Buying milk at Mac's market I noticed a contest advertised on a Hershey Bar. "Win a job as a stagehand for Brad Paisley". Win a Job? You mean I might win the opportunity to carry his bags? Shine his shoes? Sweep the stage? Corporations used to treat us better - offering cash, backstage passes, glamorous vacations. They gave us the chance to live like a celebrity for a week or two. Now it is supposed to be a thrill to work for one.

Vermonters have a comfortable relationship with celebrities. Many own homes here, grateful for the 'live and let live' attitude that offers them respect and privacy they cannot find in other locations. Locals enjoy access to great writers, artists and musicians that welcome the excuse to visit here in exchange for a reading or performance. It is a casual and symbiotic relationship that doesn't exist in many places.

When I lived in Chicago I went to a department store on Michigan Avenue to buy socks. I was on my way home from work, tired and wanting to get home, but really needing socks. After making a selection I found the cashiers desk in the hosiery department empty. Same with another nearby, and a third in the 'outerwear' department. Holding an assortment of socks in one hand and a credit card in the other I wandered the store looking for a salesgirl to take my money. Then I saw the reason for their disappearance. Hovering at six foot three above a display of luxury fur coats was 'Snoop Dog'. The rap star was with two older women I took to be perhaps his mother and Aunt, and these elegant ladies were trying on coats worth accumulated decades of my salary. An audience of ten or twelve enthralled salesgirls lingered nearby.

"But I need socks." I whined to myself, considering how cruel it would be of me to interrupt the show and drag one of the girls to her cash register, reminding her of her duty to even the banal, average customers. I could have found a manager and complained about lack of service. Instead I put down my attempted purchase and left the store.

I often shopped in that store, but on that day I was a second class citizen in the hosiery department. In Chicago, money and celebrity would best me many times in restaurants, clubs, hotels and taxi lines. It is a part of city life you get used to.

Then I moved to Vermont. Here I have finally found status as a 'local'. To people visiting from New Jersey and Connecticut there is a mystique about anyone who lives here full time; the magical luck of being born here or the mysterious alchemy of crafting a life and a living in this beautiful place.

Yesterday, at the local grocery store, I was in line with my kids behind an affluent couple with a forty dollar bottle of wine and a baguette.

" No, please, you go first," they said politely, acknowledging they are now in my territory, and interrupting my routine with their three day weekend. They watched as I wrote a check for my purchases, showed no ID, and began the short walk back to my house.

Next time I need to by socks, I imagine the scene will be different. While I browse comfortably in town at Shapiros, a patient 'Snoop Dog' would stand off to the side with his entourage, respectfully waiting for me to finish my purchase before he could sidle up to the counter, lean down, and casually ask directions to Cafe Provence.

So, attention Hershey Company! Stop insulting us with offers to be Jennifer Aniston's maid or Britney Spear's nanny. Here in Vermont we are worth as much as them! Except, perhaps, our bank accounts. So, go back to the old days and give us a chance to win a some cash or two weeks in Florida at mud season! Or at least a free chocolate bar.

Rebecca, Brandon
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

There is a unique phenomenon here in Vermont: "The Wave." We wave as we drive by each other, "Hey!" It is a special part of life in a small state.

After residing here for several winters, I finally noticed it happening because it took that long before anyone waved. Northern New England winters are a good gauge of stamina and longevity. No one waved until they were sure I would be sticking around.

After "The Wave" started travel became an experience of anticipation. Who is approaching? Is the oncoming car from out-of-state? No well then is that driver a Vermonter? Yes. Do we know each other? Yes, a local neighbor so

We wave.

It could be a few fingers up off the wheel or a solid hand up, but there has to be some sort of gesture, because if we don't acknowledge each other we are breaking a norm. "The Wave" reminds us of Vermont's uniqueness.

After years it's no longer a simple, "Hey?" It's become: "Hey. No, I'm not mad at you. I'm glad we both have chosen to live here. Yeah, I know how you feel about school taxes, but at least we have our democracy."

