When I got the opportunity to travel, I discovered that there were many places where the crush of people made it impossible to ignore the significance of the place. New York City, Delhi, Tokyo etc. Not only was there history, but there was energy that could not be ignored. But there remained a few places that for some reason filled me with a sense of "place", each time I experienced them. The North Shore of Oahu, Pont Du Gare in the south of France, Petra with it's stone edifices, the whitewashed cliffs of Santorini etc, etc. Most of all home with it's memories of people and my daily view of Mt. Hood and the Tualatin Valley.
When I first arrived in Windsor Vermont just 10 months ago, I was not expecting a "sense of place". Instead I was expecting a run down forgotten rust belt village with no future. Certainly the presence of my daughter, grandchildren and their family make it special, but I was not prepared for what Windsor exuded in spirit. With the majesty of the Connecticut River running through, the splendor of Mt. Ascutney, and the beauty of Runnemede Pond, it certainly has natural beauty. With the history of people like Maxfield Parrish, Maxwell Everts, Augustus St. Gaudens, Maxwell Perkins, etc. etc. it certainly has a rich story to tell. With the museums and structures so strikingly representative of the age of precision machine industry along the upper valley river banks, it has a proud heritage of production and contribution to the worlds progress. But even more than that, it has a "sense of place" that even as I try to capture it in words eludes me. In future postings I will more fully describe "places" in and around Windsor, but I fear that I cannot do the spirit of the "place" justice.
I don't know what the future will bring in terms of my association with Windsor, but I know it has already and irrevocably changed me. This to me constitutes a "sense of place".