It's hard to use the word "quaint" in earnest until you've seen Woodstock. The two main streets, Central and Pleasant, host exactly the right number of shops, galleries and restaurants to fill an afternoon of aimless wandering. Mountains and streams provide the requisite pastoral backdrop, and there is an entire store dedicated to flannel.
No visit to Woodstock is complete without a trip to the Vermont Flannel Company, if you're not deterred by the strangely realistic, child-sized, flannel-clad mannequins sitting on the porch outside. Inside is truly something to behold. Flannels in more colors and shapes than one could possibly expect fill the racks, while shelves of blankets, pajama pants, scrunchies and boxers line the walls, begging to be grabbed and rubbed against one's face. In one corner of the store, there is a collection of "Vermont's Secret Vongs," thongs made entirely of, what else, flannel. People do in fact buy said flannel thongs, though "not the kinds of people you would want to see in them," an employee said.
At the Vermont Flannel Company, it's fairly obvious what goods you might find inside. Other stores, however, are harder to tell: they're marketed as "nostalgia" or "gifts and souvenirs," but offer only items that no one could possibly need, and probably not want until at least the age of 60. These are the places to snag a last-minute wind chime or get that glass squirrel you've been lusting after. Downtown Woodstock has more of these stores than it does stop signs. There's Stop in Unicorn, Clover Gift Shop or the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Foundation store, dedicated exclusively to Coolidge-related nostalgia if you want to make purchases you will regret and then learn to appreciate again 40 years from now. Despite lacking a clear reason for existing, these wares are generally fairly expensive. The line between these and the antique or artisan crafts stores scattered up and down Central Street is hazy, though the latter err more toward furniture or other items that one could theoretically justify spending money on.
Thankfully, there are also thrift and consignment stores for those of us who don't deal with buyer's remorse as well. Who is Sylvia has an impressive collection of vintage clothing, hats and lace. One sherbet-colored argyle sweater vest caught my eye in particular, though I could not bring myself to fork over $25 for a likely one-time wear. The hats are probably my favorite things in the store they're colored, beaded, feathered and ridiculous. I wish there was a reason why someone might ever wear one.
In the midst of all this kitsch, F. H. Gillingham and Sons general store was a refreshing dose of reality. While it had a few touristy necessities like maple syrup and moose-patterned pajamas, the store had a lot of things people use, like tools or food. Beyond the front room, the store is a network of endless rooms housing a random assortment of produce, toys, clothing and gardening equipment well worth a meander. I picked up some cheese from nearby Sugarbush Farm, a few local apples and some maple sugar candies in an attempt to be as Vermont-y as possible.
Woodstock's galleries aim for authentic Vermont as well, showcasing local artists' photographs, paintings, drawings and crafts. In the Woodstock Gallery, photographer Jon Olsen's prints are impossible to miss, as they look remarkably like paintings. One of my favorite galleries, devoted exclusively to famous wood carving artist Stephen Huneck's cartoon-esque paintings of dogs, unfortunately closed its storefront in town. If you are really motivated, though, the gallery and the Dog Chapel at the artist's private home, Dog Mountain, is only a moderately far drive away in St. Johnsbury. Across the street from Gillingham's, Bentley's, a '50s-style diner filled randomly with the Victorian decor that I loved when I was little, is now also "closed until further notice," according to a sign in the window. Thankfully, the Village Butcher, Melaza Bistro, Pi Brick Oven Trattoria and Mon Vert Cafe offer viable alternatives, and picnicking is always an option.
After Gillingham's, a bench in a particularly sunny spot was calling from the green, just in front of the beautiful Victorian town library. Nearby, a tourism information kiosk touted skiing at the Suicide Six Ski Area, bike or fly-fishing trips and nearby historic sites, one of which was smack dab in front of me. A wooden-covered bridge, complete with spots of snow on the roof, spans the Ottauquechee River. Though it was in the opposite direction, I made sure to drive over it on the way home, munching on maple syrup candies, listening to Vermont Public Radio and wishing I was wearing flannel.
