Charlotte Park & Wildlife Refuge

How to get there: Drive north on Route 7 till you reach the blinking light in Charlotte. Turn west (left) as if you were headed to the Essex ferry (this is "Ferry Road")…but as soon as you reach the General Store at top of the hill, turn right onto Greenbush Road and follow it north for about a mile…look for a parking area on the right shortly before the railroad tracks cross the road. Trails extend north and east of here, climbing the hill that eventually offers spectacular views of Lake Champlain, Adirondacks & Green Mountains (same view you admire driving to Burlington on Route 7.

  Long before the arrival of the first French Settlers in the 17th century, the Abnaki people were living and working in the Champlain Valley in Western Vermont. From hunting game in the expansive forests which covered the landscape, to taking fish and mollusks from the lake, and even as farmers of maize and other grain crops, the Abnaki were intimately connected with the land. But theirs was not solely a utilitarian relationship. The Abnaki appreciated the beauty as well as the bounty of their surroundings, and wove this understanding into their cosmology. According to Abnaki legend, Odziozo, The Great Transformer, created the world and all that inhabits it. When he was finished, he rested and transformed himself into a giant boulder; so that he would always have something pleasant to look at, he chose to place himself in the most beautiful spot in the world. This boulder, known today as Rock Dunder, still sits in Lake Champlain, in the waters just south of Burlington. A few times a year, offerings of tobacco are left on the rock so that Odziozo can have a good smoke while he takes in the rolling ridge of the Green Mountains to the east, or the rising sun as it glints off the lake to the west and sets the Adirondack mountains ablaze.

Today, long after the Abnaki lost their ancestral land, the valley has been transformed. The lush forests of pine and maple have been logged and replaced by counterpane fields of cropland and pastures, which are now being criss-crossed by paved roads and overtaken by sprawling suburbia. What endures--for now, at least--is a reasonable facsimile of the former view. While it was the seemingly limitless amounts of fertile soil and the potential to create acre after acre of open pasture which first attracted farmers to the valley, it is the sweeping vistas which today beckon the new wave of settlers to Vermont.

But as houses and cars proliferate, the open land that drew them dwindles. New houses crowd the hilltops and swarm on ridgelines. What good is a house in Vermont if you can't see at least one of the scenic mountain ranges from your bedroom, dining room, bathroom?

The preservation of open land, however, benefits not only those whose houses overlook rolling fields and trees; it benefits everyone who drives past these expanses--or, better yet, walks through them. Not to mention, of course, the animals who find refuge from the roar of sport utility vehicles and the crunch and grind of bulldozers in the shelter of protected marshes, hills and trees.

Recently, one such piece of land has been preserved: a 290-acre paarcel was donated to the town of Charlotte in 1999 by the Demeter Fund (Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest), a private foundation created by Steven Rockefeller. As the city of Burlington grows, the landscape surrounding it has become more and more dominated by plots of single-family homes; farmers have begun to discover that it is more profitable to subdivide their cropland than to continue eking a harvest out of it. Sensing the imminent loss of the rolling fields and scattered stands of trees which form the traditional Vermont landscape, Rockefeller became determined to acquire some of what land remained undeveloped on the southern outskirts of the city. Although the fund owns land in Charlotte on either side of Route 7, so far only the western half has been designated a park.

While the purchase and preservation of this parcel has protected a significant section of the spectacular view of Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks available from Route 7, the town has taken further steps to make the land accessible to pedestrians. To reach this enclave of non-development, travel north on Route 7. Turn left onto Ferry Road, take your next right onto Greenbush Road and drive for about a mile. On your right, marked only by an inconspicuous sign, is the small parking lot for the Charlotte Park and Wildlife Refuge.

From the first moment your boot settles down into soft wood chips, it is obvious that a great deal of thought and care have gone into creating this trail. The path leads you through a forest of slender trunks, mostly silver birch, before following the slope of the hill down into marshland. Do not worry about puddles or quagmires, though; thick planks of pine, their edges carefully beveled, have been thoughtfully placed over the particularly--or even potentially--muddy areas, held firmly in place by iron spikes. And where streams wind their way across the path, even more elaborate precautions have been taken. Bridges of faded gray wood, carefully weathered, span even the most paltry of trickles.

As aesthetically and orthopedically pleasing as all of these trail features are, their greatest success is in removing the trail from the walker's constant thought. When your feet are free from the threat of ruts and snags, your eyes are allowed to look up and take in the surroundings. And so you move with attentive pleasure over and around piles and hills covered in brush and scrubby trees. Occasionally, a narrow trail will part from the main route and disappear into the underbrush. Without a map available, it is safest to stick to the main trail, clearly marked by its careful landscaping.

