Building a Killington Dream Lodge, part 19
By Margeurite Jill Dye
I loved spending time in Killington without schedule or deadline after my college graduation. Our friend Ann took us to the Strawberry Festival and Vermont State Fair. My favorites were farm animals, 4-H entries, the petting zoo, and maple creemees. Being in Vermont reconnected me to nature and made me feel happy to be alive. Little did I know my upcoming travels would lead cross-country and back to Vermont…
Mom and Dad were hauling used cabinets from New Jersey to our upstairs kitchen and bathrooms. Sinks and toilets were also brought up. The water wasn’t connected yet but some furniture from our New Jersey basement were brought up and put in place. Stunning views of Pico and Killington could be seen from our upstairs great room. It was exciting to imagine living upstairs which, I hoped, wasn’t very far off.
The son of Grandpa’s law partner and his friend stayed with us briefly in Montclair after hitch hiking across Europe. At breakfast they mentioned, “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like a ride west.”
“Why not?” I thought and packed some clothes, grabbed my ski parka, skis, boots, and poles — 24 hours later, we arrived in South Dakota so I could spend time with my grandparents.
They moved from their house after Nana broke her hip. She was a gifted poet and artist and a retired teacher. I promised her I’d write poems and paint. My grandfather recited clever verse, wisdom and humor that made me laugh. He was a popular lawyer and statesman whose father started a South Dakota newspaper and founded the Populist Party.
Mom bought me a Trailways bus pass to visit family and friends across the West from Nana’s sister in the Black Hills, her brother near Los Angeles, Mom’s cousin in Oregon, my Mormon cousins in Utah and Idaho, to Dad’s Navy brother in San Diego. Friends from Schiller College were also on my tour in Eugene, Oregon and Phoenix, Arizona at the Thunderbird Graduate School of Global Management.
My friends’ friends took me to a squatter’s camp on Mexico’s Gulf of California to spend a weekend. Next, we camped on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim. I spotted a poster for the Harvey Girls (said to have populated the West) so I asked to meet Fred Harvey in the employment office. Everyone laughed then explained, “Mr. Harvey’s been dead for 70 years.”
They hired me as a waitress in the Bright Angel Lodge, with dormitory housing and meals at low cost. I bid “adieu” to my Phoenix friends and “hello” to Kristi, my very hippie California roommate and her Siberian Husky.
A Nebraska farmer and cowboy named Dan and I explored the Canyon together. Dan got a job as a muleteer. Every seven days, I had two days off and hiked to Phantom Ranch in the bottom of the Canyon. I served meals for food and a bed in the bunkhouse. I learned to shake out my boots for scorpions.
On my 24th birthday, a U.S. Geological Serviceman invited me to cross the Colorado River in a suspended (scary) cart to measure the temperature and sediment. Two large rafts with passengers passed. Joe said “Sometimes they’ll take someone for free to help cook meals and clean.”
I asked. They said, “Yes” but if anyone complained I’d have to get off at Lava Rapids and hike up alone on an unmaintained trail, which could be quite dangerous. I was accepted and stayed with the group, but just in case, Dan rode all the way down to the river and back on a mule with another for me in tow.
The Colorado River was lower than usual in 1975, which made Lava Rapids far more perilous. We held on for dear life to not fall off into the tumultuous rushing water. Thank heavens our rafts didn’t turn over which was the greatest danger.
We traveled by day, stopped for lunch, and set up camp before dark. I helped cook, washed dishes, and made hot chocolate with boiled muddy Colorado River water. The canyon was stunning in sunlight and shade. We soaked in clear water at Havasupai Falls and explored hidden secrets in canyon depths.
A truck picked us up once we entered Lake Meade, then rode it back to civilization (sort of) on the dusty bumpy road. A father and son gave me a ride back to the Grand Canyon village in a helicopter they hired.
I was later accepted into the Peace Corps, and left for training in Colorado. When I returned to Vermont I heard of the Experiment in International Living’s graduate program in intercultural management. I applied.
I put the Peace Corps on the back burner and attended the School for International Training. Brattleboro was an hour and a half drive from my family and our Killington dream lodge.
Once again, I’d traveled afar and returned to Vermont where I felt most at home.
Marguerite Jill Dye is an artist and writer who divides her time between Killington and Bradenton, Florida. She loves to hear from her readers at jilldyestudio@aol.com.
