Quiet old Vermont, where there's time to tie a fly

December 17, 2006|Checking in, Patricia Harris and David Lyon, Globe Correspondents

QUECHEE, Vt. -- Is there an old building in New England that hasn't been placed on the National Register of Historic Places? Sure enough, when we reached the front door of the Quechee Inn, one of the ubiquitous bronze plaques proudly proclaimed that it had joined that august company.

To be fair, the old farm, surrounded by majestic trees and white rail fences, borders on the iconic. The original portion of the boxy white clapboard inn was built in 1793 by Colonel Joseph Marsh, the first lieutenant governor of Vermont. He chose a prime spot along the Ottauquechee River to erect what neighbors called his " baronial mansion."

Whatever airs Marsh might have affected, he ran a working farm, growing wheat and corn and cutting timber. The land continued to provide for its owners and successive herds of Jersey cattle well into the 20th century. In 1960, when a dam project on the river threatened the much-expanded home and outbuildings, the owners moved the structures up from the banks and resettled them on terra firma created by leveling the upper meadow. The main house and a later addition were temporarily separated by the move, but only a half step between sections betrays the traumatic split and patching. Fifteen years later, the property became an inn.

Our room, No. 11, was on the second floor of the original home. Wide pine-plank floorboards grown amber with age set the tone. The walls were painted a subtle beige, and the king-size bed was laid with a beige and rose floral coverlet. Each of the two wing chairs in front of a pair of windows was flanked by a good reading light. Dark wooden furniture -- a small desk and chair, low dresser (topped with TV), and night tables -- completed the country decor.

The large room had been created by joining two smaller rooms, which explained mirror-image bathrooms on opposite walls, each with a somewhat worn wooden vanity and sink and a combination tub-shower. The single walk-in closet was roomy enough for two.

A long second-story porch overlooks the property, but by early November we were more interested in the downstairs lounge where hot drinks and cookies are set out every afternoon and taciturn portraits of early Marshes adorn the mantel above a brick fireplace. Even without the glow of the fire, the barnboard walls, brick floors, and beamed ceiling give the room a rustic warmth. Overstuffed couches and chairs grouped into gathering areas fill the large space. Early in the evening, we eavesdropped on a business meeting as it dissolved, watched a youngster learning to tie flies (a fly - fishing school operates on the property), and endured an impromptu out-of-tune piano recital as a couple waited to be seated in the dining room.

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