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Mud Season: How One Woman's Dream of Moving to Vermont, Raising Children, Chickens and Sheep, and Running the Old Country Store Pretty Much
Ebook Mud Season: How One Woman's Dream of Moving to Vermont, Raising Children, Chickens and Sheep, and Running the Old Country Store Pretty Much
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After a getaway in gorgeous rural Vermont—its mountains ablaze in autumnal glory, its Main Streets quaint and welcoming—Ellen Stimson and her family make up their minds even before they get back to St. Louis: “We’re moving to Vermont!” The reality, they quickly learn, is a little muddier than they'd imagined, but, happily, worth all the trouble.
In self-deprecating and hilarious fashion, Mud Season chronicles Stimson’s transition from city life to rickety Vermont farmhouse. When she decides she wants to own and operate the old-fashioned village store in idyllic Dorset, pop. 2,036, one of the oldest continually operating country stores in the country, she learns the hard way that “improvements” are not always welcomed warmly by folks who like things just fine the way they’d always been. She dreams of patrons streaming in for fresh-made sandwiches and an old-timey candy counter, but she learns they’re boycotting the store. Why? “The bread,” they tell her, “you moved the bread from where it used to be.” Can the citified newcomer turn the tide of mistrust before she ruins the business altogether?
Follow the author to her wit’s end and back, through her full immersion into rural life—swapping high heels for muck boots; raising chickens and sheep; fighting off skunks, foxes, and bears; and making a few friends and allies in a tiny town steeped in history, local tradition, and that dyed-in-the-wool Vermont “character.”
- Sales Rank: #219369 in eBooks
- Published on: 2013-10-07
- Released on: 2013-10-11
- Format: Kindle eBook
From Publishers Weekly
Stimson's predictable tale of uprooting to Vermont after an idyllic fall vacation has its fun moments, including "choosing the cheese" and experiencing Mud Season, the time in early spring when "the snow opens up the hard, bare ground beneath it," but never enough of them to outweigh the plodding narrative. Initial visions of a picturesque small-town life are immediately sidetracked by the day-to-day of historic home renovations and management troubles at the "Horrible Quaint Country Store" that Stimson and her husband decide to open. Natural descriptions provide moments of serenity: "There seems to be a whole, separate world just below the snowy, melty surface." Such instances, unfortunately, are often bogged down by repetitive footnoting. Stimson's story, which concludes with bankruptcy negotiations and a promise never to buy a store again, is fraught with anxiety and missteps. More than thirty appended pages of recipes, including three pet memoriam, supply cheerier resolutions than the story commands. Such additions detract from what would otherwise be a bittersweet story, making this book far more complicated, and less enjoyable, than it should be. (Oct.)
From Booklist
*Starred Review* Get your schadenfreude ready. Stimson’s fish-out-of-water memoir is chockablock with self-deprecating, belly-laughable vignettes. Not since Betty MacDonald’s The Egg and I (1945) has anybody seemed more ill-suited to country life. And yet this born-and-bred midwestern city dweller, having run up an enormous tab at her local Vermont country store, thinks, Maybe I could run a quaint country store. Visions of herself, husband John, and their Bernese Mountain dog, Eloise, greeting delighted customers with homemade breads and soups and cozy woodstove fires eclipsed all logic. They bought the store. Which sounds ominously like the phrase, they bought the farm. Which it may as well have been in the case of this former wholesale book businesswoman who seemed hell-bent on proving she had more money and credit than brains. Naturally, first thing, Stimson rearranged the store to suit her well-intentioned yuppie sensibilities. The locals stayed away in droves. Indeed, her first customers—staid, khaki-and-sensible-shoe-wearing native Vermonters—took one look at her swingy orange and purple outfit accessorized with jangly jewelry and thought she was a fortune teller. The experience foretold a very long acclimation and heaps of hilarious anecdotes. As for this book—come for the humor, stay for the recipes. --Donna Chavez
Review
Get your schadenfreude ready. Stimson’s fish-out-of-water memoir is chockablock with self-deprecating, belly-laughable vignettes. Not since Betty MacDonald’s The Egg and I (1945) has anybody seemed more ill-suited to country life. And yet this born-and-bred Midwestern city dweller, having run up an enormous tab at her local Vermont country store, thinks, “Maybe I could run a quaint country store.” Visions of herself, husband John, and their Bernese Mountain dog, Eloise, greeting delighted customers with homemade breads and soups and cozy woodstove fires eclipsed all logic. They bought the store. Which sounds ominously like the phrase, they bought the farm. Which it may as well have been in the case of this former wholesale book businesswoman who seemed hell-bent on proving she had more money and credit than brains. Naturally, first thing, Stimson rearranged the store to suit her well-intentioned yuppie sensibilities. The locals stayed away in droves. Indeed, her first customers―staid, khaki-and-sensible-shoe-wearing native Vermonters―took one look at her “swingy” orange and purple outfit accessorized with jangly jewelry and thought she was a fortune teller. The experience foretold a very long acclimation and heaps of hilarious anecdotes. As for this book―come for the humor, stay for the recipes. (Booklist [STARRED REVIEW])
