In Vermont’s remote Northeast Kingdom, two acres of mystery
On a far corner of my farm in northeastern Vermont, there’s a 2-acre patch of mystery land.
The timbered lot is abutted on three sides by my property and on the fourth by a serene body of water called May Pond. With a sharp eye and time to kill, you can locate rusted iron survey “pins.’’ Otherwise spruce, birch, and dense puckerbrush seamlessly conceal the deeded boundaries.
It’s more picturesque than dramatic — except for several glacial boulders thrusting from the dark water a few feet from shore.
Once, a girl named Svetlana perched on the largest and imagined herself a water sprite, a winged pixie of ripples and depths.
Once, a man named Wassily — an exile from Bolshevik Russia, spinner of economic theories, lover of ballet, ardent trout angler — dreamed of building a rustic dacha on the land.
He never did. But he did win the Nobel Prize.
Not that I knew any of this.
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