“Great. If you want, Jett here can steer your car while we pull it. It gets a little tricky in the snow. You’re welcome to hop in the tractor with me. Or you’re more than welcome to drive your car. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
I looked toward Jett. I’d probably be teaching him in my class if he lived in Stanton. His light-brown hair was partially hidden underneath a black beanie, his hands stuffed casually in his coverall pockets and a shy smile on his face. I immediately felt right at home with him. Teenagers were my favorite. “Maybe I’ll let Jett bring my car in. He looks like he might know what he’s doing.” He smiled, a flush rising across his cheeks at the teasing challenge, and he took my keys.
A few minutes later, the men had a thick chain hooked up, connecting my car to the tractor. I climbed the steps of the tractor and settled in next to Jack Taylor. It smelled faintly of hay and dirt. Christmas music played softly in the background. For a while, I kept turning to check on my car but quickly found there was nothing to worry about. It was clear that I was in very capable hands.
“So, Olive, huh? That’s not one you hear too often. I’m guessing you get some interesting nicknames. Like carrot or broccoli?” The man gave me a cheeky smile. He had one of those personalities that you couldn’t help but smile along with him, even if the joke had run its course over the past twenty years. More specifically, the past nine months, but who was counting?
“You could say that. Lately Celery Stick seems to be the most popular.”
He laughed. “I like it.”
“So, what all do you do here at The Lodge?” I asked, motioning toward the large red barn and a handful of other wooden buildings looming in the distance. “I’m guessing it's not just open for Christmas time, right?”
He tugged at his hat, his hand steady on the wheel as he plowed the other half of the driveway. “No, we farm about two thousand acres. We do hay and grain for our cattle. We make our own cheese and sell it locally around Vermont. We have a small dairy where we milk our own cows. You might say we’re a jack-of-all-trades type of operation.”
“I love that. Did you start this place?”
“No, my dad started it about fifty years ago now. Of course, it was just a small farm back then. Times were tough for quite a few years, as you might expect. But slowly, we kept adding to it, and then our luck really changed when we opened it up for tourists. Ten years ago, we built the village of cabins, and it’s been a lot of fun ever since. We have all kinds of different programs, depending on the season. But my favorite is Christmas time. All the farm work has slowed down, and we can concentrate on just feeding our animals and making Christmas special for our guests. It’s a pretty great gig. Now, enough about me. What do you do for a living, Olive?”
“I teach English to high schoolers.”
His face lit up. There was something so familiar about him, but I could not put my finger on it. “Well, isn’t that something. My son is an English teacher, too. He’s coming home tonight.” He suddenly eyed me, brimming with mischief. “You dating anybody?”
I gave a startled laugh, ready to tell him no when I remembered. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I am.” I’d better stay consistent.
At his disappointed face, I added, “Should I be on my guard? Is he as charming as you?”
“Eh, he does alright for himself. He looks just like me, though, so you know he’s a handsome son of a gun.” He shot me a sly grin.
I laughed. Jack then busied himself with showing me all the points of interest.
“That big red barn is where we milk the cows by hand twice a day. Once at 7am and then again at 5. You’re welcome to come and watch or even try your hand at it anytime you’d like. Around back are the stables where we have about a dozen horses. Let us know if you ever want to ride. That big wooden building in the middle is the lodge. That’s where all your meals will be and any other group gatherings. During the day, we have lots of crafts available and movies to watch, and we hold the Christmas dance here.” He pointed toward a group of small buildings lining both sides of the cutest pretend Main Street I’d ever seen. “That place is open twice a day and will serve you free hot chocolates, coffee, or an ice cream cone.”
“Ice cream? In the winter?”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Well, now, maybe I ought to reevaluate my initial view of you. Any visitors at the lodge need to appreciate ice cream in all the seasons.”
A grin split my face. “I assure you, my freezer is full of Ben and Jerry’s at this very moment.”
He laughed a deep rumble as he clutched his chest. “Attagirl. Don’t you scare me like that.”
I re-focused my gaze out the window, still smiling. This was one of those surprising moments when I found myself completely at ease with someone in a matter of minutes. It didn’t happen to me often, but when it did, I was always blown away by it. What was it about people like that? How did they give you the feeling that you could be fully yourself, no holds barred, and that you’d be happily accepted? The dark cloud above my head at my arrival had evaporated into a light, contemplative gray as he continued to point out different buildings and recount funny stories about farming. Deep in my little baby Scrooge heart, I could see the magic of this place. I could feel it from the pride in Jack’s voice. It was like a picture perfect little Christmas village in a snow globe. Next to the tiny ice cream shop, there was a small building boasting a sign that read General Store. Squinting closer as we passed, I saw the sign in the window stating the four hours each day that it was open. A small white church with a steeple sat across the street, with a sign out front boasting that all were welcome. Each building was snow-covered and had Christmas lights strung along the outside, and wreaths hung on every window in sight.
“You know, with the exception of this humongous tractor, it feels like we just stepped into a Thomas Kinkade painting.”
Jack laughed. “Good. That’s the goal.”
He nudged my arm and pointed a couple hundred yards down Main Street. “That’s where all the guests stay. We call it the village.”
Roughly fifteen cabins were littered around the base of the tree-covered hills. They weren’t in any linear order but seemed scattered in more of a circular manner, giving each cabin a more secluded feel as opposed to being directly across the road from its neighbor. The cabins were different sizes, but they were all constructed from rich, dark wood. Chimney smoke rose up to greet the sky, lending a sense of warmth and coziness to the atmosphere, and like the rest of the buildings in this charming place, wreaths adorned each of the doors and windows.
“Wow,” was all I could say.
Jack circled back toward the barn and stables sitting on the other side of Main Street, past the general store, and parked the tractor. He stood and leaned forward to open the door for me to exit.