Support Urgent Repairs for a Beloved Vermont Home

Hello, my name is Jeff Pratt and I reside in a little house in Northern Vermont. Asking for help right now is hard. I would much prefer to offer help than receive it. My father was a doctor who instilled in me that we are placed on this earth to serve others, and I have tried my best to follow that path. But right now, I am on the other side. No matter how hard it is for me to say it, the shoe is now on the other foot, and now I am the one in need of help. Here is my situation:

I'm seeking financial assistance to address urgent repairs to my flood-damaged home in Passumpsic, Vermont. The immediate needs include mold remediation, deep cleaning, debris removal, replacing the water heater and furnace, repairing the foundation and retaining wall, and replacing eroded soil. These repairs are crucial as my home insurance doesn't cover flood damage. Your support will help me restore my home, allowing me to continue living in and caring for this special place that has been central to my life for the past decade. Any contribution, regardless of size, would be deeply appreciated and put to immediate use in this recovery effort. These are the cold facts. What follows is the story behind them—

As I am writing this, I think back to midnight, just two weeks ago. Heavy rain had fallen all afternoon and evening. The remains of a tropical storm had stalled over the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont deluging the region with as much as eight inches of rain in just 12 hours.

As the brook near my house rose, I heard thunder close by and thought it strange I saw no lightning. I later realized the sound rose from huge stones rumbling down the brook. There was and is a concrete retaining wall intended to shunt high water away from the house. Up until that night high water events of the past were easily brushed aside. On this night the wall was not enough.

I was about to head out into the rain to check the brook level when my living room window shuddered from the weight of a heavy rush of water that had breached the wall. The next swell shattered the glass, sending a cascade of water into the room and across the foyer and onto the rest of the first floor. More waves followed until I dashed outside, found a slab of plywood and nailed it over the opening.

My neighbor from the house across the street rushed over to assist me. Pointing to the water scouring dirt around the foundation, he urged me to leave my home. What he did not know was that the base of the foundation is solid stone. The bones of this 150 year old house were holding firm.

Once the panel was nailed in we made our way down to the home next door, which by now was an island. Thank God mother and daughter were already evacuating.

The next morning revealed what the flood had unleashed. The pictures speak for themselves. Outside my home the water had chewed away the earth down to the bare stone. Inside, an inch of silt lay across the first floor, with nearly half a foot in the basement.

As profoundly as my house was affected, the damage to my rental property downstream was far worse. My own foundation while compromised was still intact, but the slab upon which the rental property rested had cracked in several places, and the structure had been pushed ten feet down the slab. The slab itself was crumpled and the entire structure had buckled. It’s not official yet, but the rental house appears to be a total loss.

I am the owner of both properties. The latter was purchased several years ago to provide secure control of my primary home after a theft by the tenants, and to provide affordable lodging for a family I knew well. The rental property, being on the floodplain, required flood insurance, and though totaled, the claim was accepted, and I will receive adequate funds to pay off the loan. The family has been taken in by nearby close relatives, and though clearly shaken, are safe and sound. My request concerns only my home, the one I discovered ten years ago, nearly to the day.

There is a “long and winding road” that led from Ohio and placed me here in Northern Vermont. But no matter—find it I did. This cozy little house was waiting for me, and everything about it said to me, “what took you so long?” The waterfalls, the woodstove, the garden space, the feel of the house, all were so welcoming and promising. Nestled in the heart of the village of Passumpsic, the home spoke to me as a refuge from my travels and the promise of new growth. The deal was sealed with a lick on the cheek from Nanook, the owners’ beloved Husky. When I asked what they sought as a down payment, they said none was needed—“our dog licked you!”

The reaffirmation of my decision was my son’s reaction to the pictures I sent him—“Dad, if you were a house, that’s how you’d look.”

In the years to follow, a dream took shape. In short, it had to do with planting seeds—vegetable gardens, berry bushes, flowers. The goal was to never prowl the grocery produce section for veggies, but to only use the harvest, both fresh and preserved. Whatever I didn’t use, I gladly gave away.

Fast forward—The garden space has since doubled. I and my present garden partner still grow food for ourselves, still give some away, and what is left over goes to two restaurants three miles away, in St, Johnsbury. The name of our little farm-to-table business is Flowing Waters Farm—kind of ironic, I suppose, considering two weeks ago.

The gardens, planting and tending, have been a joy. The bit of extra money comes in handy for the expenses of the following year’s planting. And the little that is left is a bit of welcome mad money. The main payment is knowing people are enjoying local organic veggies we plant and tend ourselves.

