September 28, 2023
Today we bought my husband’s father’s place at 462 Ridge Road in Randolph Center, Vermont. It’s a long-time family home, belonging first to my husband’s grandfather Harry H. Cooley in 1953.
The extended family gathered there, especially in summers. Barbeques on the front lawn were a tradition on August 16th, Bennington Battle Day, a Revolutionary War celebration. Other memorable times included picking raspberries, walking up the hill into the woods, cutting firewood, and visiting the horses there raised by his son Charles, my husband’s father. Horses have since become a big part of my life, having been gifted one of Charles’s horses Lexa, a Lippitt Morgan (truly a Vermont breed).
To be able to live in that house someday, with all its memories, to use the barn there that Charles built himself, this is a dream come true for me.
It’s kind of weird that it is more my dream than my husband’s desire. He cares about the house and didn’t want it to be sold outside the family, but is less passionate about it than I am. Maybe he is more realistic, maybe he sees all the work (and the money) that will need to be invested.
If the house had been given more attention 10-15 years ago, maybe it could have been restored. But even then, Charles talked about it as if it was going to be a hard thing to do. He thought the crumbling stone foundation of a house over 150 years old was going to make that difficult. Now, not only have many of the stones collapsed inwards but the sills are rotting, the floor joists holding the first floor are punky and moldy. You can still see these half-timbers with bark on them from the cellar. Some broken windows let the weather and small animals inside along with their droppings.
The house seems to be made up of two houses put together. The smaller house on the south/east side has its own separate upstairs (you can’t cross over to the house’s other upstairs section in the main house). Up there you can look up through openings in the ceiling to the roof area. There are some missing floorboards as well, where a misplaced step could get you hurt.
A large fireplace was built downstairs in this section of the house by Harry/Grampa Cooley. It was probably beautiful initially and made for a cozy sitting room, but was never quite right- with a crack developing up the middle from the heavy chimney.
The garage in the downstairs off this sitting room seems to be placed right on the ground adding to the influx of moisture. A good-sized tree is growing up next to the garage door and into the side of the house there.
Look at the lines of the house, does it have ‘good bones?’ No, sadly it does not. If you stand in front of the house looking at the north side, you will see how the upstairs has a dangerous tilt in it (away from the house).
Why do I have such a fondness for this house? I think I have seen other family members reverence for it and this has rubbed off on me. But also, it is a perfect Vermont house. White, sort of a Cape Cod style, except for a peak in the front forming an upside-down V shape in the roof for two windows to add light to the upstairs. It’s simple but just a little more interesting than the usual. When I was in college (about 50 years ago) I even made a little model of the house for a landscape design class I was taking up at UVM. I have always had an affinity for this house.
Part of the warmth of the house was due to its owner, Harry Cooley. As my husband’s grandfather I got to know him pretty well. OK, so he was older, and I was young, but I didn’t see him as old. He was really smart, like all of the Cooleys; his quiet intelligence came through when you talked to him. He treated me like an equal, not like a kid. He was interested in our lives. He discussed politics and the state of the world and his time in the domestic Peace Corps (VISTA). He visited us in Burlington and had dinner with us. I was a little bit in awe of him (the way you might feel when you are around somebody important) yet I was very comfortable too. He was unassuming and not arrogant, yet he was self-confident and accomplished. Just a cool person, like the house.
I think some of the stories, memories about life in Randolph Center, are actually about the family farm just down the road, hundreds of acres with a dairy farm where the kids grew up. These stories are mixed in for me with the house at 462 Ridge Road (since the farm was sold by the time I entered the family). The farm had a sugar house to make Vermont maple syrup, my husband, as a boy, had to feed the calves, lots of cousins came to visit and play while the women made hearty meals, homemade bread and delicious pies. This farm was also part of the Ridge Road story. When Harry was ready to have his oldest son take over the farm in 1953, he moved down to the house he bought from Sam Day- “The Day House” at 462 Ridge Road. This is the house I am writing about.
I forgot to mention the site…imagine yourself on a small hill in Vermont, you turn around to the west and see before you a spread of hills, laid out like a topographical map of the Green Mountain Range. They can often look like a hulking, hazy blue/gray color. You get treated to a sunset here as the sun sinks below those hills lighting up the clouds and sky. And in front of the hills are green fields as far as the eye can see. Kind of spectacular. My husband does always say his favorite spot for a house would be a sunset view.
Top off all of these perks with the fact that I grew up in Vermont. I went to school in Randolph. Two of my sisters and their families live in Central Vermont. My brother-in-law lives in Randolph. Many sets of cousins from both sides of the family live in Vermont. No matter what, home feels the best for most people. Where you grow up- the place, the culture, the people, all of this seems to bind to you forever.
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