A picturesque family vacation in rural Vermont inspires Stimson and her husband to pay a visit to what they call the “Life Store” to shop for a new adventure: packing up their city life in St. Louis and moving into an old farmhouse in Dorset, VT (pop. 2,036). After taking over the old country store, they try to keep it afloat through the five Vermont seasons: spring, summer, fall, winter, and mud. But these city mice discover that country life is not exactly what they imagined. Moving the bread in the store inspires town-wide gossip. A hen in their “yuppie chicken coop” turns out to be a rooster. Stimson chases a goat while wearing a bathing suit and is forced to face the fragility of life when her family takes in lamb orphans. Mishap after mishap, Stimson compares their new life to “putting out a fire using a hose of gasoline.” VERDICT: Written with self-deprecating honesty, this memoir is for anyone who has ever gone on vacation and fantasized about staying. (Library Journal)
In her debut, former bookseller Stimson recounts relocating her family from St. Louis to the bucolic beauty of Vermont. The author and her husband John fell in love with Vermont on a getaway weekend. Years later, financially stable and in need of a change, they settled into a small Vermont town to enjoy the simplicity and beauty of the Green Mountains. That is when the trouble began, as Stimson brought in an out-of-state contractor and crew rather than hire local folks to fix her house. Then, in an impulsive moment, she bought the local country store with hopes of turning it into a high-volume gourmet shop. Though nothing really went as planned, the beauty of Vermont and its changing seasons gave Stimson solace. “There is no more naturally beautiful place I have ever been,” she writes, “and I have been to a bunch of them.” The author dramatizes the age-old conundrum of newcomers versus old-timers and the difficulties of fitting in―even if acceptance, in this case, only meant that the locals would not boycott the store after she moved the bread rack from the back of the store to the front, near the registers. Meanwhile, cats, dogs, sheep, chickens, goats and skunks traipsed through their idyllic setting, biting the minister and generally running amok. In a humorous, self-deprecating style, the author examines a variety of questions about her new life: In Vermont, what constitutes an emergency? When can you call 911? With aplomb, Stimson describes her rural Vermont setting, the changing seasons and what drew her to the state. A section of recipes―including “Lovely Fluffy Quiche” and “John’s Grandmother’s Roszke Cookies”―and the obituaries of three pets round out the volume. A quick, light book to keep around as a pick-me-up. (Kirkus Reviews)
Ellen Stimson is funny. Darned funny. And she knows how to spin a good, old-fashioned yarn. Stimson tells her tales with clear-eyed, self-deprecating humor, which makes Mud Season a breeze to read in a single sitting. (Washington Post)
Most helpful customer reviews
28 of 32 people found the following review helpful.
A Mud-luscious Narrative!
By Foster Corbin
On a vacation trip to Vermont, Ellen Stimson and her husband John so fell in love with the state that they made a vow: they would move their entire family from St. Louis, Missouri to what the author describes as the most naturally beautiful place she has ever been, and she says she has been to a lot of places. In due season the family consisting of dad, mom, three children and two dogs and a cat sold a business and house in St. Louis, packed up their belongings-- I knew I loved these folks when they moved 158 boxes of books-- and, some by air, others by automobile, made their journey and lit down in Dorset, Vermont-- according to the 2000 census-- population 2,037-- with no bill boards and no street lights.
What happens when in following your bliss, you get a lot of blisters? Ms. Stimson's MUD SEASON is her outrageously written account that never ever even thinks of being dull of all the things these novice pioneers did wrong and, yes, they did some cleverly wonderful things right as well. From making the first mistake of hiring a "foreign" contractor from St. Louis with a crew from Alabama that the Dorset townspeople groused about and apparently never forgot or forgave anyone for to purchasing a lovely quaint country store, Ms. Stimson covers it all in glorious singing prose: On the store that she and her husband John eventually labeled the HQCS (horrible quaint country store) she gushes with beginner's enthusiasm: "We would stitch ourselves into the fabric of this historic place. . . The right family could really make it sing and dance. We had that notion that maybe we could even franchise these stores out to other places all over the country, bringing a bit of Vermont happiness to folks who's never experienced this little slice of heaven." All that glitters, however, even where the fall colors of Vermont must rival the scene of the first day of heaven, is not gold. Ultimately John, whom Ms. Stimson adores apparently for good reason, the quiet keeper of the store when she is scurrying about with other employment outside the state, is about to have his own meltdown-- that has nothing to do with the mud season that the book gets its title from-- and decides that he doesn't want gas pumps any longer, or a Coke cooler or to make crab cakes on Thursday nights either.
