No, there is still much unmapped character left here, and I find it more interesting than studying the crowds in the subway to drift among our people, never ceasing to wonder that there is some indefinable overtone in their character which somehow spells Vermont.

Charles Edward Crane, “Let Me Show You Vermont”

Heading north out of Wallingford towards Rutland on Route 7, I saw a sign for Clarendon. Since an objective of this Vermont exploration is to try and fight my natural inclination towards inertia, I made a u-turn and drove back down the road in search of another town on my life list. But Clarendon proved elusive, and after finding the beautiful brick house with the satellite dish pictured above but no town center, I was back on the highway again driving north.

I found out later that this mysterious, hidden town of Clarendon has over 2,500 citizens, and is split between five villages. No wonder I couldn’t find it. It began as Clarendon Springs, once one of the most popular spas in the region, and the only one founded by a psychic. Asa Smith in 1776 dreamed the exact location of the healing waters right down to the details of their mineral composition. he himself was a victim of "scrofulous humor," and had to stagger a painfully long way through deep forest to find the waters of his vision. But there it was as dreamed, and a drink did cure his ailments, and another thriving resort was born.

Clarendon is graced with a collection of historical sites, including a steel-span bridge, not one but two covered bridges, and a 1914 railroad station that as of this writing is for sale, if anyone is interested in opening a charming restaurant or art gallery. And the Clarendon Springs Hotel is still here, even if the crowds of elegant vacationers have vanished. Hopefully this graceful building will live to see another century.