I taught for 32 years. After I retired I dreamed of a place like this where I live by a brook and still work at something I love. And this has been that place. And now the gardens are my classrooms where I plant literal seeds—where I guide and nurture my “students” and willingly learn from them.

And now, sadly, speaking of the gardens, half of the plants and the soil beneath have been washed away. All of the raised beds, the garlic, cabbage and beets swept clean. The corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and peppers remain. For those remaining gifts I am thankful. I did not mention this loss at the start, but when I think of my home, I include the gardens. The monetary loss is not great—pump and hoses were washed away, as well as half of our saleable produce. (It is so ironic that the same brook that watered our gardens, took so much of it away.) The garden soil that was carved from the bank is now gone and will never return. I have no way of placing a price tag on this loss, but planting a fall garden on what remains will be a good start toward healing.

The house is still here, battered and bruised, but the bones are still strong. As to the immediate needs of the house there are several. As previously stated, most pressing is mold remediation, deep cleaning, a new water heater, washing machine and furnace, along with a lot of debris removal. Later on there will need to be serious work done on the foundation, gravel and soil to replace what was washed away, and repair and extension of the retaining wall. Storm shutters for the breached windows are also a must. Due to the house being above the floodplain, and the addition of the retaining wall following Tropical Storm Irene exactly ten years earlier, my home loan did not require flood insurance. None of the above is covered through my home insurance policy.

I freely admit that the morning after this freak event I was in total shock. There were moments I questioned being here—when I wondered whether my present world and future plans had been washed away with the floodwaters. The still rushing brook was no longer the friend whose sound lulled me to sleep or cooled my feet on a hot summer day—or so I felt at the time. Down deep something felt different, like in some way I had lost my innocence.

This sense of loss took me back to the summer of my twelfth year, when I discovered survey stakes piercing the wooded valley far below my house. That valley, bisected by a meandering creek, dotted with ponds, graced with an anomalous stand of tall pines, was both my friend and mentor.

I had heard rumblings of a threat to the valley, but I dismissed them as rumors. My innocent child mind believed my valley invulnerable to harm. But when the stakes appeared, my bubble burst. The sight of them sent me into a protective rage. I pulled stakes, and more stakes appeared. I even tried to sabotage heavy machinery. All my anger was to no avail. I was a gnat annoying an elephant, and within months, a four-lane highway bypass had gutted my valley. The creek ran through a concrete culvert, and the valley sides were treeless.

I have always believed my childhood ended there, that I had lost my trust in believing anything as precious as that little valley could last. In some ways, over the years that loss of trust was replaced by a deeper appreciation of the good people, places, and things in my life, knowing full-well they, or I, could be taken away. And all the while, hidden in some corner of my being, my dream rested, like a seed awaiting rain.

Fifty years later, ten years ago, almost to the day, the dream awakened when I found this special place.. Across the brook (what they call a creek up here) my three acres rise to a ridge topped by a four lane highway. Just like the bypass that smothered my childhood valley, cars and trucks whiz by a few hundred feet away. But I can’t hear the traffic. Instead I hear the brook, all day and all night.

Here I have rediscovered the dream I thought was lost when I was a boy, and more. For a moment, on that ragged morning after the flood, I thought I had lost it again. I was wrong. One way or another the dream will live on, right here. And when I depart, the dream will continue in the heart of another who senses the magic of this place.

I see ahead that this 150 year old house will be invigorated, strengthened, and even better protected from further harm. And it is this I need help to accomplish for some peace and security in this flood’s aftermath.

Now that the manufactured home is no more, it helps me to envision some day a tiny house resting on the section of the land the flood did not touch. I also see a community garden, with a pond with ducks nestled in its center. I can hear the future strains from a folk concert led by my musician/neighbor across the street. In no way am I seeking funds to bring that dream to life. This platform is called GoFundMe, not GoFundMy Dream. All I seek is assistance to address the present needs of my home. Achieving that will not fulfill the bigger dream, but it will help it stay alive.

When I first arrived here and fell in love with my home, the brook, the little forest, I vowed to do this place no harm and to leave it better than I found it. In time, I will keep that promise. But right now what I need is help to return my home to what it was just a few weeks ago.

It is high time I conclude, but one final thought:

“We shall not cease from our exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot

With your help, that is exactly what I hope to do.

There are many traumatic stories all around me, and my heart goes out to those whose lives have been upended. They will all need assistance in setting their world in some sort of order. If I could personally help them I would do so gladly. But in this case, I find myself on unfamiliar ground. If I am to continue here—continue to live my dream, I am seeking help.