Paddle Reflections

Today, Phoebe took my dog out for this year’s ‘maiden voyage’ on Lake Champlain.  Keeler Bay, to be exact.  Within 30 minutes, they returned from their walk.

“Wyeth didn’t enjoy herself,” proclaimed Phoebe, adding: “The ice was crackling a lot, and you know how that sound can be haunting.”

I nodded, looking at my dog for any signs of mental trauma.  No, she was already past that ordeal and on to playing with her stuffed football.

Unsure of her footing, Wyeth takes a break to survey the situation. Photo by Phoebe.

Blame it on the holidays.  I can’t carry a tune.  I can’t sing, I shouldn’t sing … and, most importantly for all of you, I DON’T sing.

But all week long I’ve had a plethora of songs stuck in my head – from the traditional Christmas carol to the voice of Alvin (you  know, that chipmunk).

Now, as I look through my pictures from yesterday’s hunt with Phoebe & Wyeth, I’ve got yet another genre up there – the show tune.

Yup, I find myself humming to Julie Andrews and her favourite things.  Not entirely a Christmas song, I understand, but it has that warm spirit that we associate with this time of year, don’t you think ?

Without further adieu, my own first verse:

Snowflakes on noses & gun smoke on mittens,

Wide open meadows & Wyeth a-smitten,

Phoebe adorned with a shotgun to swing,

These are a few of my favourite things.

P.S.  While Phoebe doesn’t shoot with mittens on, she does wear them to and fro the field.  I was taking poetic license with that line

Wyeth on point

Phoebe walks up to flush the bird

Wyeth releases the bird to the command "out"

The close of a successful day

On point, October 17, 2011

Take the safety off

when shooting the pheasant ...

… that Wyeth ambitiously found,

steadfastly pointed

and patiently yearned for while I shouldered my shotgun …

*   *   *   *   *

Moral of the Story:

Live up to your dog’s expectations.

(or)

You gotta be able to laugh at yourself 

Photo Credit: Matthew Thorsen, Seven Days

I’m going to write this without the permission of my friend. Nor the permission of Seven Days with using it’s front cover photo.

For many of you, I suspect, you know who Mary is by the ‘press’ she’s received over the years – as entrepreneur, banker and, most notably, President and CEO of Green Mountain Power.  Every positive thing you have read about her is true- she’s a powerful, dynamic businesswoman.  I’m not going to talk about what you can ‘google’ about her.  All that stuff is out there.

I want to share with you why just the smile of her eyes or the touch of her hands can bring tears to my eyes and evoke a sense of warmth in my heart.

For me, she’s:

• The woman who marched into our little hole-in-the-wall breakfast and lunch joint, AfterNoonies, one morning and announced that Phoebe and I weren’t going anywhere.  (You see, we were trying to find a location to have a real night-time restaurant in the Islands and were just about to pack-up our stuff, and our pride, and get out of Dodge).   She and her extraordinary husband, Mark Brooks, apparently had just negotiated a deal on our behalf for our current location.  A building we had our eyes on but was, financially, beyond our reach.
• The woman who relieved me of my role of bedside companion to Phoebe when she had just come out of surgery from her tongue cancer and was placed in the ICU.  I had to get back to The Paddle to oversee a Friday night in August and was over-the-top worried about  Phoebe being left alone.   She said she’d be there, wanted to be there, needed to be there and took control as much for me, I suspect, as for my dearest friend, Phoebe.  I’ll never forget walking away, looking back over my shoulder and seeing Mary cradle Phoebe’s little, beat-up body in her arms.    With the warmest of smiles, and the saddest of eyes, she winked at me and her mere presence was larger than life.  All would be okay, at least, for that evening in Phoebe’s life.  To the day I die, I will never, ever forget that one moment in my entire life.
• The woman who politely, yet ever so succinctly, reminded me  that due dates are due dates.  Enough said.
• The woman who can walk into The Paddle, after a lengthy, grueling bicycle work-out (all sweaty and dirty) and still light up our restaurant and everyone around her.  I swear, and I often tell her, she’s even more prettier, more handsome – more “all that” – when she’s just completed her exercise.    (I’m blushing a bit but those of you who have witnessed this Mary – you know what I’m talking about!)

