Moretown
Vermont is so streamlined and beponded that it has (if you count both banks of every stream) uncountable miles of shore line. The tourist in Vermont passes by and over brooks and rivers at every turn.
Charles Edward Crane, “Let Me Show You Vermont”
My road trip begins on a sunny October day with an amble south down Route 100B. It's easy to miss Moretown, the center of which on first viewing is just a stately town hall and a big curve in the road.
But on closer inspection, afforded by a quick turn-about and a drive back around the bend, the village of Moretown reveals an intimate charm. It boasts two dignified churches, a clapboard library, the general store, and a very charming gazebo.
The main fact of Moretown is the narrow, boulder-strewn Mad River, seen just as a glimpse from the car as it crisscrosses the highway. But though narrow, the river was central to the development and history of the town. During the 1800's, the Mad River provided the productive energy for lumber and grist mills, power plants and creameries. Then one rainy November day in 1927 the river flooded and brought to Moretown and the rest of the valley sudden death and destruction.
In 2011, Hurricane Irene swelled the Mad River again, with devastating consequences for the village of Moretown (check out the photos at the end of the linked article to see the destruction Moretown suffered on that August day.) 200 homes there were badly damaged, the main road through the village destroyed, and 1,200 acres of farm and pastureland covered with water—all from the force of unprecedented rain swelling the streams that feed into the narrow Mad River.
Over the next decade, Moretown “built back better” and also, like other Vermont towns in the wake of Hurricane Irene, has looked for ways to have a more resilient, safer relationship with the rivers that flow through their centers—for example, rather than straightening and bottling them up, letting rivers meander into flood plains.
But on this warm and sunny day the Mad River runs placid and low, and reflects back to me the red and orange of autumn maples. Maybe I’ll stop my wandering for awhile, climb on a big rock on the steep bank next to Route 100B, and take a long look into quiet water.
