Migrations to & From Vermont & Dominican Republic

It is a thing- Dominicans flying home cheer with loud, uninhibited joy as the plane's landing gears touch down. How odd it was, to clap and cheer with fellow as Jetblue flight 9 landed in Santo Domingo in August, embracing that sense of relief of being home. What is home? I asked this question many times as I flashed my cedula and fumbled through customs knowing enough Spanish to mark my return with first the left thumbprint and then the right one. It wasn't a question when Kata and I raced our luggage carts past slower compadres along the curving hallway, the first to enter the crowded terminal and erupting cheers of families. The exuberance here is unmatched in comparison to all of the places I have traveled. Marc was there yelling and jumping. He kissed us fervently and for one frozen moment in time it was all the home I needed. We drove towards the lights of ciudad Santo Domingo and the familiarity felt right but it left me wondering what I call which I have once again left behind.

Como es casa? Returning to Vermont for a transient summer was both odd and necessary. One year of urban living in a primarily Spanish and Creole speaking culture in the tropics, working at a private school could not have been more of a contrast with our 20+ years in rural, northern Vermont. We needed to see our family and friends and to recharge our spirit. Here it was June in Vermont and raining with temperatures in the 50s. I remember walking to our car, opening the bags in the back and putting on the sweater/ hat combo without pause in my conversation. Familiarity is the core of what we call home. Kata's was whisked off to be with friends as much as possible. The summer routine transpired into a check back with me and Marc every three days or so for a change of laundry, heavy sleep, some conversations peppered with grumpy angst. Then she was off again to be with those who know her best. Home for her is the friendship bonds that never untie. After a year of communing in guarded social circles of middle school, Kata could freely engage in raucous banter, and play.

It is interesting to me that I can't be at peace even in Vermont. An annual bike trip into Canada, a commune with nature, cafe lattes and croissant calls us . For years our adventures across the border counted as our foreign experience. We needed to go here when our daily Vermont living seemed repetitive. Je ne sais quoi was the antecedent to sense and sensibilities. Kata and all of her lifelong friends were excited and invested in meeting the goal of our fifth veloventure: to bike 100 miles in 4 days with nights of camping on islands of the St. Lawrence. Our crew managed to navigate La Route Verte gravel and paved pathways. We completed our last day as the forecasted rains hit; huddled at the gate of the Alburgh Border a thunderstorm came down with torrential heaviness and the girls were all hurried through as one. They handed over the passports, answered the serious questions and were safely back in Vermont exuding a great sense of accomplishment. Immediate inquiries focused on the future veloventure. I replied that instead of mileage goal they could bike and camp with self sufficiency and carrying all of their own supplies. The dramatic pause and then joyous glee was as loud as the Santo Domingo terminal. I guess when contemplating the importance of home we must consider that without goals and accomplishments- what is there really?

Our summer goal in Vermont was to spend intense time with friends and family and then to be the tourists we never made time to be in the 20 years of living here. We made a list of "nevers" and places to revisit. I had never camped in Underhill State Park was solved with a leanto for the night, sleeping beneath a swallows nest of chirping baby birds. We awoke eager to run, stagger, or hike the Sunset trail up Mount Mansfield. If only I hadn't had so much wine the night before, we could have caught sunrise from the summit. Is there regret for the libations, the skinny dip in a pond at midnight, said no one ever? The late night swapping of travel stories on a timber lodge porch with friends lifted me with the fog that rose from the exposed rock face of Mansfield. Of course, in Vermont one always meets friends along the route so we pressed on to other state parks.

Revisiting a childhood favorite site in the Groton State Park in late July between cloudy days and rainstorms was almost too picture perfect. Casual camping with family, nibbling wild raspberries and blackberries along a hike up Owl's Head was a separate peace that settled my spiritual core. Morning breezes flows down the mountains as we climb up in sweat. Timid warming of igneous rock shelves are typical of Vermont's bald mountain tops and it was again, without pause that I could reach into my backpack for the treats and the tea to sip while enjoying a sunrise view. Looking down on Osmere Pond and declaring that our next activity had to be a search and discovery of blueberries that dot the border of its tranquil waters was non negotiable. Berries accessible only by canoe are the tastiest treats.

So with the summer behind me and a second school year ahead I am ready to push forward in a better fashion. Back in Santo Domingo, Kata, Marc and I feel settled, we have a sense of familiar but are ready to take on the daily and lively unexpected thrills that this cuidad throws our way. The humidity is not suppressive, the Spanish is more inviting. I am still awkward enough to lean in with a kiss at the wrong moment of a greeting but I seem to be more at ease, addressing the señor watchman or colmado hombres with my quiero of the day. Recently we found a way to blend our experiences of North American cyclery by seizing on the ribbon cutting celebrations of the newly paved Malecón and the bike culture in its infancy. Being able to promote this activity is that much desired sense of home. On instagram, I am Dominican. And at school I say this with confidence just to hear the kids laugh with me not at me. Kata is hopping into the social scene ready to assist other newcomers to the school and her familiarity is lending to her confidence. We are home because we have each other, we have some joy and we still have room for adventure. Stay tuned.

Credits:

Whitney Kaulbach, Marc Gilbertson, Kata Gilbertson

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