I’ve been to Vermont once: on an early March day in 1990. I was visiting my then-girlfriend over Spring Break at her home in Williamstown, Massachusetts.
We spent one day driving up to Robert Frost’s grave, which, if I recall correctly, is in Bennington—about a 45-minute drive up the road from Williamstown. (Google confirms this location…but says that the drive is only 20 minutes.) I don’t remember the grave. I remember a lot of mountains, and teasing my girlfriend because, to a Colorado boy, these mountains were puny. And I remember stopping at Friendly’s for lunch. It was a calm day—handholding in the cemetery, kissing in a couple of parking lots.
Love (or what I thought love was) and sex were both new then, and having an afternoon in lovely surroundings with my first really serious girlfriend sum up my memories of the few hours I was in Vermont.