Amy, Rochester
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

I have lived in Milton Vermont my whole life. I grew up on a farm in the 50's and 60's, and married a farmer after graduating from college. I am presently a nurse at FAHC. Most of the people I work with find it amusing that I still live in the same town where I grew up. Yet my concern is for the broader community of Vermont. When I see housing prices topping 250,000 for a no frills home I worry about how the average Vermont family will afford this. when I see how few jobs there are for people who do not have a college education, or who are trained in a specific skill, and the relatively low wages that are offered, I again contemplate what these families will do in the wake of such high fuel prices, rising food prices, and the ever increasing taxes, which are so desperately needed to fund schools and municipal services, some of which are already suffering in many towns. The way most families respond to these challenges is for both spouses to be working, and many individuals are working two jobs to make ends meet. Add children and parenting to the mix and you have a very busy and frequently stressed group of people who are finding it more and more difficult to meet their obligations. Today we hear a lot about building community. It is becoming a hardship to be an active member of your community, due to time and personal energy constraints, because we are working harder and longer to pay for the same services and goods. When I was growing up my parents, and most of their peers were very involved in community service. They belonged to the Grange, were 4-H leaders, schoolboard members, selectboard members, active in their church. They were building community and they were working in their community. Today I struggle to poarticipate in municipal activities. For many people I know it is not even on their radar screen to serve their community. I drive out of town to go to work. I do not know my neighbors as well as I might. I may not know if they are in crisis and need help until perhaps it is too late to help, or an opportunity to ease someone's load passes me by as I drive off to work so I can pay the food bill, the energy bill, and the taxes. My overriding concern is that only the highly paid and wealthy individuals will have adequate housing, heat, nutritous food, and the privilege of serving the community. Their children will attend private schools while public schools suffer budget defeats and continue to chip aaway at the core to create a budget that the peoople can afford to support. Their children will attend college, while it will be more and more difficult for the average Vermont student to attend and fund college. The average working Vermonter will not be at the table of plenty. As the cost of living here escalates we will gradually become more marginalized. People who have money to spare will continue to come to Vermont and buy up once working farms, creating mini estates, thus contributing to the decline of community and vibrant living. Vibrant living includes everyone.

Kate, Milton
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

Yesterday morning I sat down to my bowl of shredded wheat and soy milk, layered with bananas and maple syrup, when the most stunning red fox appeared outside the dining room window. I held my breath. Two days ago I saw four squirrels playing leap frog in the morning dew. I laughed. Three weeks ago, I drove down Route 2 to the sound of Snow Geese overhead, which caused me to look up through my windshield to the most beautiful vision. Against a clear blue morning sky, there must bave been 100 white feathered friends flying east across my path, back lit by the rising soun. The most amazing change followed. The flock made a 45 degree turn and escorted me down the highway for the next 10 minutes. I cried.

I live each day thankful for my ability to observe, recognize and feel the beauty around me. My Vermont is a place of contemplation and reflection, a picture book for life.

Jennifer, Grand Isle
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

Like so many others living here, I cannot claim I am a native VERMONTER, but VERMONT is my home!

I grew up in a row house in Philadelphia. As a child, I came to Lake Bomoseen. I remember the joys of going to the pump and bringing back drinking water, of giggling and playing with floating soap as I bathed in the Lake. The night sounds and the quiet gave me time to think. The air smelled of moist earth, trees, and flowers.

These simple pleasures were not forgotten as I matured with the metropolitan cacophony reverberating in my head.

Not until 1989 did I return to Vermont. The man I dated, who now is my husband, invited me to attend the Stellafane Convention in Springfield. To make a long story short: I went, we married, we moved to Vermont 9 years ago. Life in Vermont offers opportunities and challenges never anticipated.

When I visit “down south,” I miss the cloud-shadows dancing on the mountains, the voices of the birds, frogs, and coyotes. I miss the blue sky—so blue it looks false. I miss the smells of nature. Yes, even in spring when the farmers fertilize the fields. I miss the colors—spring’s subtle bud hues, summer’s vivid textured greens, autumn’s vibrant colors of declining photosynthesis, and winter’s restful blacks, grays, and white.

Living in Vermont is like living in a tapestry kaleidoscope. The texture is ever changing. With each twist of the senses, the views renew and restore my soul.

