My husband Evan and I headed up a dirt road on Stannard Mountain in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont in search of a house we had rented for the summer to escape New York City in 1980. We had with us a little Welsh terrier puppy that we had just acquired and en route we had settled on a name for her—Teg, which means beautiful in Welsh.
As we turned the corner onto the steep driveway we caught a first glimpse of the house built of weathered hemlock blending into the landscape with an upper and lower deck that provided 180-degree views of the Green Mountains. Inside we were greeted by a large, black chef’s stove set on a floor of Mexican tiles, and we knew immediately that this place had been created by someone who loved food and the land. As the late afternoon sun cast a Vermeer-like glow on the rough wooden interior, we also knew instinctively that it was to be ours. Fortunately, its owner wanted to sell.Next: Read More »