Recalling the road trip of a lifetime
October 2025
by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
This is the time of year I usually take a week of vacation to travel. What better time than October?
It is my very favorite month of the year. It’s just so blessedly beautiful, no matter where you go or whatever direction you gaze. I bet if you looked out your windows now, you’d say to yourself, “Gosh, it’s a gorgeous day.”
The sky is a special shade of what must be called “October blue.” Brighter, more intense, than any other time of year, I often think.
I won’t be taking a vacation anywhere this year, but that doesn’t mean I can’t relive one of my most memorable getaways. I took it with the woman who was usually my most-preferred companion: my dear late mother.
She had a perfect name for it: a busman’s holiday.
So where were we headed? Vermont. We were driving. We had no true idea of just how far Vermont is from Virginia. We figured we’d “swing by” Niagara Falls on our way. I still laugh when I think of that.
Our first stop was Connecticut, where my father’s family lived. We stayed in a big, marvelous house where my cousin, Janet, and her husband, Bob, lived. It was in a very posh neighborhood. Mom and I felt luxurious, but rather out of place.
It would take a whole column to tell you the wild tale of me setting off their panic alarm by mistake. If you want to read it, it’s in my book. (Purchase information is available at the end of this column.) Short version: the police came, the neighbors dressed in tuxedos for a party came to gawk, too. And I, in shorts and a T-shirt, hollered, “We didn’t know! We’re from the hills of Virginia!”
After Greenwich, Conn., we ventured to Janet and Bob’s “getaway” in Stratton, Vt. Bob had helped develop a ski resort there, and they had a huge cabin. It slept 16 comfortably. And, boy, were we comfortable.
As I recall, we did a lot of shopping. We bought wonderful sweaters and shoes. We went to the famed Vermont Country Store, and it was a wonderland. The workers at the resort were kind enough to start up the chair lift and give us a long ride to the top, where the views can’t be described in words.
We spent a lot of time driving around, looking for covered bridges (found some of those) and moose (saw none). We went on a hayride. We had one of those proverbial “times of our lives.” On our drive back to Virginia, we stopped in Stockbridge, Mass., and spent lots of time and even some of our “leftover” money at Norman Rockwell’s house and museum.
I don’t recall how many days our busman’s holiday took altogether, but I know that the memories will live with me forever. We left one gorgeous autumnal clime for another — and, gee, what a great idea and time it was.
To order a copy of Margo’s “A Party of One,” call 540-468-2147 Mon.-Wed., 9 a.m.-5 p.m., or email [email protected].
