with the handlebar mustache suggested a bottle of McNeill's, a Vermont ale that I've been trying to track down ever since. The World Series was on, and although the inn was nearly full, only one guest was up in the pub's TV lounge. The others were quietly enjoying bottles of Merlot, some assembling jigsaw puzzles.