Made in Vermont

At six-thirty the next morning I was awakened by the sound of a car or truck sliding to a stop, an engine dying. I got up, peered out the bedroom window, and found a bright red pickup standing next to the house, the driver getting out. He was at least six and a half feet tall, and with the bulk of a bear. Cold as it was, he wasn’t wearing a coat, only a sweatshirt and jeans with holes in the knees. He waddled out of my sight toward the front of the house, and the next thing I heard was someone banging on the door. I found my bathrobe lying across Alicia’s bentwood rocker, and hurried downstairs. For all I knew, the house was on fire. Otherwise who would show up so early in the morning making enough noise to violently wake a man from a hard-won sleep? He grinned when I opened the door, and stuck out a hairy hand. I took it without thinking and tried not to wince as he gripped it like a lifeline. “Beau and Charlie said you was here,” he explained. Like Charlie, he was short of a full complement of teeth. Underneath his baseball cap his hair was graying, and it looked as if he had cut it himself. I asked him if anything was wrong. “Naw, I just thought I’d swing on up and innerduce myself. Handyman. Anything you need done, I can do ’er. ’Less there’s snow to plow—that’s my main job in the winter.” “Oh. Well—” “Don’t mean now, o’ course. I was just in the neighborhood.” “At 6:30 in the morning?” “Yep. Had to bring my truck over to Chet’s Garardge down on 12A, but he was late comin’ in today. You met Chet?” “No, I just got here yesterday.” “You will. Everybody around here takes their truck to Chet’s sooner or later.” “I don’t have a truck.” “You will.” “Well, uh—” I tried to think what Alicia would have done if she were here. “You had breakfast yet, Mr….” “Long time ago. I get up at four, four-thirty.” “Well, would you like a cup of coffee or something?” “Next time, maybe. I just wanted you to know I was here. I’ll swing back up in a day or two to see if there’s anything that orta be done.” He scrutinized the walls, the floor, the woodwork. “You need to have some things stained and painted. Dining room floor should have a new coat of polyurethane.” “Well, I was hoping to do a lot of that myself….” My uninvited guest choked himself with laughter. “An old house like this—ark, ark, ark—you’ll be needin’ some help, I garntee it.” He hitched up his ample pants. Standing next to him I felt like a boy again. “Well, I got to get back down to Chet’s. I’ll see you later.” He whirled around and traipsed onto the porch. I could actually hear a couple of lampshades rattle as his two hundred sixty-odd pounds stomped out of the living room onto the closed-in porch. With a bit of annoyance I called out, “Well, do you have a phone number? I’ll let you know if—” As if he hadn’t heard me, he opened the outer door and clomped onto the wooden steps. “I’ll be back!” he yelled, and turned toward his truck, which was equipped with a rusty snowplow blade. “What’s your name?” I shouted from the porch to the departing bear. He hauled himself into the ample cabin. “Booger!” he yelled. “Booger??” He backed into the turnaround. “Is that your first or your—” I watched him spin the wheels and pull away, jerking back and forth down the corduroy driveway until the old red truck faded out of sight over the hill and around the bend. The ground was still mostly snow-covered, though the crocuses rearing their heads were a promising sign of spring. Still, I was shivering when I stepped back into the living room, and I turned up the heat before going back upstairs to take a shower and get dressed for my first full day on Deer Hill.