You know, dear readers, I’ll never forget what my mother once told me. It went something like:   If you leave this place, we call earth, with a few people you really love, really care about and who truly love and care about you, consider yourself lucky and have lived a rich life.

Well, Mom – that’s me.

Last night, I walked up to the little bar table in the corner to greet a woman I’ve never seen before at The Paddle.  Before I could barely say “hello”, she looked at me & asked:  “Are you Wyeth’s mom?”   A huge grin appeared on my face.  She elaborated that she had checked out our web site & stumbled across the Paddle Pup page where she spent some time reading about Wyeth.    Of course, I share some photos with my dog & that’s how she recognized me.

You know, life is pretty good.

I have the distinct honor of being Phoebe’s best friend.

And the pleasure of being Wyeth’s “mom”.

At least in my own mind, I have two claims to fame.

… with a dog like Wyeth, we’ll never starve.

Pointing the fly.

Pointing the frog.

Yup, she’s a hunter.  My dear friend (and Wyeth’s breeder), Jan, told me that almost two years ago.  I’ll never forget that evening when I called her up to see if I could have one of her puppies.  I had never talked with her before but I went on and on about how I’d be a good candidate for one of her dogs.   After hearing me out, she told me that she wouldn’t sell me a pup:  “I never sell to non-hunters, Mandy.  Thanks for calling …”

Wait, hold on … I was trying to catch me breath. What else could I say to convince this woman, I remember thinking to myself.

Well, it took a lot of convincing, but she finally said she would make the sole exception for me.  And, here we are – Wyeth, the “Great White Hunter” (of sorts) and me – her trusty sidekick.

Okay, back to why I started writing this blog entry.  Wyeth’s new craze is hunting the one, lonely frog that swims in her “pond”.   She’s obsessed with the little amphibian.  I mean, between every toss of the frisbee she needs to check out the pond to see if it has returned.  She even holds point when it’s hopping on land.  It’s really quite funny and truly entertaining to watch.

So, this morning I called Jan out in Wisconsin to tell her about my dog’s latest hunting pursuit.  Jan let out a little chuckle and reminded me that Wyeth’s dad, Volt, is the same way.  (It was during my first training session with Jan that I do recall Volt running around Jan’s very large, very beautiful pond looking for frogs, as well.)

"Get me outta here!" Photo taken Sept. 9/4/11 just before brunch.

So, I guess I need not be concerned.  I mean – come on, Volt was on the cover of Gun Dog magazine three years ago.   And, he likes frogs.

Like father, like daughter.

The other night I was called over to a table during dinner service.  A nice woman wanted to share something with me:

“When I die, I want to come back as one of your and Phoebe’s dogs.”

That meant the world to me.

This morning, as I was mowing “the back forty” behind The Paddle (truly, a little spit of a piece of land) I shared that little anecdote with Phoebe.  “Ahh,” she simply replied, “I feel like she’s mine, too, you know.”  Of course, I thought to myself.  I mean, take a look at The Paddle Pup page on our web site and you’ll see that Phoebe has been profoundly influential on my pup’s upbringing.    A few seconds later we both looked over at Wyeth.

Trying not to laugh, I saw Phoebe’s expression.  She wasn’t too pleased that Wyeth had her favorite golf club in her mouth, prancing around like a horse, flipping the thing in the air.

My best friend looked at me and with sort of a half smile on her face, and a shrug of the shoulders, she asked:  “Will you tell YOUR dog to drop my club?”

Today, Pheobe and I went over to our good friend Leslie’s farm for a kind of impromptu training session for Wyeth.   It was after that bird hunt we accompanied our pal back to her barn behind her home.  Immediately, Phoebe took a shining to this very unique brown and white pigeon with the softest hair on its feet.   Out came the camera so she could snap a photo of it.  Just seeing Phoebe enthralled about this little somewhat timid  (until she offered it corn) creature made me smile.   You see, I saw that side of Phoebe that I find incredibly endearing.

Next stop:  Leslie’s piglets.  Phoebe and I have agreed to help raise one so that we can enjoy it later (wink wink).  We visited the stall in the barn where these little guys call home.  Almost just as quickly as she took a shining to that bird she chose “her” pig – the brown one with the white patch on its face.  Yup, no hesitation from Phoebe.   He would be “Mr. Pig” from now on – despite not knowing its gender.

