The most frequently asked question we hear at the Colonel Williams is “what is the wifi password?” But running a close second is the inevitable: “is the house haunted?” Short answer – yes. We actually live in a 250-year-old haunted house. I wasn’t really a believer in such things, but over the past few years there have been several weird – and frankly unexplainable – goings-on here. Guests tell us stories: some with vivid, terrifying detail and others that are, well, not loquacious and told on their way out the door. In the much-missed (at least in our house) Victorian tradition of telling ghost stories at Christmastime, I’d like to tell you about our latest incident. (If you are interested
“How in the world did you decide to move to Vermont and run a B&B? From Austin?!?!?!”
Welcome to the #1 question asked of us. The basic answer is pretty simple: we needed a change, Vermont offered a big one, and here we are. The truth – the whole truth – is a little more complicated.
Enter: Hermione Gingold, British actress extraordinaire, who has had a far greater affect on my life than even I realized. You probably know her as the indomitable Madame Alvarez from the classic musical “Gigi,” or as Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn in “The Music Man.” Star of stage and screen, her career spanned almost 80 years. But I digress. (You should definitely read more about her …
250 years ago, Colonel William Williams moved his family from Massachusetts to the still-new town of Marlboro Vermont and to the land that houses the Colonel Williams Inn today. The house and barn were constructed from trees felled on the property – which is kind of cool to think about. We have some trees that escaped and are now more than 300 years old. History vibrates through each foundation stone.
So – it’s pretty cool living in such an old structure. I thought that I’d give y’all a peek at (what some people think) is the creepiest part of the house: the basement. In the original section, the field stones – also probably from the property – were simply stacked …
“So how do you like the snow?” is usually the first question our hardy New England neighbors ask when they find out we’re from Texas and inexperienced in the art of winter survival.
“We love it!” is the stock reply. “Texas is just so hot, that the cold and snow are a great change.”
When they express skepticism, we follow up with “Well, we don’t have to commute, so that probably makes a difference,” or some other apologetic phrase. “If we had to drive in it all the time, we’d probably have a different opinion.”
Which is utter BS. I DO love the snow (well, OK, I don’t love driving in it). I love the endless variation of blues when …