October 25, 2021

Somewhere between here and there, on the outskirts of a quintessential New England town, nestled between fog-drenched hills, lies Liberty Hill Farm. I came across this hidden treasure while Googling, ”Where in New England can I milk a cow?” Allowing the internet to perform its magical algorithm, within a split-second Liberty Hill appeared on my browser, complete with a website, reviews, and images of a charming old farmhouse, surrounded by wobbly-legged calves. After a couple of quick correspondences with the owners, I booked a weekend getaway, promising hearty food, old-fashion hospitality, and all things farm life!

Within a few pleasant hours drive, literally ”over the hills and through the woods,” we pulled down a twisting gravel drive, marked by a vibrant hand-painted sign, LIBERTY HILL FARM, A Vermont Family Vacation. A grand red barn, displaying its original refurnished cupola, complete with a cow weathervane perched atop, made us feel as though we had stepped back in time. Constructed in 1780, it is currently home to Bob and Beth Kennett, the farm’s fifth owners, having purchased it in 1979.

Piling out of the car, we were greeted by a surround-sound of ”MOO-OOOs,” a well-mannered, black barn cat, and the pungent smell of livestock. Surprisingly, the odorous aroma didn’t put a damper on our hunger, as we had arrived just in time for supper.

Luggage in hand, we stepped onto the wide front porch of the picture-perfect farmhouse, framed by black wooden shutters and a silvery, old tin roof. Once inside we were greeted by Bob and Beth, Bob in his recliner and Beth cheerfully buzzing around the kitchen with dinner preparations nearing an end. We were shown to our rooms on the other side of the inn, the kids setting up in the yellow and blue floral room with four beds, and Dave and I across the hall in the white and blue wallpapered bedroom.

Dinner was served promptly at 5pm. As the other guests and families gathered ‘round, a banquet was laid out before us by our gracious hosts. Resembling a Thanksgiving feast, one after another of delectable dishes were placed on the table: cooked-to-perfection roast, fresh salad, steaming homemade rolls, a cheesy vegetable casserole, potatoes, and locally grown cranberries mixed into a gourmet broccoli salad. (Notably many of the dishes shared a common ingredient – cheese. We soon learned Liberty Hill is part of the Cabot dairy farmers co-op and Beth’s recipes have been featured in the Cabot Creamery Cooperative Cookbook, along with Gourmet magazine.) As we took each other’s hands and bowed our heads, Bob led us in grace, and I couldn’t help but imagine us as illustrations in a nostalgic Norman Rockwell painting. Finally after every bite had been savored, chocolate cake had been sampled, and evening coffee had been sipped, we headed off to bed anticipating what tomorrow would hold.

The next morning we were greeted with a hearty breakfast that was just as delectable as the dinner we were served the night before. Luckily our “farm vacation” didn’t include chores at the crack of dawn and guests were allowed to sleep in. After breakfast, dressed in raincoats and mud-boots, we followed our tour-guide Asia, daughter-in-law of Beth and Bob, to the milking barn. As we stepped into the barn (and I mean carefully watched “WHERE” we stepped) the ladies-in-waiting were lined up in their stalls, some already halfway through the milking process. Asia introduced us to their fine black and white Holsteins, naming off a few of her favorites, and gave us a thorough education on the ins-and-outs of operating a dairy farm and the journey a glass of milk takes from cow to jug. We even stopped by the maternity wing to visit with the expectant mothers who were due to give birth any day!

And then…what I have waited for my whole life…I MILKED A COW!

I don’t know if the husband and kiddos got as much enjoyment out of their milking experience as I did, but ever since I can remember, I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO MILK A COW! I realize, what a silly thing to want to do, but such a simple task filled my heart with so much joy! (On a side note, I later had the epiphany that I literally spent my time off work as a labor and delivery nurse to hang out with a bunch of pregnant and nursing mamas, just the four-legged kind.)

Upon exiting the barn, we then made a beeline for a row of roughly 20 pens, each holding a young calf, not more than a couple days old. Feeding time had just begun and a frenzied and impatient ”MOO-ing” could be heard from almost every pen. Gigantic baby bottles, each containing 2 quarts of milk, were distributed among the guests. For the next 45 minutes we had the ”utter” pleasure of bottle-feeding those adorable four-legged babes. Each little calf sucked down its breakfast like it was a few meager ounces, except for one that had to be coaxed. But that’s ok, he was a newbie and quickly got the hang of it.

With the bottles empty and the morning chores completed, we spent the rest of our day moseying around the farm and visiting nearby attractions. The kids swung on the tire swing, we took a walk down to the retirement pasture, and then we curled up in the living room, warming ourselves after the autumn drizzle had chilled us to the bone. Dinner was soon served and all the guests sat around the table conversing and sharing stories as we filled up on more culinary masterpieces.

Tuckered out from an eventful day filled to the brim with memories and check marks off the bucket lists, we all climbed into our beds, exhausted. In the morning, we were awoken by the savory smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen and creeping underneath our bedroom door. With our bags packed and bellies full, we said goodbye to our amazing hosts, but not before purchasing a Cabot cookbook first.

When I originally made our reservations for Liberty Hill Farm, the description promised, “A getaway from the daily hustle and bustle, bountiful breakfasts, and family-friendly chores.” Not only was my every expectation exceeded, but we left with a greater understanding and appreciation for our nation’s farmers and the dedication they pour into their life’s work.