Bare Feet and Concrete

The back side of the Capitol building is just as impressive as the front.

I sometimes forget that there is another world outside of the Adirondacks; one that is not green or wild. Not everyone can see the sun setting over Lake Champlain, or witness the view from atop Giant Mountain. I can.

This summer, however, things were a bit different. The vistas I saw were not painted with foliage, but with steel and concrete.

At the beginning of June, I traveled to Washington D.C., pursuing an internship and college courses. I didn’t know then what awaited me at the end of my one-way ticket, but I remember I was excited.

After the plane touched down, I took my first breath of Washington air. It was thick, heavy. I wrestled with my luggage and made my way to Georgetown University. I ogled at the tall buildings and city lights. My eyes must have been as wide as the streets. Country girls don’t make it to the city very often—or, in my case, ever.

As the days passed, I noted so many things I had never seen before (there were escalators made specifically for shopping carts!). I mastered the metro system and visited nearly every Smithsonian museum that D.C. had to offer. I saw the memorials of four presidents, and I even visited the home of Barack Obama. Everything I saw was spectacular, but I noticed that things I did at home didn’t quite translate in Washington.

A look inside the National Museum of Natural History.

Instead of hiking up mountains, I hiked up a dozen blocks to the store each week, stocking up on groceries. My commute to work was a bus ride to a metro station, and no longer a quick mile on a bike. My morning jogs migrated indoors to an air-conditioned track because of the oppressive summer heat. Formal dress was not a decent pair of khakis and a polo, but a jacket, skirt and heels. And jazz in the garden wasn’t really in a “garden,” either.

I was surprised by the supermarket’s idea of “fresh” produce, and shook my head when I called home, only to hear about everything that’s growing in our garden. Thanks, Mom.

During the eight weeks I spent in Washington, I saw so many beautiful buildings. The Capitol at night is particularly breathtaking. But as much as the city had to offer—frozen yogurt, sidewalk concerts, and a Starbucks on every corner—this country girl needed her space.

I missed waking up to see the sun chase away the fog, to fall asleep listening to the crickets’ playful chirps, and walking barefoot through a plush grassy lawn. This final piece is a guilty pleasure of mine. I could walk for hours, twisting the green blades between my toes. Let me be the first to say that going barefoot through city streets is NOT the same as going barefoot through the Adirondacks. Yes, I tried. You can be sure the first thing I did once I got home was pull off my shoes and take a stroll around the little plot I call home.

It has been more than two months since I last saw Vermont, or since my weary eyes have rested upon anything truly green, for that matter. Sure, there were plenty of little parks, but the general idea of green in the city means something that’s energy efficient or eco-friendly. One thing is for sure: I won’t be taking “green” for granted any time soon.

For eight weeks, I traipsed the streets of D.C., looking for a slice of home. I didn’t find it. Where I did find some small strip of grass, there was no quiet. I couldn’t wait to get back.

Sitting in my coach seat of a train destined for Rouses Point, I smiled as I first saw the sparkle of Lake Champlain. I was getting close.

A fountain near the Capitol.

As the car jostled back and forth, I took a deep breath and ran through the memories I made this summer in D.C. When I look back, thinking of the lights and great marble buildings, there will be no doubt in my mind that it was a wonderful experience. I really do love D.C., and heck, I may even miss it. It’s a beautiful, fast-paced place, and there’s no shortage of things to do. Though it definitely doesn’t have the small-town charm, the people are nice enough, and the streets are surprisingly clean. Will I ever go back? It’s quite possible. But boy oh boy, it sure feels good to be home.