Backstory: When Interviewing a Centenarian, Nap Breaks Are Key

Jules Rabin doing morning push-ups at his home in Marshfield Credit: Jeb Wallace-Brodeur

This “backstory” is a part of a collection of articles that describes some of the obstacles that Seven Days reporters faced while pursuing Vermont news, events and people in 2024.

The first time I drove into the Marshfield hills to interview Jules Rabin, it was early afternoon, after his usual postprandial nap. Although the centenarian activist and former baker still regularly drove himself to Montpelier’s Friday peace protest, he had admitted that he needed to rest several times a day.

“It’s a concession to old age and a confession of old age,” Jules told me.

I had long known of Jules and his wife, Helen, and their trailblazing Upland Bakers bread business, but I had never met them or, sadly, tasted the bread. The couple’s initial retirement in 2002 coincided with the start of my food-writing career, and I missed the bakery’s brief, hyperlocal comeback a few years later.

Over the decades, many of the serious Vermont bread bakers I’ve interviewed have cited the influence of the couple’s wood-fired, naturally leavened loaves. The late poet David Budbill wrote, “Their crusts are like nothing else; they make your teeth and jaws remember what they’re there for.”

My first conversation with Jules that May afternoon ran more than three hours, during which the 100-year-old displayed the recall, quick wit and stamina of someone far younger. His succinct response to my query about what he missed most as he aged?

“Grand sex,” he replied without missing a beat.

I, by contrast, missed quite a few beats while gathering myself for the next question.

Melissa Pasanen and Jules Rabin Credit: Courtesy

For my second visit, I invited myself for the midday meal, which Jules had listed among his remaining daily pleasures. Helen, Jules and I ate al fresco looking over their vegetable garden and then chatted for more than two hours until I sensed he was flagging. That’s when I said, mostly truthfully: “You know, I didn’t sleep well last night and could use a break. How about we both take a short rest?”

Jules headed upstairs, and I helped Helen wash the lunch dishes before she showed me to a cozy guest room where I laid down for a catnap.

About 45 minutes later, we both emerged refreshed from our respective bedrooms and resumed the interview. I had been waiting to ask Jules to demonstrate the push-ups he reportedly still did from time to time. Bolstered by his nap, he happily dropped to the ground to show off his prowess.

Not only did he have good form, the centenarian kept answering questions while he did them. Just five years prior, he could still do 50, Jules said. Now, “I’m capable only of 10.”

A few months later, the Rabins and their daughters hosted my husband and me for lunch. As the conversation swirled and eddied around the table, Jules did not seem to be missing his usual post-meal nap. When I asked him if he wanted to excuse himself for a short rest, he demurred.

“Naps are gray,” Jules said. “This is lilac and orange.”

The original print version of this article was headlined “Coziest Interview”