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In March 2013, I published the following post:

 

For a birthday surprise, my Mother had planned to take me to Stowe, Vermont where we would enjoy some nice German cuisine at the Trapp Family Lodge.

After checking out their restaurant hours online, she printed out the luncheon menu and handed it to me.

Their fare was as follows:

Soup of the day…
Green salad with pecans…
Chicken BLT…
Assorted sausages…
Grilled Cheese Sandwich…

Certainly not the German entrees that we had expected, and certainly not worth the two hours it would take to drive there and back again.

Instead, we decided to visit a little seafood restaurant right along the shore of Lake Champlain called ‘Shanty On The Shore.’

It was a three story old wooden building and as you walked across the floors they would squeak you old shanty squeaky sea songs.
The walls, tables and chairs were painted in glossy bright nautical reds and blues.
We sat at a table along the back wall that overlooked the lake with a Burlington ferry dock and marina in between.

As the entrees were placed before us, we were handed our bibs. Mother put hers on, however I passed on mine.

If this was going to be messy, then let it be so…

What followed wasn’t pretty.

We commenced to smother ourselves in butter, garlic, lemon and a lot of tasty morsels of seafood ambrosia.

By the time our feast was over, we fell back into our seats with sated delight and….
… smiled at each other.

We both agreed that passing up the Trapp family Lodge had been a good call.

Believe it or not, Mother actually had enough handi-wipes in her purse to make us presentable to the public. I felt like a kid again as she pointed out the crumbs I had missed and brushed away the coleslaw from my blouse.

It was at that moment that I was very grateful that there are some things that never change.

As we exited this sea food shanty, she turned right as she headed back to the car, while I turned left so that I could take a little walk, and enjoy a few moments of life along the Lake Champlain shore.

Maybe, I would even take a couple of pictures.

As I walked along, it was the simple things that caught my eye:

…grown over train tracks choked with weeds and grass and red with rust,
…a parked bicycle chained along a broken fence, patiently waiting for its owner to return,
…an empty parking queuing area for the Burlington ferry where Frank and I had gone through many times during our visits to Vermont.

I enjoyed every moment knowing full well at this was my final day in Vermont before heading home tomorrow.

And so ends my blog posts for this weeks journey to Vermont.

It was very nice and peaceful visit.
Thank you Mother…
Thanks for everything….
*****

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