I started taking French in the 7th grade. And by taking I mean slouching, perfecting the ACDC lightning bolt doodle on my book-covers and, mostly, flailing around with uncomfortable words like inconfortable and avoirdupois. I realized that I simply wasn’t one of those people meant to speak in any more than one language and English had, if not a head start, a smallish lead. I did, however, find that certain words held an appeal that I couldn’t understand. Charcuterie for one. It means pork products or French deli or something. And bric-a-brac which I’ve kept close to my heart since the moment I realized it actually has no meaning at all and no official translation.
I hadn’t thought much about those halcyon days until I recently came across another French word with a strange yet undeniable appeal as we prepared this summer’s magazine. Terrior. I, of course, wanted it to derive meaning from the terror family, carrying some dark, insulting gloom that I could fire off at co-workers. Unfortunately, it means a special set of characteristics that geography and geology and plant genetics combine to create. Like special characteristics that wine, coffee, and tomatoes can carry—that sort of thing. French winemakers first developed the concept of terroir by observing the differences in wines from different regions or even micro-variations from different sections of the same vineyard. This says much about both the almost artful focus of winemakers and the equally incalculable amount of down time the French appear to be burdened with. Nonetheless, it was a word that kept inserting itself into story ideas as we created this year’s travail d’amour. How about that, huh?
If it isn’t obvious that the terra firma surrounding us at Jay Peak grows things differently, one need look no further than page 27 and our interview with local Rob Conrad. Not unlike coffee or chocolate, those raised inside our fertile borders carry with them an unmistakable stamp that is as easily recognized as it is difficult to describe; our interview with co-owner Ariel Quiros on page 5 bears that out perfectly. Our story on the Green Mountain Avalanche Hockey Tournament Series (page 16) proves that ice, and not just soil, can be foundation for the ties that bind. Maybe the best option, the best hope of sinking roots that’ll hold, happens through our Raised Jay Camps (page 18); a little water, some ice, and just enough dirt to ground you; that’s what our summer youngsters get access to. In between you’ll find stories and sidebars, pictures and marginalia and enough wonderfulness, to keep you inspired. Or, as the French call it, inspired.
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