Not long ago, in October, I wrote about the closing of some of my favorite places in my little corner of Vermont.

Sherman’s Store, a fixture in Rupert (one town over from me) for generations, closed after more than ten years of serving the area. Sherman’s, like most of the remaining country stores in Vermont, was more than a place to pick up milk, bread, and beer. It was a place to have dinner on Friday night. It was a place you could sit and see the community wander in and out. The first few years I was in Vermont, most of the people I met here, and got to know, I met by sitting in a country store and writing over a cup of coffee.

At about the same time, Pawlet Station, one town over in the other direction closed. I ate breakfast at Pawlet Station most every day they were open. It was, in effect, my office. I’d come early in the morning and write and work on marketing/PR or do research for clients over some of the best coffee in the area. The Station went through three sets of owners. The menu and hours kept changing, but most mornings when I was in town, I would be there, sipping on some really fine coffee (the one thing that stayed the same through all the owners was great coffee.). Being more than a regular, being a fixture also gave me a chance to meet people in the community, make friends, talk over heart-things.

Both failed. For different reasons perhaps, but they failed. And with their failures, part of the community died. In rural areas like Southwest Vermont, there aren’t a lot of gathering places. A store or a small restaurant become more than a place to grab something to eat, they are our come together places. Lives are shared there. News is caught up on. Schemes are hatched. Hearts are touched. It happens because it is in these places we gather, and we sit and we stay and we share.

They are our places. And the assumption is that anyone who is there regular is “one of us.”. Conversations happen because of that sense of “us”. Conversations that have no other place to happen, except these small bastions of community.

And when these kinds of places die, something in the community dies. That common space. That place that is “ours” is no longer. Take enough of them away and there is no “our place” to be had. We become scattered. The bonds weaken.

Generally, once one of these local places dies, they don’t come back. In my almost seven years here in Vermont, I’ve seen a host of these places go under. None of them returned. The buildings lie empty, wasting away with rusted “For Sale” signs on them.

But not always.

Sherman’s Store has been bought. The new owner has invested a lot of time and money in fixing the building up. He’s slowly getting his licenses for the things you need to make one of these places go – licenses for cooking food, for selling alcohol, all of that. He’s fixing up unused rooms, one to be something of an antique store, another to be a community meeting room. It’s slow work and far from finished, still, he’s opened up and you can come in, have a cup of coffee or cold drink and wander around, watching the progress week to week. If you do, you’ll likely run into a neighbor doing the same thing. Slowly, community is returning.

The Station has been bought as well. The previous owner leased the building. The new owner, Amber Hamilton is going all in, buying the place and starting anew. Amber brings a unique background to her work. Originally from Oregon, she has spent time as a Lumberjack (or as she puts it, “a lumberjill”), garnered a biology degree, learned to be a chef, created a TV program about cooking for animals. She already has an award-winning restaurant in Manchester, with great food, an upper crust clientele and established a reputation. But at the Station (Now called The West Side Station), she is building something new. A community restaurant that offers both classics as well a chance to taste some new and adventurous (and from what I have tasted, crazy favorable) things. . Amber wants the Station to become a community place, A place where community and fine food are served together, as well as a launching pad for other things – a local TV show perhaps, and a program for teaching young people the joy and confidence and taste that comes from learning to cook.

So, against all odds, and having done nothing to deserve it, we here in my little corner of the world have a second chance to embrace these places and embrace their contribution to community. Local people are investing their money and their lives. They choose to live here because they love this part of the world, this corner of Vermont with its eclectic mix of old hippies, lifers who have farms and small businesses, artists and craftspeople, sophisticates and weekenders from the big cities  It’s a combination you find in few places and it works. But it works best when we come together. And that’s what these re-openings offer. A place to come together.

Will we? I have no idea. Maybe I am wrong, and the idea and importance of community, real community in our lives, really is dying away. Some would say so, replaced by megastores and web forums with all their anonymity and distance.

But I don’t think so. I think we’ve let community get away from us, distracted by the glitz and promise and (at times) cheapness promised by all these substitutes. We fall for the myth that we have to fill all our time with doing, whereas community is more about being and sharing with each other. My experience is, when I bring people to these places, when we see and more importantly, when we feel community in our lives again, the importance of it comes back to us. We remember the feeling of being important because we are a part of something.

Often, we don’t know how much we miss something until it is gone. That’s been the case both at Sherman’s Store and here at the Station (I am writing this in the corner booth.). They died and we mourned. Now they are back, bringing with them a second chance. I hope we’ll take advantage it. And I hope, where ever you are, that you find your own places for community, and support them will all your hearts and presence.

It’s important. And you’ll benefit as much as the people who have invested in creating those places to gather and be.

Be well. Travel Wisely,

Tom