Introductions ( from a Hermit)

Alright, I’m not really a hermit. But am a full time online college student who earns her money as an freelance writer and massage practitioner, so it feels like I’m a hermit. Let me introduce myself – I’m Cindy and I live in the Northwest Kingdom of Vermont in a small cabin that is surrounded by nothing but mountains. I grew up in Vermont and except for a small stint as a New York City Girl, I’ve always lived here.

I’m new to blogging, but not to writing. I’ve been narrating my life in my head since I was a little girl, and from an early age my teachers saw my talent for penning musings. They tried to lay the foundation of spelling, grammar, and word usage, but alas, none of it stuck till college. And what a college! I just started my senior year at Union Institute and University, and I might be bias, but I think it’s the best college there is, thank you. I’m currently working with Associated Content to bring some of my “7 Steps for Online Learners” series to fruition – stay tuned!

Regardless of my poor appreciation for the how’s-it’s of the English Language, I still managed to win a few awards and publish a few articles. While I’m spending my academic time studying Transpersonal Psychology and Religion, I write for BrightHub.com and just entered a trial period at Urban Mainstream News.

So I’ll sign off with a little story that I use for my writing sample. I hope you enjoy it!


Growing up in a small, rural Northern New England town, I took a lot of things for granted; open fields, farms, fresh air, drinkable tap water. Travel opened my mind to places in the world that differed, and my time away from Vermont made my home coming as sweet as syrup.
So I’m back. Lazing in a cabin in the woods, soaking up the mountain sunshine, and finishing my degree. It’s time for my friends to come here if they want to see me – to stretch their legs and put on their traveling shoes.

Of all the land in North America I’ve treaded on, New York City is my favorite to return to. My partner went to college there and we lived in the Bronx just long enough to fee we could call it “home,” and of all the friends we’ve made, one boy down there slid into the category of “best.”
N.E.D. is pure N.Y.C. since birth, representing Uptown! And along with this girl, Black Rose, they pound out a hip-hop beat every week at the NuYorican. Their travels consist of their mother’s land – the Dominican, and New Jersey.

So we invited them to our cabin-in-the-woods. After the shock of back country roads and Burlington, with a population of less than forty thousand, being out states largest city, they settled into the reality of No Neighbors. None above or below them. Or within a quarter mile. They drank cautiously from the tap, asking us to explain what a well was, and our mucky pond turned into a pool – complete with snakes at the bottom and fish at your feet.
But the gem of their visit was our trip over Smuggler’s Notch and into Stowe. I played tour guide, telling them how the Notch was a great example of the independence that was characteristic of Vermonters… (Was I talking just to hear myself?) when my friend pointed out the window to a hay bail and asked “what’s that?” They didn’t understand it when we laughed.

At the crest of the mountain and just after the newly constructed Stowe Mountain Lodge there is a series of waterfalls named Bingham’s Fall's. There are pull offs on each side of the road with lots of parking and the hike is more of an easy walk on a well maintained (though often crowed) path. The water has carved breath taking pools out of rock that hold crystal clear water that drop tear by tear down Mount Mansfield. The affect is overwhelming and not to be missed.
As soon as the water was within grasp Ned was in his trunks and in the water, splashing and laughing like a child. “The water is so clear!” He yelled as he scooped up a mouthful. My stomach turned at the thought of the construction at the top of the mountain but my boyfriend was quick to remind me of the smell that accompanied a shower in the city.

When the air of travel was cleaned from the house and we were again alone with our rabbits, I felt the itch of the road, and it crept through me and out my mouth as Nick and I planed our next trip to New York. But there is something to be said about being here, and exploring small, rural towns. Sure, their not as glitzy as cities and you can’t get a good plate of Mexican food, but you can breathe the air, drink and swim in the same water, and listen to the sound of nothing.


© Cindy Marcelle 2008