Five years ago, we began taking weekend getaways in celebration of Valentine’s Day. Last year, being new dog owners and all, we decided against going away and had a cozy* little celebration at home. This year, I wanted my Valentine’s weekend back and I knew exactly where I wanted to go: Trapp Family Lodge in Vermont.** Stitch was now a few months over 2 years old and I had secured my brother and his wife to watch him. Despite the insane hours Lance had been working from the month of November through the entire holiday season and beyond, he gave me the okay to book the trip.
*Cozy = we ordered pizza and did a puzzle together which, in itself, is a big deal because we never, like never ever, do puzzles.
**Partially because I have an inexplicable draw to Vermont and this lodge specifically, but also because I desperately wanted to hit up Cabot to buy all their butter.
There was one slight stipulation. He told me to make sure the hotel didn’t have any crazy cancellation fee should we have to cancel.
I could already picture us snow shoeing during the day, drinking hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire afterwards, marveling at the wonder of being in their outdoor jacuzzi while staring at snow covered mountains, late night reading in their lounge with a glass of red wine from Austria, and relaxing in their sun room filled with vibrant plant life.
Where it would have felt like we were if we went to Vermont in February
The power of a strong will is fascinating. It can make you read a hotel’s very straightforward cancellation notice, more than once, and gather the understanding that yes, indeed, you can cancel with only a $30 fee.
I booked the hotel, telling myself that even if I had somehow read the plain English wrong, no matter what, we were going.
By now, you’ve seen the writing on the wall. I mean, let’s be real, when a husband says, “Make sure we can cancel the week of the trip if we have to,” it shouldn’t translate to ‘We’re totally doing this’, but more like, ‘I’m saying yes, but really, it’s a no’.
In my stubborn, we-are-so-going-on-this-trip blindness, I failed to realize that the $30 cancellation fee was indeed a cancellation fee, but for those who cancelled two weeks in advance of their stay date. When the inevitable happened and I had to call to cancel, I was told we were going to lose the entire weekend. Because of work. Okay, fine, because of me.
“Can we move to another weekend?” I said in desperation to the poor guy who ended up taking my call that day, whispering a silent prayer that we could.
“Yes, we could do that, it will have to be within three months of your original date,” he said.
I scooped up the very last possible weekend and made peace with hanging up my snowshoes in exchange for flip flops.
We now were going to see Vermont in the spring. Until now, we had been there in the bitter cold of winter and the colorful masterpiece of the start of fall.
I can’t perfectly explain the draw to this place. It must be the combination of so many beloved things* all set in a place where every which way you turn you are surrounded by the beauty of nature, unhampered, let to be. We passed fields of dandelions on more than one open expanse of grass and I thought of all the dandelions in New Jersey rushed to be mowed and hidden from view.
No trip to Trapp Lodge is complete without breakfast in this little corner
I’m so resistant to allowing my plans to change that I’m more willing to stress myself out over failed plans rather than patiently wait for the unexpected to unfold. Without these changed plans, we wouldn’t have enjoyed our ridiculously wonderful pizza tour and wouldn’t have had the pleasure of Vermont in the springtime.
Next time things don’t go my way, my plan is to take a deep breath, then sit back and enjoy the ride.
Spending the day in Burlington, VT