Once Upon A Blue Moon

I’m an unapologetic Vermont chauvinist.  I have a big deep love for this state. 

How do you describe something as visceral as love?  There’s the clinical explanation; the dumping of adrenalin into the bloodstream, ramping up respiration and heightening senses to animal intensity.   More genteel and esoteric ways of describing love have been examined in songs, poems and books celebrating amour, countless perspectives that illustrate a simple truth:  love is best described by the feelings it evokes.  Like now.

I’m sitting alone on a high lonely place, watching an enormous orange moon rise behind the Greens.   The Sturgeon Moon, the Full Red Moon, the Green Corn Moon and tonight a very special blue moon, the second full moon of the month.  August absolutely rocked.  It’s the best month of weather I can ever remember experiencing and tonight it’s coming to a spectacular firework finish.  It’s after 8PM and it’s nearly 80 degrees.   A sirocco wind gathers the sparks of my campfire into sinuous braids, twisting them out into the darkness.   I’m unaware of anyone else’s existence.  No traffic noise, no house lights.  There’s just my fire, the night sounds that surround me, the silhouette of a distant mountain ridge and an indescribably beautiful orange blue moon.   I admit it, I’m smitten, I’m a goner.  Please, don’t let it end.     

I love Vermont with all my senses.  I treasure the taste of native trout cooked over a wood fire, the smell of fresh mown hay in a high meadow, the feel of sparkling new powder under a snowboard, viewing the sweep of autumn wilderness from the fire tower on the summit of Glastenbury Mountain.  I love it with everything I am, stretching seven generations long from a hazy, distant past to now, this time, this place.  Fortunately, there’s room on my ledge for everyone.

Life’s currents have carried me away from these mountains at various times in my life.  The occasional eddy has allowed me to drift back home.  Now, once again I feel a quickening in the water, the need to push out midstream to navigate towards an unknown future.   But, that’s tomorrow’s business.  Right now, at this moment I feel extraordinary. 

I’m comfortable knowing that it won’t matter where I go, I’ll always have tonight.  I watch the moon climb.  My blood races, my senses alive, my thoughts sublime.  It must be love.

The Real Deal

                

Beginning this year, the Maple Leaf Half Marathon has amended its name to honor the man most responsible for resurrecting this Manchester road race.  In the beginning, if memory serves, the Thomas family began the yearly tradition of the Maple Leaf back in the 1970’s as a humble celebration of running and of this region’s spectacular fall foliage.   It didn’t take long for the race to become wildly successful.  I participated in several Maple Leafs during the 80’s, along with hundreds of others, including some truly elite runners.  The course was magnificent, looping through Manchester and the valley of the Battenkill, shadowed by the frontrange of the Green Mountains to the east and the Taconics, anchored by imposing Mt. Equinox to the west.  The hardwood leaves were in autumn transition, providing an inspiring backdrop for runners from California to Kenya, places where Vermont’s seasonal progression must have appeared something akin to magic.  I’ve run many races in many places, but, for me, nothing touched running’s essential soul like the Maple Leaf.

Despite the race’s many strengths, the number of entrants steadily decreased, ultimately abandoned by world class runners for events offering greater rewards.  For several years the Maple Leaf went on hiatus, before resuming as a race primarily for locals, nurtured by the love of area runners.  Enter the passion and promotional skill of Jay Hathaway.

Jay was a recidivistic entrepreneur.  Like all such, he knew failure as well as great success, but was never deterred or openly discouraged.  His crowning glory may have been Peltier’s Market in Dorset, which, under his creative ownership, became the quintessential country store, a reference from which to judge all others.  Jay was his own best point person, a brilliant one man marketing campaign, greeting resident customer and distant traveler, alike, with joyous enthusiasm.  If he couldn’t make you feel better and put a smile on your face, your heart and your face were Dorset marble.

The intersection of man and road race occurred when he became the director of the Manchester and the Mountains Chamber of Commerce.  Jay participated in all manner of outdoor activities including rollerblading, biking, water sports, snowboarding and running.  He always understood that our region may be fueled by tourism and retail, but at heart we are a community that lives and plays outdoors.   He remembered the glory days of the Maple Leaf Half Marathon and spent considerable energy rebranding the event, finding sponsorship and promoting it as a premier race, worthy of elite participants, without ever losing sight of its local popularity.  Under his leadership the race grew and prospered, recapturing the excitement of decades past. 

Jay passed away three years ago, shortly following the Maple Leaf, which by all accounts, had been another smashing success.  His death touched virtually everyone in the area who knew him as family, friend, mentor, colleague, shopkeeper or just as a friendly familiar face.  I’ve never meet anyone more comfortable in the presence of others, more devoted to his community, more giving of person and spirit.  Whether you liked him or not, and there were those who questioned his sincerity, he remained a man supremely confident in who he was.  How many people like that have you ever met?  I would often refer to him as the Mayor of Dorset, a man known and truly respected by all, which in the final accounting, is a much more important legacy than popularity.  It didn’t surprise me when I learned at his funeral I was only one of many who considered him mayoral material.

I had many dealings with Jay over the years, but one rises above all the rest.  Following one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, the extremely hostile takeover of my first business by my partners, Jay took the time to care for my bruised ego, restore my battered psyche and provide wise counsel as I emerged from the wreckage.  He was never too busy or preoccupied to offer his support which ultimately got me back onto my own entrepreneurial arc.

It is appropriate that the Maple Leaf Half Marathon is now and forever connected to the memory of Jay Hathaway.  Both transcended the ordinary and the expected, both overcame adversity to emerge even stronger and both are, and always were, absolutely and emphatically the real deal.