Wednesday, June 26, 2013


   I wrote this poem about the lake I grew up near, lake Willoughby, and it's two mountains, Mount Pisgah, and Mount Hor (very odd names, we're all aware). I believe everyone has a special place that they go to, to bring peace to their spirits. We all need an escape, somewhere that we can focus on ourselves and be in our own world for a while. A place, that when you leave, you are new again. For me, it is here at the lakes two beaches. There is an energy there, that's hard to describe, but it's undeniable once you've experienced it.
  An interesting thing about these beaches, North end and South end, the North end is a secluded nude beach, the South is a very exposed more public beach. Vermont is more of a liberal free state, with less stuck up people (we still have a few people who complain about everything) than other states. I've always preferred the North end, it has natural shade from the trees and I liked walking down the long winding path to get there. There is usually less people over there too, so it doesn't become over crowded. 
  Some people aren't completely comfortable being on the nude end of Willoughby, that's fine, that means it's less crowded. And, yes it is COMPLETELY out of view from the road, and the boat launch that's right next to it. You have to go through trails in the woods, or swim out, then over, to get to it. I believe it's the only beach in Vermont that has a nude end, and it's nice to go there and not feel judged on how you look, swim suit or not.
  Enough ranting, the poem is below, I hope you enjoy it. Comment about where you go to escape from the world, I'd love to hear about it. Also, enjoy some of the pictures I have of lake Willoughby, later this summer, I'll get more and post them.


Traveling closer, to that wondrous place, memories flood my mind.
Then, over the rise, I hold my breath.

Those clear, lucid mountains are bold on the blue horizon.
Deep green trees, cover the mountains with funny names,
the steep rock faces, over look the water we can't see yet.
Those green Earth mounds are cloaked in blue gray haze;
they are still beautiful.

Traveling closer, on winding roads with hills and slopes,
I look upon the quiet Vermont town, I spent my youth.
In this hushed place, of forest, peaks and meadow,
cows graze, people garden and crows fly around.
I once, use to gaze to the west, from window ledge,
watching in rapture, the shadows pass over yonder ridge.
I watched the seasons and sunsets change the view, and still it was beautiful.

Those tall Earthly peaks, were carved from stone and ice,
and ancient, roaming ocean tides.
Here and now, lies glacial lake,
fed by ice cold mountain streams,
surrounded by trees, and rocks,
some houses too, dilapidated and new.

Energy you can feel, is in the air,
water and the trails your feet travel.
This lake, these two mountains, are home,
this is where my Grandfathers ashes are scattered,
where I go to balance my mind, cleanse my wary soul.
The magick of this place, flows deeply, in my blood.

Looking upon the place, I haven't viewed in a season or two,
my breath is taken, my heart has quickened.
Full of life, birds are singing, fish are swimming, people are laughing.
I'm captivated, yet again, by the charm,
the sense of calm, that rolls over me.

The enchantment, in the reclusive lake,
lies in the energy, the Earth exudes.
I set foot on trail of wet mire, and roots of trees, older than me,
entangled in arduous web, that form dips and craters.
The footpath serpentines, around mossy boulders and trees,
finally leading to the beach.
The course sand is hot on my toes,
the air, nippy still, in the summer heat.
The lake laps gently on the shore in slow succession.
The water is a cool distraction, to the suns sweltering torture.

The water, is more than water, it cleanses me,
it casts away the gloom clinging to my soul.
This place of healing, infuses me with creative energy,
I am fully charged, once again.
This lake I visit for well-being.

I stay all day, gazing at the mountains two,
enraptured, also, by glittering, silver, blue.
I leave late, after the moon, has cleansed me too.
I say good-bye, but only for a short time.
I will always wonder back, pulled by unseen string,
I'm attached to this hallowed ground, by blood 
and mind.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Personalitiy Testing

  How well do you know yourself, and your loved ones? I love taking tests that tell me more about myself. Though there are a lot out there that's just bogus crap compiled loosely of random information that is a broad spectrum analysis. My Dad mentioned taking a Myers-Briggs personality test (it's based off of work done by Carl Jung) and saying it helped him understand how to work with people and their personalities. So, I took it, and my result was INFJ (introversion, intuition, feeling and judgement). Out of the 16 different personality types, this is the rarest (only 1-3% of the worlds population has this kind of personality). 
Me, alone in my own world. I'm far away in my mind.

