Valentine's Day

Vermont is a magical state. The people are warm. The buildings are historic. The wine is homemade, the sweaters are handknit, and the roasted chicken led a pleasant life of green grass and sunwarmed caterpillars. Everywhere you look, if you're paying attention, there's something to smile about.

Heart-shaped doilies and mini marshmallows, ready for festivities.

Aforementioned roasted chicken, simmering in the soup pot.

Husbands holding babies, and wearing hearts.

Wives also holding babies, and wearing hearts.

Enthusiastic folks young and old, bravely strapping on their skates. I took mine for a spin, as well, and quickly came to the conclusion that I'm no better at skating than I was the last time I tried, eight years ago.

Warm feet, fuzzy mittens, a cup of hot chocolate by the fire. The snow began to fall, fluttery and romantic, perfect for Valentine's Day.

As the light began to fade, everyone came inside for soup and bread. I brought a loaf of my favorite bread, and Monroe approved. The kid does not hold still. When you're two, there's just too much to see.

Shortly, the guitars came out. Like a magnet, the music drew everyone into the living room, close to the woodstove. A banjo and a mandolin joined the circle, and we sang the Carter Family, Gillian Welch, and the Weavers songs for a few dreamy hours.

There's nothing more intimate than sharing songs with new friends, nothing more seductive than a warm woodstove on a cold night. And scribbledy, handmade hearts from your new two-year-old crush are the sweetest kind.