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More Than One Tree Grows Here
More Than One Tree Grows Here
by Jill van Tuyl
We call it “Cagney’s Big Adventure.”
It all starts with this little dog with the big attitude named Cagney. Cagney, also known at one time as “Dogzilla,” was rescued off the streets of Brooklyn, NY about 3 1/2 years ago and taken to my home in Northern New Jersey. Having run an animal shelter for the last six years, I thought I was well equipped to adopt this personable sheltie. What I came to find was an animal that had been abused, under-socialized and left to the fate of the streets. She was malnourished and in such sorry shape that it literally took about a year for her coat to stop breaking off in my hand when I touched her.
Instead of reacting in a timid or frightened manner when experiencing something new or uncomfortable, she lashed out. Anything she wasn’t familiar with (practically everything), she tried to attack – including me. Why, she even tried to attack a statue of a dog on someone’s front lawn!
Today though, she is a happy, well-adjusted (well, for the most part) pup who loves to meet people and has a healthy curiosity. She still has her moments, but hey, don’t we all? My partner – whom she simply adores and who can’t believe stories about the “old Cagney” – and I now live on a working dairy farm in South Burlington. It’s a far cry from the streets of Brooklyn, but Cagney has adjusted nicely. She loves the open fields, has been seen giving some friendly glances to a few fellow canines, and is absolutely mesmerized by the cows – who coincidentally, aren’t so sure about her.
My partner and I moved to Vermont because we wanted a better way of life. What I’ve found is that people and animals are very similar. Living in a high-paced, highly competitive and populated area, people start to react just like frightened animals do. They lash out, become destructive, their “hackles are up,” and their humanity is shelved. It becomes – pardon the expression – a dog-eat-dog world. Road rage; mall rage; cell phones and pagers; doors slammed in your face; restaurant servers who won’t look up or who are simply annoyed by your presence – you experience aggression on every level on a daily basis. As if that weren’t enough, if you didn’t encounter aggression, you encounter apathy. Either way, it’s no way to live.
What made us leave the NewYork/New Jersey area was not necessarily the daily assault itself – it was the fact that we ourselves began to feel and react similarly. We were burnt out and discouraged with our jobs. We felt uninspired and angry most of the time. All of our energy was spent on battling this invisible enemy. We didn’t like who we were becoming and felt we had lost sight of ourselves.
We visited Vermont in November at the suggestion of a dear friend, and absolutely fell in love. Who wouldn’t love the Green Mountains; the blue, clear (even on an overcast day) skies; the quaint charm of downtown during the holidays; or the open land?
That’s not all we feel in love with, however. It was and still is the people. The people of Vermont helped us to rediscover our own humanity. This is not to say that every encounter was perfect or that we were living in some Utopia. For the most part, what we find is that people acknowledged us. There is a permeating warmth and friendliness here that is rapidly diminishing elsewhere. Every new person we meet seems to help us on our journey of acclimation and rediscovery.
In a very short time we have come to feel that we belong here in the Green Mountains. We are more patient, more courteous, and chuckle at those who race past us on the road. We smile when we meet people, look them in the eye, and are anxious to find ways to get involved with our community. We marvel at the scenery and bask in its essence. We appreciate and value what we’ve discovered.
We needed to return to New Jersey for a few days to take care of some business shortly after our relocation. We immediately sensed the tension, the aggressiveness, the congestion; as we got closer to our destination even Cagney became agitated. While we miss some of the establishments we used to frequent, we realized that that was probably all we missed. Isn’t it a sad commentary that upon returning to the area where you’ve spent some thirty years of your life you realize the only things you miss are a few good restaurants and a handful of special people? Driving back to Vermont we instinctively knew that our choice was right.
Our trip back to New Jersey confirmed our suspicions – we’ve come home.
Jill van Tuyl, her partner Cindy, and Cagney the dog live in South Burlington. The two women recently celebrated their civil union.