Janet, North Springfield
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

The other day, feeling wistful, I walked out in the pasture looking for my Vermont. TYhe gate was open, and I picked up turkey wing-feathers, bones, branches and twigs revealed by the melted snow. I added them to the bonfire pile that is growing again since my daughter's wedding, last August. I passed the pointy rock where I used to play "welcome Spring" with my cousin when I was little, decorating the cleft in its mossy side with pussy willows and flower petals for the fairies. I am taller than the rock now, but then we had to climb up. Slowly, so not to scare the frogs, Iapproached the little pond that my uncle dowsed for uslong ago. It is not much more than a vernal pool now. I am not old yet, but my Vermont has changed a great deal. I sat on the rock at the edge of the pool, alternately watching the sky's reflection, the toad-spawn and waterskippers on the surface, or looking deeper at the large tadpoles, the leafy, muddy bottom, the clear water in between.. Was I, perhaps, looking for the happy security that was my Vermont as a child? Back then, there were two Black, old-style Morgan workhorses in this pasture. Across the fence, where it is swampy, wild strawberrie3s grew. There were more huge rocks to climb on, a big elm tree, and the springs that provided us water, and all the relatives thatlived down the hill. One spring still does, but now the people down the hillaren't relatives. Alders, poplars, and birches accellerate reforestation between me and my neighbors. it used to be pasture, less swampy below, where Grandpa's cows grazed. Late in the afternoon we could hear him calling "Co-boss-boss-boss!"and in the morning, we could walk "down home" for milk, and maybe collect the eggs. My Vermont was already changing when I was little, but the pace accellerated, just as it did in the rest of the world. I remember my older sister complaining, "Vermont is 50 years behind the times!" She was in a hurry for life to change; she doesn't live in Vermont now. Neither does my brother. He feels it has changed too much, and on that score, I guess wqe agree. I left Vermont for quite a few years, and saw some other parts of the world. While I was gone, Vermont kept on changing, not always for the better. I didn't just come back to Vermont, I came back to the house I grew up in, the land my grandparents farmed. Alot of people had fallen in love with what they say when they visited, tempted by Vermont Life Magazine and the quality of life they sought. They brought their expectations, theirhabits, and their money, and their mere presence changed the Vermont they professed to admire. A lot of Vermonters, tired of the reality of rural poverty, moved away, or grew resentful that the influx of "flatlanders made it impossible to live as they were used to. No matter how well-intentioned were some newcomers, they could not know the hardships and hopes in the hearts of people who had struggled and survived here for generations. We used to wander down to the brook and play all morning, and Mother would whistle us home for lunch. We ran about in the woods and meadows, and imagined all sorts of adventures. We were intertained by the the birds and deer; fishing, hunting, picking berries, sugaring, sledding, depending on the seanson. We were not scheduled for constant "enrichment" that required trips down the mountain. The boys could hitch-hike to the snow-bowl, or to summerjobs as we grew up. I wanted violin lessons, but Dad was a factory shift worker. With one car and one income, extras like that were out of the question.Dad was also a gigfted pianist, and my mother read to us until we dcould read to each other or ourselves, so we had books and music, and eventually TV. Sometime in the '50's agribusiness became the new goal, and small dairy farmers like my grandfather were encouraged to plant their fielsd to pine. By this time, Grandpa had already had to sell off much of his land, and then his cows. Gone were the days when he could pay his daughter's college tuition with potatoes. In the sixties, the pasture had my own horse in it. Having a pasture meant that keeping a horse was about as cheap as keeping a dog.. We bought the horse from a girl who wanted to go to cololege. I later sold it for the same reason. I can't speak to the Vermont of cities, but I do have hope for the future of rural communities. Even though convintional wisdom and "conventional farming" have it that bigger and more are better, and necessary, some of us have learned, or have always known, that too much growth is called cancer. Some of us have seen that small is beautiful, and even that less is more. We who remember when, not long ago, owning land was possible for poor people, have trouble embracing the gentrification that has hurtled Vermont into the 21st century. Yet I know that the values we absorbed from these rocky hills; trhe skills, strengths, independence and imagination, must somehow be kept alive and shared with newer Vermonters. I sat by my little pond, fprgetting briefly that I may have to give up my home to pay the bills, and thought again about fixing the fence, cutting some trees, and getting a cow.

