The Lamoille River itself pours out of the Green Mountains, destined for Lake Champlain. On its way, it moseys, bucks, and tumbles through farmland, wee towns, and forests. In Jeffersonville, where it moseys, about 15 of us have come from all over the country - Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Oregon, Virginia, Maryland - to find the perfect antidote to our harried lives in this languid current, doing nothing for about an hour and a half except to pull along in a tiny armada of canoes and kayaks, our destination a winery set high on the riverbanks.
Most of my new companions are staying at nearby B&Bs or at the resort Smugglers' Notch, where adventures, pampering, fabulous food, and frolic - all tucked into a neighborhood of soaring mountains - could easily soak up every minute of vacation without one ever needing to venture beyond its boundaries.
I have opted for a quiet log cabin at Sterling Ridge Resort in Jeffersonville, where the night is so dark that I could watch the stars undulate in the 10-acre pond next to me.
But we have miles to go (4 1/2 to be exact) before we retire to our respective hideaways. In the meantime, our guide keeps an eye on his flock of newbie and seasoned paddlers. The occupants of one canoe, a family from New Jersey, twirl their way downriver, enjoying the freedom and high humor served up with complete lack of control in a lazy current. By the end of the voyage, when their canoe swings this way and that, it's as much due to newfound paddling prowess as it is to the whim of the river. Just in time for the wine tasting.
