From the forest and high wetlands above Cabot springs the Winooski River. Still narrow enough to jump across, it slips behind houses and shops along the Main Street almost unnoticed. The river broadens as it continues its way through Lower Cabot to Marshfield, Plainfield and East Montpelier. By the time it passes the Vermont State House in Montpelier it is a fully-fledged river.
“Winookski” comes from the Abenaki word "winoskitegw," meaning “land of the wild onion.”
On November 30th 2018, nearly 3000 people came out to witness the newly-carved statue of Ceres, goddess of agriculture, being lifted and placed atop the Vermont State House dome. This was the third incarnation of Ceres to stand upon the statehouse dome since 1858. “Ceres III,” as she’s known, is carved out of mahogany — more durable than the previous pine-wood statues, each of which degraded after eighty years on their lofty pedestal. They say, for the next century, this Ceres will watch over Vermont, the city of Montpelier and the Winooski River as it flows by.
I drove home that afternoon with the heart-full optimism of the ceremony still resonating. Then, somehow the promise of the new Ceres presiding decades into the future, blurred the boundary into past-time as well. The river-road path up the watershed became ancient. Trees grew and settlements vanished. Elk returned and trout flourished. In that moment it was easy to see how insignificant we are in the landscape. How tenuous our toe-hold in this ecosystem. No different than the wild onion which grows in the swales where soil and water find balance.
Yet here we are — and with work to do to find our own balance. It’s as if we have nothing more important to do on earth than to take care of each other, and to figure out what it means to be good stewards, actively grateful for our habitat.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
D.R.
Forest of my Heart
Thanksgiving day we went tromping through woods
The green man had just shed his clothes
A bounty of leaves made a blanket of gold
O’er a footing of ancient grey stones
This is the land where storms come to die
Here’s where they run out of steam
There’s nothing round here for to brighten their eye
Nothing to sustain their greed
—
It was here where our forebears said the land was good
Here we can build a new life
We’ll harness the waters to mill our own wood
We’ll sew then we’ll reap with a scythe
Though the winters are dark and winters are long
This place we’ll make all our own
And just like a lover who knows all your songs
For this place we gladly atone
—
Come bring your ponies on down from the hill
Bring them up from the floodplain
Forest of my heart and soil of my soul
Hold fast to your true secret name
Ceres come stand for a hundred years more
Ceres come watch us transform
We’re frightened and anxious like wee little babies
We’ll sleep and we’ll wait in your corm
—
The wild green onions will sprout in the Spring
And rise from the banks of the river
Let’s do something now, our children be proud
It’s time for us now to deliver
It was Thanksgiving day we went tromping through woods
Where the tamaracks beamed in their glory
If we count ourselves lucky to live in this place
Come let us continue the story
-
Music and Lyrics by Dana Robinson Cabot, Vermont - November 2018
Forest of My Heart available for download at www.robinsongs.com