Bonnie, Ripton
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

I met my Vermont at the age of 5. My midwestern family had New England ties and an old farmhouse in Johnson, which in 1960 was very much as it stood in 1800, no indoor plumbing, kerosene lamps, and central heating in the form of one chimney that served the fireplaces found in every room. Though nearly every aspect of life there captivated me, the chemical toilet did not, since I was small enough to fear a dunking, but regular trips for water to the stone-walled
town spring never grew old for me. Any trip into Johnson, probably not a mile from our narrow dirt drive, was epic--birch beer from the cold case at the dark, grease-scented gas station; pink and chalky wintergreen mints from the tall-pillared grocery with its broad wooden porch, also home to the pungent brown cigars my father chose from a box more remarkable for its pictures of somber men in strange dark robes; night time drives through the rain and the trees to the library; or the occasional incomparable delight of a pony ride at a farm in nearby Cady Falls. My Vermont was a haven from the sterile grey suburbs of the larger part of my
life. Briars and branches scraped the car as it turned into our little road; when the lichen-covered boulder came shortly into view, so did the old brick house, half hidden by a towering white pine, flanked to the east by a thick spread of ostrich and cinnamon fern, and rimmed all around by red and black raspberries that we picked in the mornings for our breakfast. It was sold when I was 7. My parents found it impossible to maintain from a thousand miles off, but it has remained in my heart my truest home, a sanctuary I have spent a lifetime trying to reclaim. There come scraps of it now when a fox returns my stare from across a grassy field, or watch a little boy in his grandfather's lap for a tractor ride to the sugar house, or catch the twitter of a woodcock's wings as it speeds past me in a darkening sky.

Kathryn, Perkinsville
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

We're transplants from Southern California, who are constantly raving about Vermont and complaining about taking too many pictures here. Who better to take on this family assignment offered by our favorite station? Everyone chimed in without pausing for breath.

Vermont has the cleanest, sweetest air anywhere! The views! The mountains! The thick forests of birch, beech, maple and evergreens! The blackest nights when stars hang closest to the earth. Getting a phone call to go out to see the full moon rising in the east.

The WATER! The rivers! The water! The lakes! The water! The ponds! The water! The waterfalls! The water! The marshes! Vermont's most precious life giving water! The sounds of Nature! Rushing winds through the forest, the song of dripping rain from the trees after the clouds have been swept away.

Sounds are more distinct. Shadows and light create new colors on familiar sights.

Wildlife! Hikes! Space! Room to be alone.

Time has a different feel here. It cycles and returns, new but familiar. The senses are heightened.

It's the seasons! Spring renewal: the lightness of our feet after the deep snows. The return of migratory birds, evening bats and owls. The last day with winter long-johns. You can watch the forget-me-nots and the daffodils pop open! No two days are alike in the Spring in Vermont.

There's nothing like a dark summer night and a valley full of fireflies. Delicious swims in clear lakes. Did we say hiking? Canoeing with loon, fish and frogs as the only other souls sharing the space.

The Green. The green so green you breathe it.

The grand variety of ferns, the fungus and the moss, complete little worlds growing from a dead stump! The soil, rich for gardening, even if you have to share the goods with the deer, rabbits, squirrels and tent caterpillars.

Apple picking, blueberry picking and maple syrup! Cheese! Maple creamies! Local beers! The first fire in the wood stove. Bright leaves, fields of pumpkin and giant jack-o-lanterns glowing nightly from Halloween to Thanksgiving. An entire flock of wild turkey visiting the yard for Thanksgiving. (Yes, we're vegetarian!)

Icicles - sparkling and radiant. Tiny rainbows reflecting off snowy branches. Dancing snow, 'soapflake' snow, feathery snow. Waking in a pure, still, white world.

More people care about the environment here- they support local enterprises, local products, and recycling. More folks seem to live more simply and consciously search for alternative ways to reduce our negative impact on Earth.

Life is slower here. So much more peaceful.

People wave! They stop and talk, and they move turtles and cows out of the middle of the road. People are generally patient with tractors and farm vehicles on the highway. People aren't obsessed with their appearance, but the importance of their actions.

Children thrive in the spring mud, pretending to be birds, rabbits and squirrels making nests and playing out their lives. They recognize trees, and mimic bird songs. Children eat snowflakes, sled and thrive with apple cheeks in the cold of winter. They create intricate games with piles of leaves, branches and pine cones. They make bird sanctuaries. Kids in Vermont know and appreciate Nature.

We are deeply concerned about corporate stores, strip malls, and hazardous waste; but for now, we store and share all the glorious photographs of the many treasures in beautiful, serene Vermont.