On the way home, we talked about Wyeth’s pointing, that little pigeon and, of course, the pig.    It was a nice morning we shared, indeed.

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog entry.  I’m not quite sure why, really can’t put a finger on it.  Themes, topics … thoughts come and go, fluttering in and out of my head.

Such is the case when I just took a break from updating our Paddle web site and poked my head into the kitchen.   “Boy, I need to work on my blog … any ideas, Phoebe?”  And then, it hit me like a lead balloon.  Right in front of me stood my sister, Heather, who is back helping out in the kitchen for the summer and Phoebe.  Both looking at me with their bright eyes and big smiles.

Just a few hours earlier, we had a huge thunderstorm with hail and winds that could have knocked our socks off come through the islands.  Following the brief but dramatic storm, Phoebe and Heather went outside to survey the “damage”.  I stayed inside with my trembling pup, Wyeth.  Minutes later, giggles turned into boisterous laughs from them.

They filmed their own version of an CNN iReport.  The story’s plot focused on a family of deer (our cedar deer that stand out front) and the havoc that the storm played on their existence here on this Earth.  It was a sad tale, really, of the family’s demise.

And, really, really funny.   We all laughed some more, together … like three sisters.

Years ago, Phoebe, Heather and I called ourselves “The Three Amigos”, borrowing the dance step from the movie of the same name.  We shared many giggles way back then together.

And, now, almost 25 years later, I felt that same warmth that really has always been there between the three of us.  A special bond that only three amigos could share …

I love you, Phoebe and Heather.

And for those of you who wish to see their “news report’, visit our facebook page; there are two videos – Part One and Two.

P.S.  Today, our mom would have celebrated her 76th birthday.  We miss you, Mom!

As a girl, I was always encouraged, and sometimes prodded, to write letters and little notes … thanks yous, how are yous and thinking of yous.  The “old-fashioned” way of communicating, via the United States Postal Service.  Both my parents were staunch advocates of the written word.  Having a dad as a journalist and a mom as a stickler for etiquette, picking up a pen and a piece of stationary was routine in the Hotchkiss household.

Now, with all that being said, I must share with you that, over the years, my enthusiasm for this practice has waned considerably.  Not because of the internet and email.  No, more like a shortfall of patience on my end.  And, in truth, I find myself feeling extremely guilty at times that I don’t honor what my parents instilled in me those many years ago.

I do have to confess when I do get the occasional personal note or letter – having someone actually take time out of his or her busy, hectic life to write me – I get very sentimental.  Tearful, at times.  Like I did this week …

Peter

The sweetest note arrived at South Hero’s post office for Phoebe and I on Thursday.  It was from our dear friend, Peter Voelker.  Sitting in the car, with Wyeth panting next to me, I examined the perfection of the envelope and then preceded to rip open the flap. (That impatience thing, again.) Beautiful linen-colored note card with the classic & timeless monogram embossed on the front.   A big scripted “V” sandwiched between his two other initials.  Immediately, I thought of all my monogrammed sweaters I used to wear as a teenager that mom got from Talbots.   Tears welled up in my eyes as I read:

March 17, 2011

Dear Mandy & Phoebe,

It is amazing that six years have passed.

And that you two have survived not only what life has thrown at you.  But also a very tough business as well.  You both are incredible people.  And you own a fantastic restaurant.  Have a very happy 6th Anniversary! An may the gods continue to grant you two excellent health & many more years of success!

Sincerely,

P

Peter

I immediately called Phoebe from on my cell and read the note to her.  I could tell that she, too, was touched by Peter’s little note.  Her muffled sniffle actually gave it away …

*   *   *   *   *

Our beautiful new paddle!

Peter came in for dinner last night, bringing along four friends … and a gift for us.  A beautiful ‘antiqued’ paddle from The Pottery Barn.  As soon as I showed his group to their table in our smallest upstairs dining room, I was on one mission:  to find our new lovely paddle a proper home.   I walked around our busy, full restaurant in search of the perfect wall or nook when immediately I stopped dead in my tracks.    What better place then over our front door where every guest will inevitably see it?

*   *   *   *   *

I think I’m going to be ordering myself some stationary.  I have a lot of catching up to do.

Thank you, Peter, for the card and gift … and, most importantly, reminding me how the little things shouldn’t fall by the wayside. – Mandy