I just got back from a restful two weeks on the shores of beautiful Lake Eden, less than 25 miles from the Canadian border, and just one mile down the road from the tiny town of Eden Mills, Vt.

Here I am, back in Southern Indiana, less than 24 hours asking: Did I miss anything?

Not much goes on in Eden Mills. The big news up there is that Clute’s Country Store is now Ingalls Country Store. Basically, the store is the town, so this was a major development.

All that actually changed was the sign out front.

The porch with the bench and the rocking chairs are still there, and you can still stop in for a cup of strong Green Mountain coffee, pick up a fishing license or the Burlington Free Press, or have an employee make you one of their impressively generous sub sandwiches. These are individually constructed masterpieces, generously stuffed with meat and cheese. Eating one was the hardest work I did while I was there.

Based on the size of the sandwich alone, I have to ask: Who says Vermonters are cheap?

They are merely thrifty, or as some of the old-timers still say, “near with a dollar.” Most of the Vermonters I have come to know in the 40 years since I first set foot in the state are friendly and welcoming, though they will sometimes call people from out of state “flatlanders.”

Flatlander is either a term of endearment or an insult of the kind that normally slips under the radar of the demanding and oblivious tourist-types to whom it is sometimes applied. Context is everything; if you are paying attention, you will know the difference.

Clute’s — now Ingalls — used to have one of those old-fashioned cage post offices in the corner, but the U.S. Postal Service came in a few summers ago and took it out, leaving an empty place in the store and an even bigger one in the community.

There were only 26 boxes, each one labeled with a single letter of the alphabet. Each box belonged to a pillar of the community, most likely a direct descendant of a pioneer who founded the town a couple of centuries ago. You needed that kind of pedigree to get one.

But now, like the rest of us, the once-proud holders of PO boxes A-Z had to go down the road to Eden, North Hyde Park or even Morrisville — a town big enough to boast a McDonald’s, but not big enough for a Burger King — to retrieve their mail. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

One of Eden Mills’ many attractions for this technology-weary soul is that cell phones do not work here — a blessed circumstance that in my opinion further enhances the vacation experience.

The closest signal can be found at the gravel pit five miles down Route 100, where you might get one bar of signal if the wind is blowing in the right direction and you park in the perfect spot. But then again, you might not. Best to shut the darn thing off!

Before I came home, I stopped by to see Rudy. Rudy is 83 years old and one of only nine barbers left in Vermont. He’s a strong Christian brother and very community minded. He’s been a member of the Morrisville Rotary Club for 42 years and takes the rotary motto — “Service above self” — seriously.

I greatly enjoy the time I spend in his barber chair. Rudy talks, and I mostly listen. He possesses a wealth of information and experience, knows some great jokes and generously shares all of it. One ought to be silent in the presence of greatness.

I also enjoy Rudy’s sense of glee when I come through his door, sporting a shaggy mane and a beard whose length falls somewhere between Moses and mountain man. All true barbers love to bring order to an unruly and undisciplined mass of hair on a man’s head. Rudy jumped at the chance and proceeded to transfer most of my hair to the floor of his barbershop.

Even though I like my hair and beard a little long, you don’t tell Rudy how to cut it anymore than you could tell Michelangelo how to decorate the Sistine Chapel. Rudy scalped me, but I don’t mind.

Lord willing, I’ll be back to see him next summer. My wife, normally suspicious of barbers, likes the way Rudy cuts my hair, and her’s is the only opinion on this subject that really matters.

Other than getting your hair cut at Rudy’s Barbershop, if you absolutely insist on maintaining contact with the rest of the world, you can use the free Wi-Fi at the library in Hyde Park or Morrisville to go online.

But I should warn you that the Internet runs a little slow in northern Vermont. Maybe it’s because there are several kids already online using the library’s computers and sucking up all the bandwidth, or maybe it’s because the signal has to run up hill? I don’t know, I’m not tech-savvy.

Change comes slowly to Eden Mills, and everyone here seems to like it that way. Every summer, I come here, read a book or three, drink a little tea and look at the lake from a chair under my awning.

Sometimes I go for a ride on my neighbor’s pontoon boat. Sometimes I go for a swim. At night, when the stars come out and it gets real quiet, I sit by the campfire and listen to the logs snap as they burn. Some nights, I can hear the mournful cry of the loons out on the lake. It is far more peaceful and entertaining than the sound of the loons on television.

Vacation over, I loaded up the car and drove home, where on my first day back (sigh), a mountain of messages, papers and urgent projects awaited my undivided attention.

It’s good to be home, but again I ask: Did I miss anything?

The Rev. Richard Johnson is home now, back in the saddle at Christian Formation Ministries and up to his neck in work. For information or to give him a hand, e-mail him at richard@christian-formation.org or call 812-945-0886.