  The characteristics of INFJ is, in short, someone who; looks more at future events, the broad picture rather than detail. Prefers to be alone or with the occasional small group, needs alone time to recharge their 'batteries'. They plan their activities, conversations, and actions ahead of time. They also make decisions more on what is going on socially than logically, they're people readers and have a set of morals and values they stick to. If you disrupt their environment and insult their morals/values they will either 1) turn the other cheek or 2) unleash a fury you haven't seen before, by evaluating you weaknesses and striking them. INFJ's are also highly creative and may seem odd, and strange to other people. This is just a few characteristics.

  After reading an article about this personality type, (It described me so well that it felt as though they observed me when writing that article,) I felt less like a freak that didn't understand myself, to someone who realized they weren't alone and there was a reason why I do what I do. It really did feel nice to read about this personality and realize, this is me, I'm not just someone who's so complicated that no one, including me, understands why I do things that seem so, unusual to people. Not only do I feel understood (by people in the psych. community or someone versed in personality types) but I learned more about myself. I no longer felt like a distorted and warped person, but instead someone with a clear view of who I am.

  I had my husband take it, he is a ISTJ, basically their motto is "Only the facts, please." He may not understand two thirds of my weird, creative, crazy mind, but he does know how to handle me. We both compliment each others strengths and help each others weaknesses. Now instead of getting mad about how one or the other reacts to a situation, we can understand why they acted the way they did, and be a less pissed off, than someone who does not understand. Also it helps when either explaining or presenting something to them, knowing how their mind works so you can communicate effectively. I really do recommend taking the test and figuring out what you, and you loved ones are, it helps you to understand and communicate better, and also know the strengths and weaknesses.

Monday, June 24, 2013

My Beautiful Vermont

  So this poem was inspired while I was camping. I revised it three times before I finally felt it was ready to be posted. I wrote this with the feeling of home in my heart, you know when you think of your home and you get all the sights, smells and memories of it? That is what I put in here. I'm actually a transplant living here in Vermont, I was born in New Hampshire. I spent most of my childhood here in Vermont and have always considered it home. 
  As I was sitting in the woods the admiration that I felt for the state that had been home for so long, the beauty the way life is up here, bubbled up into a poem. Some of it's deep with a few funny bits of Vermont humor thrown in, because it wouldn't be a poem about Vermont with out local humor threaded in. 
  I hope you all enjoy this poem, and it makes you think of home. What images, smells and sounds do you see when you think of home?
My Beautiful Vermont
To this state that I call home, I dedicate this meager poem.
This place is small with mountains, rolling hills and flowing stream,
it's greener than the greenest realm.
Sunsets of vivid pinks and golds are brighter still,
against summer leaves and evergreens on the mountains and waves of hills.
For we take care to cultivate and clean the forest, meadows and rivers too;
all the places with singing leaves and birds and water filled with trout and perch.
We keep them growing with special care, for all the children we will bear.

All the people that reside in the valleys and mountainsides know these sights:
old bearded men in plaid, guiding oxen upon a wooden sled, with gentle whip in old worn hands;
A pair of horses hauling logs from the forest, through muddy trails ankle deep,
to a landing where men labor for firewood their families need for winters long keep;
roadside garden stands, alone on long roads, standing full and proud in warm harvest months,
drop money in the jar.

This is where the hermit thrush sings,
Vermont's land is our heart and pride,
for this is where tough Yankees reside.
This is where we weather nor'easters and other winter storms.
Where home smells of burning wood seeping, into the walls,
from the wood stove radiating heat, to ward away the winter chill.
Where we see wool plaid jackets, overalls- warm clothes hanging in the hall.

This state, this place is always our home, no matter where we roam,
it's in our hearts, blood and soul.
When we smell wet Earth, pine or fall,
all our memories come back, with sights of where we played,
in trees, fields and lakes, where the air is clean, and we were wild.
Children, always running, all the day and stalking fireflies in the twilight.
In all the seasons we ran, through snow and mud,
where the axes thud, splitting wood or making way.

We Vermonters know, where the maple syrup 'grows',
where minnows will kiss our toes,
and the best spots to watch the seasons as they march through.

Oh, the seasons, we have them all, from spring to winter- and one more,
mud, when the snow melts and ground thaws,
 roads sink and form deep rutts
that rattle and shake our cars.

We, and we alone know the land we use is sacred,
for all our hopes and dreams, our sweat and blood
have seeped deep into the land we cut and shape.
All our sorrows, all our joys, live here, where we're born, where we die.
To the flatlanders who want to stay,
you'll NEVER know the love we pay to this land that is our blood.
Massachusetts, you may visit, but go home,
for this is where Vermonters roam.
This place, this land is what we know, what we think
when we think HOME.