To the side of the trail, mixed in with the reeds and scrub, are a number of narrow stumps, their tops coming to finely chewed points. But there are no dams visible in the streams, and, on second glance, the cuts appear quite old. So maybe there are beaver here, and maybe there are not. Maybe their ponds accumulated layer after layer of silt until they were too shallow to be practical, and the beaver moved on. Maybe they were driven out. Maybe they are watching me from behind the next bend in the stream. Whether there are beaver here or not, however, the park must certainly be home to other kinds of animals.
The path turns to the right, and a giant oak looms up from the brambles to the left. In the winter, with its branches bare and twisted, this tree appears forbidding. But it is alone, flanked only by a few narrow birches. A forest of these skeletal oaks would be intimidating, menacing; alone, though, it appears grand but also somewhat sad. A series of horizontal planks nailed to its trunk, leading to a platform of a few planks in the crook of a branch, however, hints that perhaps the scene here is different in the summer or autumn. And the makeshift deer stand, which is clearly much older than the trail, brings back the image of the faint paths spied earlier heading off into the brush. Clearly, this trail is not the first trace of man in this landscape. Rather, we are led through a dynamic and changing countryside.

A short ways beyond the oak, the trail bends again and doubles back on itself. To the right, a wide field tilts gently up to the ridge. Ahead, through a thick copse of trees, a bright coat of schoolbus-yellow jumps from the walls of a small house. Perhaps the yellow compliments the bright, thick greens of spring and summer; right now, though, it makes an odd contrast to the drab browns and duns of winter. A drainage ditch follows the right side of the trail, lined with faded red sandstone rocks the size of bowling balls. The trail itself is no longer comprised of wood chips, but has shifted, somewhere back down the path, to small pebbles which crunch underfoot. Nothing has been left to chance here.

Emerging from a thicket of narrow trees beyond the yellow house, the trail begins to climb a gentle slope. A solitary tree stands sentry on the ridge, saved from the farmer's ax--for what? To provide a shady spot for lunch on a sweltering August afternoon of threshing and mowing? It now plays host to a handsome wooden bench, faded to the same light gray as the wood of the bridges in the marshes below. Taking the somewhat forceful hint and easing onto the contoured slats--although the walk thus far hasn't particularly called for rest--it becomes clear why this bench has been placed precisely here. For the first time, Lake Champlain is visible over the trees. Looking forward, the expanse of grayish blue water stretches from the left to disappear beyond the frame of vision to the right; beyond its narrow ribbon, the jagged peaks of the Adirondacks, snowcaps gleaming, fade in and out of the haze. One is instantly reminded of the Abnaki legend. And one instantly can understand why so many people are so eager to build homes on this ridge.

Continuing on and gaining the crest, the trail affords a glimpse of what appears to be a normal view of a typical Vermont farm; a short gravel driveway extends beyond a red barn and farmhouse to connect with Route 7. After a moment, though, the oddity of the situation sets in. Positioned as it is on the ridge, the farmhouse should command an impressive view of the valley and the lake it contains, not to mention the mountains beyond. Astonishingly, someone--perhaps even the same farmer--has built a rather large barn smack dab in the way.

For farmers who work these fields, then, perhaps a panoramic vista is not all the location has to offer. And who cares if the mountains, which loom constantly in the background throughout a day of work in the fields, are visible from the dining room table? Far more important is that something block the bitter winds which whip off the lake and blow straight up the valley. And so the barn is sited to provide a windbreak for the house, notwithstanding that it blocks a million-dollar view.

And, lest one forget that this is still a working farm, the trail soon bisects a field whose frosted ditches and plowed furrows wait only for the spring thaw to once again leap into action. Part of the Demeter Fund's easement provided that farmers could continue to use the land, so long as they used progressive farming techniques, designed to ensure that the land will be useable and livable far into the future.

As the trail winds across fields and through small stands of trees, more benches periodically appear, always facing the most impressive views. Eventually, the trail works its way off the ridge and back down the hill. Swinging left and then right, the trail intersects itself just before the oak tree. The lake and mountains have disappeared behind the trees by now, but you are soon reminded that an incredible view is not all that this park has to offer. Compared to the sweeping-but-distant grandeur of Lake Champlain, the simple intimacy of a gurgling stream is quite charming. As you lean against the rail of a bridge, gazing down into the ice-fringed pools of a brook, memories of majestic mountain vistas are swept downstream.

The creation of this new Charlotte Park has ensured that the view will be protected; more importantly, it has preserved a complicated dynamic between natural and human forces. This is not a wilderness area--it is much too late for that. The hand of man is bluntly visible all around--from the careful trail work, to the fading footpaths, to the fields and houses not so very well hidden behind thin stands of trees.

Perhaps the best that we can hope for is that this park can provide a moment of quiet interaction with, and contemplation of, the environment in this place of enduring beauty.

By Peter Morgan