Quarries, Dog Greetings & “Long May You Run”
Growing up in Vermont, farmers markets weren’t even on my radar. As a high schooler running around Rutland County, I certainly wouldn’t have cared! I don’t remember stepping foot in one until many years later as an adult. Now, they feel like the very pulse of a town, especially in a place like Dorset.
Dorset has a way of pulling you back across the seasons. Every time I visit, it reveals a completely different side of itself.
Spring: Butterfly Season
On April 18th, that unmistakable early spring feeling hit—that irresistible pull where you just have to be outside, knowing the absolute best of spring and summer are lying right ahead. Dorset in early spring wakes up with a light, fresh energy, where everything feels wide open and full of possibility.
I put together a quick video set to "Butterfly Season" to capture the magic of that spring day—a scenic loop taking in Dorset, Mach's Market, and down into Manchester.
Late August: Quiet Waters, State Park Stamps & Quarry Thrills
By late August, Dorset’s energy shifts to the water. On August 21st, I spent a quiet morning at Emerald Lake in East Dorset—a spot I return to often for photography because of how serene it stays. With no motorboats allowed, only canoes, kayaks, and paddle-boats glide across the glass-like water while the little island sits in total peace. I even brought along my Vermont State Parks Passport to get my Emerald Lake stamp!
On August 30th, I stopped by the Dorset Quarry. It was late in the season, so it wasn’t nearly as packed as a blistering midsummer afternoon, but a few people were still swimming and leaping off the marble ledges.
Watching them took me straight back to growing up in West Rutland, where our spot was Chapman’s Quarry. The water there was impossibly deep, and honestly, I shudder to think what was swimming under us! I was always a naturally anxious kid, perfectly content jumping off the lower wall—about 15 or 20 feet—which was more than enough thrill for me.
But the boys? They loved the "high wall"—a sheer drop of 35 to 50 feet—and some would even climb onto the old building perched above it to jump from there. To make matters worse, there was a jagged piece of marble jutting out in the water down below. You had to make sure you cleared it, and as more boys jumped, the building edge got slick with water. One slip could have ended tragically. I don’t remember hearing about anyone getting seriously hurt, but I worried constantly. Naturally, my boyfriend at the time—who later became my husband—was one of those thrill-seekers jumping off the roof. How did a naturally anxious girl end up marrying such a risk-taker?!
Late September: Dogs, White Houses & Market Songs
By September 26th, autumn had firmly taken hold for the Dorset Farmers Market. Dorset is such a quaint, immaculate little town—there is certainly money here, and every home along the main road seems painted in pristine, classic white. One of my absolute favorite houses in the state sits right here, tucked beside the golf course, not far from the magnificent stone front of the United Church of Dorset.
The market morning was pure perfection. It’s wonderfully dog-friendly, and half the joy is watching the pups greet one another while their owners strike up easy conversations as the dogs say hello. On my way in, I stopped to chat with the police officer directing traffic. When I said good morning and we talked about what a gorgeous day it was, he smiled and said something like, "Not a bad job to be doing today." I couldn’t have agreed more.
As I was heading out, I paused when local band The Young Codgers struck up Neil Young’s "Long May You Run."
I stopped right in my tracks to video them. Standing there in the cool autumn air, hearing that melody drift across the green, a wave of nostalgia and pure, overwhelming gratitude hit me so hard I almost cried. It was one of those rare moments where you feel completely present, overwhelmed by the perfection of the morning, and just deeply, genuinely happy with where you are in life.
Farmers markets weren’t on my radar as a kid. Now I get it. They really are the pulse of a Vermont town, and sometimes they hand you a song you didn’t know you needed.
Long may you run, Dorset.
251 from the 802: Dorset Across the Seasons
