Our family houseguests arrived late yesterday afternoon.
Before their arrival, there were the usual preparations: the tidying, of course, and the laundering of linens.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about how to make our guests most comfortable, and that trail of thought led me to Vermont and the inns we’ve been fortunate enough to guest in. Hospitality experts, all … and great role models for helping people feel at home away from home.
How do they do it?
I think it’s all about the breakfast.
Every single innkeeper welcomes you to their breakfast table with pretty table linens, fresh flowers – probably plucked from the gardens on the grounds – and hefty mugs of coffee.
Breakfast may be the most important meal of the day, but at home – it’s the meal we make the least amount of time for. I don’t know about you, but for us, breakfast feels catch as catch can … a little random, almost always hurried, and grab and go – if eaten at all. We never eat at a table, on plates, with conversation, and a tall glass of orange juice.
So here’s a sampler of where we’ve stayed and our breakfast inns-piration:
A regular point of conversation between my husband and I – weeks now after our last visit: What do you think Frank is making for breakfast today? It’s fun to speculate on the innkeeper’s specialties. Cottage cakes? Scrambled eggs with Vermont cheddar? Waffles?
We visited Hill Farm Inn years ago, but I still remember the basket of mini muffins we’d wake to every morning.
We were first-time visitors to this Yankee Magazine recognized inn last month. Every morning’s breakfast began with colorful, fresh fruit piled high and luscious.
So our guests will wake this morning to these peanut butter, banana, and chocolate chip mini-muffins. This amazing granola. Some yogurt. And piles of fresh strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries we picked ourselves. There’s coneflowers on the table and the prettiest summer tablecloth.
What’s on tomorrow’s menu?
Frank’s cottage cakes – of course
Nothing unfurrows my brow like a few days in Vermont.
We visit as often as we can.
Right about now the meadows fill to overflowing with daisies, black-eyed Susans, buttercups, and Indian paintbrush.
There’s a farm ’round every bend in the road and pastures full of horses, cows, and sheep.
Maybe there’s some sort of simplicity to be found here, a respite from other, more common complications and worries.
When I’m in Vermont I feel like my most true self. And something I can’t quite explain happens to me every single time I cross the border.
Vermont, I love you and I know you love me right back.
Peace. Love. Vermont.
one hopeful year 