Shawno

There’s been a lot of talk about snow this year. Specifically, where it is, and where it isn’t. In Alaska, there was so much early season snow that entire towns were abandoned until spring, which, in Alaska, takes a long time to arrive. Recently, the Rockies have broken their snow fast and received a massive dumping of mid-season snow. And out East, the talk is of the lack of snow. People from the Northeast Corridor--that bright band of incandescent life stretching from Boston to Washington... Read Full Story

The other day, Chantal and I skied, and we spent the whole time bundled against the knifing wind and horizontal snowfall. Conditions were great, and we had a fine time, but when we got in the car to go home, we looked at each other and said, “I can’t wait for March!” March is the best month of the year for skiing in Stowe, and here are 10 reasons why: 1. The snow. It’s better in March. And more prolific. Statistically, March is the snowiest month of the year here in Stowe. So while your... Read Full Story

One of the things that passes for sport in Stowe is watching the restaurant scene. For me, the guy whose restaurant experience was defined by the running tab I kept at the 11th Chapter Saloon in Somerville's Union Square, this has been a revelation. That's a long way of saying I'm easily pleased, far from persnickety when I dine out. I still have to pinch myself in order to believe that someone's serving me food. Recently, two new restaurants opened in Stowe, and we broke one of our cardinal... Read Full Story

There’s a great scene in the Mike Myers movie So I Married an Axe Murderer where the father of the Mike Myers’ character, Stuart Mackenzie (also played by Mike Myers, foreshadowing his multi-character talents later in the Austin Powers movies) decries Cololnel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame as one of five clandestined super-powers (called the “Pentaverate”) who control all aspects of our lives. (The others? The Queen of England, the Vatican, the Gettys, and the Rothschilds, of course... Read Full Story

Every morning during breakfast, I play music for our guests. I don’t play an instrument; instead, I choose tunes to pipe into the breakfast room and set the mood for the morning. This is serious business, and I put much thought into each morning’s selection: the right music sets the tone for the day, reflecting more than just my own tastes. How became not only the sous chef/dishwasher/disc jockey of the Auberge and what kind of music I choose is a story that stretches back to my inappropriate... Read Full Story

A couple of nights ago Chantal and I were out at a local restaurant, invitees to a tasting of the chef’s new menu offerings. These tastings are semi-regular events in a ski-cum-restaurant town like Stowe: innkeepers and concierges from some of the swankier inns and larger hotels are wined and dined with the hope that they’ll send guests to that restaurant more frequently than they send guests to other restaurants. On this night, the food was spectacular, the wines excellent, the company... Read Full Story

I saw a friend in town the other day, and after we’d been talking for a few minutes he asked, “Are you doing any writing?” My stomach caved in on itself, which was great for my profile, but lousy for my soul. Am I doing any writing? What are you writing? How’s the writing going? All questions writers dread, unless we’ve just inked a five-book deal with Doubleday, or a sold another screenplay to Universal. Otherwise, the question provokes consternation, remorse, guilt, and hopelessness. Or, as... Read Full Story

Yesterday afternoon I was perched 20 feet up in the air, reclining in a hunting tree stand located on the corner of our property in northern Vermont. With my gun cradled in my lap, I relaxed and worked my way through a bag of peanuts I’d brought to stem the boredom. The woods were noisy with a firm breeze that pushed the tinder-dry leaves around. I unbuttoned my jacket and took off my gloves. It was 50 degrees outside. This was opening weekend in Vermont’s annual deer hunt, and it got me... Read Full Story

It's a physical law of the universe that your own customs agents are tougher on you than they are with folks from other countries. When Chantal and I lived and France and drove to Zurich to visit her aunt, getting through Swiss customs was pretty stressful, especially since we were usually smuggling in roast beef and Scotch. But coming back through into France was just miserable, and we were toting nothing then but fond memories. No matter how often we said, "Rien a declarer," we were hassled... Read Full Story

Author's Note: There are a thousand stories in the fleece-wearing North Country; this isn't one of them. There are few things more pleasurable for an innkeeper than getting away after a long stretch of consecutive busy seasons. In Stowe, we innkeepers call it “Getting the *%&# Out of Dodge.” One of the things Chantal and I love to do is escape to Montreal. Visiting Montreal is also a great activity for guests staying with us. But getting to Montreal requires crossing the porous U.S.-Canadian... Read Full Story