Jericho’s Beauty and the Beast. Vermont Legend, Myth, Haunting and Ghost Story.

Jericho’s Beauty and the Beast 

    (In honor of my Halloween loving cousin Chris Leenhouts)

     One early dawn a man was heard moaning and crying out as she clawed him gently with her desire. Yet unfulfilled is she - as come daylight he can no longer be her prince to light her fire. Ah, but what old wives’ tale is this ye say? Well take a chair here in front of the Jericho Country Store and I will tell you the true tale of the woman who walked the streets of Jericho in 1824, searching for someone to love her eternally or at least forevermore. Some say she still walks these streets only never during the day. During the month of October, her weeping brings rain even in a drought year.

Herein is the story handed down to me as it was to my ma and her ma down the line since the early 1900s. Listen carefully so as to keep the story alive and to keep Jericho men folk accountable for the wellbeing of strangers as well as townsfolk.

A woman of unknown parts made haste to reach Jericho or so it seemed by her windswept leaf-littered hair, tattered and soiled though genteel attire her only belongings. It was 1824 in the month of October. On a day when no one took notice. Yet soon she caught the eye of a young farmer, then a bank manager, next a sheepherder, and on down the list of nearly every eligible and some not so eligible men in the town of Jericho. It was not that she sought one man or many, it was that no one man at first attracted lasted in interest, desire, or love, and soon thrust her aside as a flower first adorned, only to be tossed after one petal paled next to the rest.

She gained a reputation among the woman of Jericho as quiet, but kind in her brief spoken word, playful when children were about, always first to lend a hand when a chore needed doing, creative with a dish, danced like a gypsy and swam like a fish.

None blamed her for the lure uncast yet overtly effective at hooking the eyes of men yet incapable of netting and bringing them in. In time the register of men of avail did dwindle until came the day when no longer could she lay down her roots in the rocky Jericho soil, no longer could she announce to the men of Jericho her great piety, beauty, and many generous givings. Yet for some reason she never stepped over the stonewall at the border of town. She had entered in forevermore in 1824 seeking only love and companionship. Community she found, but love still she seeks, as the men of Jericho sleep. Her impenetrable eyes and inscrutable countenance tell little of her long sleepless walks, nor of her tethered hold on Jericho or it on her. That is until the fall of 2018.

A stalwart married man of strength of character as well as working hands did cut stone for a living and wood for a hobby. Many a creation rose from his inspirations and many did he build working up to 17 hours a day on green, white and gray stone, followed by hours sawing, fitting, nailing, and sanding pieces of wood. The stone became archways, statues of great warriors, and memorials for kids to play on in the center of town. The wood became mascots for high school celebratory burning, words of wisdom in extra large font across his lawn, and not often but occasionally firewood, for Jericho gets cold in the winter especially at night. Each creation came from some inner call; each expressed to him a need to be released, released from the block of granite firm but smooth, from the dead tree with sinewy arteries.  

One fine September day of the year 2018, this man with his blond ponytail swinging with the animation of a wound-up toy, darted about his workshop with the energy of a caffeinated sleepless and forlorn soul. No amount of tinkering, designing, or futzing would propagate the unseen. Night after night, he was drawn to something or someone he could not identify. His beautiful wife, whom he adored, lay patiently in bed wondering how long before this creation would birth. Never before had the call to be released been so strong, yet so timid in its calling. However, this he knew for sure – he must recognize the call for what or who it was, design and build what it called for and let it go without getting lost or trapped in the process.

The stoneworks during the day cruised by like melting butter, followed each dawn through the rest of September and much of October with a flurry of cuts – plain sawn, quarter sawn, rift sawn, chiseling, mitering, nailing, gluing, fitting, hammering. Like the elves making shoes at night in the cobbler’s workshop, the stone maker/woodworker worked diligently and expediently throughout the nights without nearly a mouse disturbed. Only he and his wife knew at first, what was taking shape if not taking hold in the small town of Jericho.

At some point, the pieces were too large to remain in the workshop so out into the open air they were scattered upon the lawn. The pieces seemed lighter when brought outside, as though the hard maple had turned to balsam wood. A few neighbors or passersby took brief notice of what appeared to be a giant leg, and wing, surmising another mascot finding its way out of the stone workers cocoon.

Slowly the pieces filled the yard, like a molting invertebrate that cast off its parts with no attention as to where they land or inclination as to how they might come together again.  The more the pieces or parts released the more the yearning and stirring the stoneworker felt. Even his wife began to feel the call, only for her, it felt less desirous and more like disquiet. While the stoneworker felt the fire and fury of his creation, his wife felt the deliverance and dependability within the developing framework.

At last, the day came in late October, a day filled with gentle breeze, blue sky with patches of wispy clouds, and leaves dancing with joy at their release eager to attach to a new substrate. As limbs were joined, wings attached, long neck and spike teeth-filled head raised; an eagle soared above -not a common sight in Jericho.    
           This was an omen for sure. 

The previous night had been particularly disturbing for both the stoneworker and his wife. The bedroom window rattled from pelting hail, the curtains swept up, tattered and torn leaves looked disheveled as rain roiled on the roof. Looking out the window the pair eyed the partially installed creation in the moonless night.  The rough-hewn wood transformed into a silken caravan of sorts.

The couple, each of their own accord drifted into soliloquies of reparation, release, and respite. Neither knew these cries were not just for themselves (for the effort had been long and arduous indeed) but more for the lonely nightwalker who had spent many a long night searching for a beast to fly her away from this unwanted locale. Release the beast they must for their sakes and hers. 

The next morning the beast was fully assembled, now not to be mistaken, not overlooked, not mistaken for other than what it was – a dragon. 


A fierce but not menacing creature with bold strong wings, firm-wide and secure feet, a long masculine neck, and a handsome (for a dragon) head with a full spread of sharp dragon teeth. 

Its image spoke of dependability, kindness, moral integrity, fatherliness, and most importantly, it spoke of faithfulness. This was a stallion that would be worthy of carrying the finest of princesses. This carrier could soar high enough to top Mount Mansfield. This was her savior.

For many years on Halloween, when spooks and goblins roam, one dispirited, impoverished wraith of a woman (who once laughed and danced with all who would have her company) had wandered about Jericho all night long. Only, on this Halloween night, it rained like it had not rained for months as her tears of joy fell down on the town that caused them.

And so plans were made to release the dragon. Only she, Jericho’s lonely nightwalker knew where it would carry her. The stone worker and his wife could only wish them both well, good fortune, and the hope of true love found in a new place, a new time. A fond farewell from Jericho, and the dragon lifted off, soaring by the eagle’s side circling Jericho one last time before heading north.

Word comes from time to time of a quiet romantic beach in Quebec, 


of a dragon partly buried in the sand, of a woman astride having windswept leaf-littered hair, tattered and soiled though genteel attire, alongside a prince of a man holding her tight, lighting her fire day and night forevermore.

Happy Halloween Jericho

I will always believe caring plus contribution equals community.

Laugh, Dream, Try, and do-good.

Bernie

Thanks to Maeve Kim for editing.

Comments:

Dear Bernie,

This is the best:)!!!….Was she never to cross over the stone wall to Underhill?….such tragedy,…glad however the dragon spoke french and is enjoying fries with poutine on a beach in my native Quebec:)!

More please,

Randy