Peggy, Chris, Adam, Dalite & Meika
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

For years I have moved around the country, lived in some great places, and still continued to get the urge to try somewhere new every few years. Now it is just over four years since I arrived from the Pacific Northwest, and Vermont seems to be the state that will finally keep hold of me. It offers the most unique combination of outdoor lifestyle, a Mayberry-like neighborhood, and easy access to the surrounding business world that pays my way. That all of this exists in the same time zone as the rest of my family in the Midwest is an incredible bonus. Friends who have known me and my wandering ways for years still ask: “So… moving out of Vermont anytime soon?” They aren’t the only ones surprised by my emotional connection to a state that felt like home the day I arrived.

On the morning of my 33rd birthday in December 2004, I awoke with uncharacteristic A.M. clarity, thinking: This is the year I move to Vermont.

I landed in the woods of Underhill in the fall of 2005 with my dogs and cats, having otherwise shed my life in Boston: a home, a network of friends, a job, a partner. I lay sleepless in my bed those first few weeks, each growl from my dog convincing me that a crazed woodsman would chop through my window screen with an axe – certain overkill,in hindsight – and ridiculously I imagined a legendary story emerging, about the urban ex-pat who thought it okay to sleep with his windows open.

But no woodsman came chopping, and I bought my own chainsaw.

How quickly my Vermont rewarded me: with neighbors eager to meet me, showing up with home-baked cookies; with the first of many breathtaking full moons over my snowy meadow, turning the night-world luminously blue; with the rigors of mud season, and the gentle ribbings from new neighbor-friends who mocked my brownie-batter driveway, but then showed up on a tractor to grade it for me; with summers of cycling with my buddy Dave, whose home-brewed beer rewards us following rides up through Canada via Morse's Line; or the local breakfast spot where Deb doesn't ask, but simply says, "Firehouse? French toast? Over medium?"; with call-in-"sick" powder days when I ride, laughing out loud as I surf the bumps of Treasure Run; and the owl in my woods I've unimaginatively dubbed "Hootie"; and yeah, even those kids who nailed my mailbox with a giant pumpkin last year. Nice shot, guys.

Honestly, it's challenging to live anywhere, isn't it? Every place has its own inherent strengths and disappointing drawbacks, The key is how we, as a community, choose to respond to either. And that's the thing about my Vermont: it's not really mine. It's our Vermont, of which I feel blessed and grateful to be a part. Thanks for welcoming me in.

Jim, Underhill
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

I grew up in southern New Hampshire, but I now prefer Vermont as a better model for economic development balanced with quality of life. So much is made about New Hampshire's tax advantages, but when I look back at the strip malls, billboards, and uncontrolled sprawl that takes place there in the name of expanding the tax rolls, I think Vermonters give themselves a much better deal. Here in Brattleboro we have industry and jobs and a pretty sound economy, and we have it without the helter-skelter sprawl. We're constantly tugged by the temptation to follow New Hampshire's example and build, build, build; but that type of development doesn't bring solid, good-paying jobs, and when the economic cycle turns inclement, many of those low-skill retail jobs evaporate. I'll take the Vermont approach any day.

Since moving to Vermont seven years ago, I’ve become a snob about sweet corn. The kernels have to “pop” in my mouth as they release their sweet and flavorful juices. I’m a snob about other fresh foods as well. I like my strawberries and tomatoes ripe and ruby red all the way through. I like my apples cold and crisp (preferably Macs), and above all, I want /everything/ local, local, local!

We buy our corn from John and Velma Brigante in Mallet’s Bay. They closed their farm stand a few years ago, but thankfully they still sell fruits and vegetables out of the barn behind their house. I buy a week’s supply of crispy baby romaine lettuce at the Farmers’ Market from Mara and Spencer Welton. They run Half Pint Farm in the Intervale. We buy fresh bread from Ethan and Sarah Brown at the Great Harvest Bread Company on Pine Street and hot apple pies from Allenholm Farm on So. Hero.

Before moving to Vermont, I’d spent my entire adult life in big cities. Grocery shopping was a chore, and I never gave any thought to where my food came from. Now I regard being a “localvore” as an act of environmental stewardship. But it’s also about building /community/. I find it comforting to /know/ the people who grow my food and to be in relationship with them. Somehow /that/ makes the good food taste even better!

