By Esther C. Baird, first published in the Ipswich Local News, July 30, 2023
Brace yourself, dear Ipswich and charming Hamilton-Wenham. Try to stay calm, Boxford and surrounding towns. But there is a whole world out there where cell phone service actually works … always.
No, really.
Our family recently spent a week in Europe after picking up our older daughter, who had been doing a summer study-abroad program. We went by train, rental car, car-train (it’s not what you think it is) and foot, from Rome to Switzerland, and never lost a signal. Underneath a mountain? Signal. Out in the middle of a giant lake? Signal. Hiking at 9,000 feet in the Alps? Again, signal.
But, of course, here on the North Shore, signal is “spotty” at best — let alone greater New England.
So last week, when my younger daughter and I (plus our two Bernese mountain dogs) headed over to our family camp on Lake George in upstate New York, we predictably had no signal.
We did have lots of rain.
And as we turned west into Woodstock, Vermont, we realized the rain was, as the kids say, epic. The Ottauquechee River, which in summer is more of a wide stream with large, flat rocks to stand on, was like a raging Class-V rapid. A picturesque covered bridge was on the verge of being swept away, and multiple hay bales — the giant kind that people make into giant animal statues — were rushing past us like ping-pong balls.
I tried to google the weather. I tried to look up “Vermont news.” I tried to call my husband. But, well, you know … no signal. So I kept driving west until I came to a barricade with some workmen.
“Am I going to be able to make it west to Rutland this way?” I called out.
A guy shook his head, “Not a chance! You’ll probably need to wait till tomorrow.”
Tomorrow!? I had a teenager! I had giant dogs! I had my own personal sanity. Tomorrow was not an option.
Back to the highway we went, heading further north, hoping to cross west elsewhere, when finally we saw a sign for a Vermont welcome center that included that happy little symbol that meant, “Here there be WiFi.” My daughter looked at Google maps, and I called our older daughter and parents, who were already at the family camp.
“Vermont is basically closed. There is no way across. Unless you perhaps turn around and cross west through Brattleboro.” My dad explained.
I couldn’t believe it. “I can’t believe it!” I said. Turn around? I was a road-trip warrior! I drove across states to run mere errands.
Meanwhile, our older daughter was texting my husband back in Boston, who saw the same thing tha any reasonable person (with signal) would see. The two of them began looking online for hotels … that took dogs. My daughter yelled over the speaker, “I think Brattleboro just closed. Dad thinks you may need to stay in a hotel.”
A hotel with the dogs? I’d rather sleep in the White Whoosh. Who were these people? And did they know me?
My dad came back on. “The roads are flooded. Cars are being washed away. Montpellier is underwater, and they expect it to get worse. You should try to get south and just come tomorrow.” The tomorrow option — again!
“I’m driving north!” I announced to parents, kids, and husbands alike. With no service, I could just ignore the growing reality. Plus, my passenger-daughter had just chugged an iced coffee and was suddenly seized with enthusiasm. “You got this! I’ll keep you alert by playing great music!”
Northward, ho!
But the news finally caught up to us in the form of old-fashioned emergency road signs announcing that the actual highway was closed. Signs flashed that said, “You are going the wrong way, and you know it. Listen to your family and turn around before you’re swept back to Europe.”
At least in Europe I’d get decent cell signal.
But we turned around — from upper Vermont to that glorious traveler’s paradise, Springfield, Mass. To a hotel that took dogs (which should not be taken as an endorsement).
And there, I finally got cell service — and realized we’d just have to head to camp … tomorrow.