All because of a train trestle

The cross-country move was stressful enough. So you can imagine my dismay at arriving in New Hampshire, tired and pregnant with complications, to find that the house we chose to rent (site unseen) was a disaster. Yes, we should have known better, but we were worried that we wouldn't find anything. It isn't cheap to stay at a hotel with a 2 year old and an oversized labrador retriever for a few nights let alone the weeks it might take to land a house.

It wasn't just the pet-stained carpets or dog hair all over the curtains. The house was dark, damp and had a creepy basement. And it turns out that Grantham, NH, was an even smaller speck on the map than we thought ... and much farther away from the other specks on the map that dotted the route into Lebanon, NH, where Aaron was to begin work. It would have taken about a month to get rid of the cobwebs and another month to find a grocery store nearby. I couldn't imagine myself in the dead of a New Hampshire winter--eight months pregnant and most likely on bedrest--being stuck in this brown and beige box in the wilderness. Scenes from Stephen King's The Shining were flashing before my eyes.

So, while my son napped in the car (and I cried), Aaron drove us around looking for a real estate agency so we could find another place to live. At this point he realized that losing a few thousand dollars in security deposits and rents was cheaper than dealing with an unhappy wife for one year. So, we had made it back to Hanover where we thought we would have the most luck finding an agency and before we knew it, crossed the Ledyard Bridge into Vermont. We landed at a RE/MAX office in Norwich, Vermont whose agent just happened to put us in touch with a woman back in Hanover who just happened to find a listing for a rental house back in Vermont that ... yes ... took dogs ... but ... no ... didn't have pet-stained carpet. We were there!

The view from this small house, just a short distance up a wooded, hill is amazing. From the kitchen and living room is an unobstructed view of the Connecticut River and one can watch--depending upon the time of day--everything from motor boats to canoes and kayaks to the Dartmouth Crew team pass by. The opposite bank is New Hampshire, a virtual mirror image of the Vermont side, and it is sparingly speckled with quaint, but impressive houses sporting private piers and boat docks. Route 5, the road that runs in front of the house along the river, is quite busy, especially in Summer. It carries locals to and from town as well as vacationers who are traveling up the state and probably choose it for its scenic value the same way visitors to California take Highway 1 as opposed to faster, but less interesting interior routes when driving up the coast. What's more, the house was really well built, complete with wood floors, a "winter garden" and newly tiled bathrooms. I remarked how fun it was that we would have a woodshed too, thinking that we could jokingly threaten to send misbehaving children (or husbands) to it for a little behavior modification. Apparently it wasn't all that funny since woodsheds really do get used to store wood in the winter. A little fact I forgot since I still had California brain and had only been in Vermont in the summer.

I wanted to take the place on the spot, but we did the usual walk-through and made small talk with the landlord. We learned that the house had been built for the ex-wife of a local farmer who, upon divorcing the woman, parsed up some land and built this home just for her. The landlord bought the property from the farmer once the ex-wife passed away. I thought, how appropriate! It seems this little house might just have been built to passify disgruntled women. I am certain that Aaron could have managed to make it work at the Grantham house, creepy basement and all, to save our much needed three thousand dollars!

And then, Isaac chimed in. I didn't understand him at first, but noticed that he was pointing to something outside the living room window. "A Choo Choo Bridge!" he shouted. And there it was ... an old, red train trestle, just like some in the Thomas the Tank Engine videos we had been watching ad nauseum during his Choo Choo Train phase (which has not yet passed, by the way). It is literally smack dab in front of our house above a leg of the river that spills under Route 5 and forms a large pond just up the road from the house. That sealed it for me. Isaac would have his very own Choo Choo bridge.

But as my mother always says with her brand of German optimism (an oxymoron, I know), "The zing you vorry about zuh most usually never happenz." And, well, she was right. It was just a couple of weeks later that our new baby boy passed away in the womb and I realized that I wouldn't have to be stuck in Grantham on dirty carpet and painfully pregnant. Instead, I would grieving the loss of my son, Jason, which was far worse than anything I could have imagined happening to me in the wilderness of New Hampshire. And while I am not over it, or sure that I will get over it, I thank God that we accidentally crossed the river into Vermont that day and happened upon this little house on the Connecticut River because there is no place I would rather be right now. And while Isaac doesn't know that he almost had a little brother, he does know that everyday ... three times a day ... a Choo Choo train ... one of his favorite things in life ... passes by his house. And the look on his face everytime it happens is healing.

In fact, just a couple of weeks ago, Aaron took him for a ride on the Green Mountain Railway, an old fashioned train that only operates in the summer for tourists and local parents with train-obsessed toddlers. One of the first moments of true joy I experienced since my loss was running outside to wave to my husband and son as they passed by our house on that train. I will never forget the image of Isaac's Thomas the Train hat waving out the window to me as the train crossed our trestle and I watched from the deck of our new home.