Sue, Burlington
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

“The waters getting high yet?” The daily and sometimes hourly check of the USGS water level website, the check of wind speed and direction and the constant visual scans of snow melt. All of these are the signs to the beginning of spring. Most of Vermont ushers in spring with mud season; I am ushered in with flood season. The daily visits of locals to see if my road has flooded began fairly early this year. It is the local pass time around these parts. The story goes back many years. The family that spent 7 years building my road and the ways in which they traversed it in the spring when it would be flooded over with 3 feet of water or more. I live on a nature preserve with a two mile town road that acts as my driveway. The only house is mine and it is at the end. The road is always active with fisherman, hikers, bikers and just curious folks who want to see where it goes. The fact is that those curious folks end up driving up to my home and then they turn around and head back out. This all ceases for a month every year. From about April 15th to May 15th the road and all of the preserve is mine. No one even tries to drive up to the house. As the water rises my public home becomes so very secluded and inclusive. Walking in and out I get to watch the tire tracks slowly disappear with each day. After only a week the only tracks belong to me and the local animal life that also calls this wild place home. This month requires me to feel the weather, feel the sun, smell the colors of spring, watch the leaves break through their winter bondage and feel my own winter melt away. I relish this month, it terrifies me but brings all my senses back out into the world. I am dragged into a servitude to nature; I can not escape unless I am willing to bow down and recognize that she makes all the rules. The beauty of being locked into a four thousand acre preserve is just as weighty as the fear of the beauty. Should something happen…should there be a fire…or any injury, I am alone without rescue, at least not quick rescue. As tame as I have grown to believe this place is, it isn’t. A reminder I receive at least once a year when the flood comes. The first walk of the season will be filled with a mix of feelings. The first time the waters touch my boots and I realize that this is what the next month is going to be, if there is a gallon of milk needed, or if I simply run out of toilet paper, it will have to be walked in. Everything will have to be walked in. Walking becomes a real mode of transportation, the only transportation of reason. I am waiting now for the waters to rise. I have a couple more weeks until I will wear my waders as part of my daily attire. In my car are the extra cloths just in case the river’s flow takes me down. This time of waiting is a time I secretly enjoy. Yesterday alone I counted ten trucks on my drive in, ten trucks that will likely leave some trace of being there. Not everyone leaves trash, however there is almost always something left behind. A fire pit still smoldering, fishing trash, beer cans or just cigarette butts. The flood season gives me a rest from this for a month. A time when no one will litter on my road and a time to prepare for the summer season when the road is the local hang out, fishing spot, hiking spot, late night party scene and lunch break rendezvous site. For a month it is clean, quiet and mine. A retreat meant to recover and prepare. Once the flood does come there will be no vehicle savior; no big truck will make it in, no matter what the macho driver might think. Unless it floats or has a bucket it won’t make its way in. There is a splendor to that fact. It allows me to feel the past, prior to commercially influenced driving that says the average Joe can go anywhere in their 4-wheel drive, SUV, gas guzzling beast. It brings me joy to know that not everything can be explored at any time just to suit our personal timeline. Soon, very soon this road will transform again. It will go from being a snow covered, white knuckle drive to a walk, a silent hour long walk. For one month I will have it all to myself. No cars, no trucks, no 4 wheelers or snow mobiles, just me, my waders and 2 miles of fish swimming over the roadway. I look forward to spring.

Elaine, West Haven
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

My Vermont has changed. Born and raised in central Vermont, the changes I've seen in 40 plus years are overwhelming. Some are good, some are bad. My daughter who is 5 will never experience the freedoms that I did. Walking down a quiet country road to meet the school bus by herself, biking to the next nearby town with her friends, playing softball (unchaperoned) on the town green, these experiences are not as safe and benign as they once were. But, other elements of my child's environment are better than I experienced,
like swimming in the uncontaminated White River, eating fresh produce from our local CSA, and exposure to the arts, local musuems, etc. While I often yearn for the Vermont I grew up in, I appreciate that it is still a special place. It's not perfect, but may be as perfect as it gets.

Dawna, Tunbridge
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

My Vermont

Freedom. That is what Vermont means to me. I am free to live my life as I so chose. Free on many different levels, but above all free and in community.