Many of these pages will make you smile; some of them will make you laugh out loud. My favorite hilarious passage has to do with the party these modern Swiss Family Robinsons throw to celebrate their purchase of the country store. Ms. Stimson dresses out in a silky skirt and scarves in purples and oranges with lots of clunky jewelry and makeup of course (think Mrs. Madrigal in the made-for-TV-movie of Armistead Maupin's TALES OF THE CITY) and sashays up to the townspeople who show up for homemade bread, Vermont cheese and cider. Can we say clash of cultures? One by one, the women of the town, dressed in what Ms. Stimson describes as "the standard Vermont uniform, khakis and sensible shoes with a blue chambray linen blouse and some version of fleece on top. No lipstick. LL Bean" approach her and ask her if she is giving palm readings. (I have told my wonderful friends in the neighboring state of Maine, the international home of LL Bean, for years that no Maybelline has ever been sold in that naturally beautiful state. )
A close contender for funniest event has to be Ms. Stimson's encounter with the local United Church of Christ minister. Her hopes are high when on a pastoral visit, he in sync with her view of all things spiritual opines that just like her, he "'wasn't much of a Jesus guy himself.'" But as we have come to expect by now, we experience if not another physical then a figurative mud slide. Suffice to say that, just as they home school their youngest child, all the members of the family remain home churched as well.
Ms. Stimson does something else besides make you smile that may be more important. She stops you in your booted tracks with her descriptions of this Vermont she loves and convinces you that it may be the most beautiful place on God's good earth. Her description of the silence of the first snowfall: "You stand amidst the tall pines watching millions of those fat flakes fall and swirl to the ground. There is so much beauty amidst so much action that the silence is amazing. . . At first, winter is a quiet lover. And you can't get enough." Or her first seeing a waterfall ten minutes by foot from her home: "It [the three-story waterfall] was rushing fast from the heavy spring melt. I caught my breath and sat on a fallen tree. The dappled light washed and waved through the tops of the tree branches. It was the most beautiful place I had ever been." And finally Ms. Stimson on Vermont in spring: "Some of the sweetest bits about a Vermont spring are the sweet fresh greens climbing back up the mountains. . . The spring sunlight is fresh and powerful. Stand in a puddle of it and you can feel its warmth spread across your cheeks. The sunlight is a special color for about four weeks. It's a bright pale yellow, glancing off the white clapboard houses."
As I walked -- sometimes I could almost feel the mud up to my ankles-- with the author through this really quite wonderful book, I kept thinking of the word "mud-luscious," probably a word that E. E. Cummings coined for his delightful poem about spring, "in-Just-." A New Englander himself, since he was born in Massachusetts and died in New Hampshire, Cummings surely would have loved this book.
21 of 24 people found the following review helpful.
Review of Mud Season by Ellen Stimson
By Suzie Squirrel
In the first few pages I found the author witty and amusing and thought I was going to enjoy her book, however, after several chapters I began to find her nearly insufferable with her narcissistic view of the world and self serving "wit". No wonder the neighbors didn't much care for her! I skimmed the last half of the book, eager to be done with it, however, I did enjoy the parts strictly about Vermont without her persona taking over-- how beautiful it is and what kind of people live there. Read it with low expectations and skip the parts where she dwells on herself and what a "wacky" gal she is!
25 of 30 people found the following review helpful.
A boat to Canada??
By Mary Greensboro
I too was disappointed by this book. I have lived in Vermont for 27 years, and have seen many "flatlanders" come and go; I'm so glad the author didn't settle in my neck of the woods and proceed to run our beloved general store into the ground. She is beyond impulsive, clearly has no respect for any ideas but her own, nor for the few natives remaining in Dorset after the influx of yuppies like her who've gentrified the place. The final straw for me is in the last chapter, in which she and her family vacation at Lake Willoughby, in the Northeast Kingdom where I live, and "rented a big, cheap pontoon boat and sailed to Canada and back on the day of the closing. We jumped off the side of the boat and swam in another country". Quite a feat, as Lake Willoughby is a good 20 miles south of the Canadian border. Did they go to Lake Memphramagog, which is indeed partly in Canada? Just another instance of her ditsy obliviousness.
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