In this changing, disrupted world of ours, living in Vermont, I do not feel afraid. The low crime levels in my community leave me free of fear of violent crime. I feel safe and that gives me a considerable amount of freedom. Community surrounds and embraces me - my family, my neighborhood, my work community and the greater community of being a Vermonter. I raised my children knowing they were safe and thriving. What better gift could there be?

I feel free in nature. I so much appreciate Vermont’s inclination to preserve and conserve nature and the attention that is being put on curbing global warming. I am able to genuinely appreciate nature and take steps to do my part to help this world of ours. I do not fear the future when living in Vermont.

As a citizen of Vermont I am free to make many choices that are not available to others. This is due to Vermont’s tendency to under-regulate and not provide so many rules and regulated restrictions on its residents.

I also appreciate the State and its citizens’ inclination to provide for the basic rights of its people. I speak of food, clothing, shelter, education and safety. This is a State that looks after its people and of this I feel proud and hopeful.

I very much appreciate the smallness of the state and its friendly, political atmosphere. You can see and greet your Congressman and Senators at the local diner, or shops, and they respond as if you were a life-long friend. You meet with candidates in people’s homes and can ask direct questions and receive honest and direct answers. Voting in Vermont is a friendly endeavor. The local town clerk knows my name and voting is a personable yet meaningful deed. And last but not least, democracy thrives in the tradition of Town Meeting Day.

I live in Vermont, because I choose to live here. And feel free of the burden of searching out a better place to live. There simply is no better place.

Katherine Verman
Vermonter
Charlotte, VT 05445

I will be leaving Vermont at the end of May for a job out of state. But the truth is I didn't mean to stay in Vermont as long as I did, which is ten months. I came here last summer to work on an organic farm and I knew I'd found a home. So I moved up to the mountains and I lived a snowy, no-running-water, winter existence like any good Vermonter of old. And then I hurt my back and I lost my job and when I couldn't find more work my neighbors became my best supporters. They helped me out with food, with rides into town, with splitting my wood, with cheering me on. And as I healed my back and I healed my pride I had found good people. Of all the states and all the places I've lived none has served up such good hospitality and good friends as Vermont. I sincerely sincerely hope to return to the green Green Mountains again someday.

Meghan, Lincoln
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

Despite our environmentalist tendencies, Vermonters drive more than residents of any other state. In the course of my day, I rub shoulders with many people who live in rural places, down dirt roads, on five-, ten- or twenty-acre lots. But my Vermont is focused on Vermont’s vibrant downtowns. I live in Montpelier on less than an eighth of an acre, in a citified neighborhood with sidewalks. I don’t drive my car for days or weeks at a time. I walk the ten minutes into town in the winter, or ride my 45-year-old bicycle in the summer. People say I’m lucky I don’t need to drive, but it wasn’t luck. It was choice. Two years ago, when I bought my house at the very peak of the market, the ability to walk and bike was my top priority. I’m an avid gardener, and this summer I plan to try a few urban backyard chickens. Yes, I would love to have an acre or five, and a mountain view, but my Vermont is focused around the historical village and the ability to walk and bike. This is just as much the “true” Vermont as the landscapes along a rural road. I love my freedom, and the community, that comes with this compact approach to transportation and life.

Becka, Montpelier
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

I grew up in Orleans, Vermont, a small village in the Northeast Kingdom and home of Ethan Allen; a furniture mill that once ran 24 hours a day and employed many of the folks in town and in the surrounding towns. It provided other ways to make a living as well. Shopkeepers, and those in the building trade could stay fairly well-employed with a mill providing a living for so many.

My father had a family medical practice in Orleans, and committed himself to his patients and their care. There were many nights when someone from the mill knocked on our door in the middle of the night after an injury with a machine. And if he wasn't up all night tending the injured, my father was down the street at the clinic, or at the hospital in Newport checking on patients or travelling the many dirt roads doing house calls.

Occasionally he would take me along on a house call, and I would play with the kids at his destination, or he might ask someone to take me out to the barn so I could see the animals. I was and still am an animal lover. I recall asking my father why in the world he became a doctor when he could have been a farmer. It didn't make any sense to me at all. But now I see his calling, like a farmer, steward and caregiver of his land, my father provided the same care and stewardship over his community. A farmer at heart.


Susan, Brandon
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

Having lived my life here in the Northeast Kingdom, I have come to realize that what is best about Vermont is how well we all get to know each other over time. The understandings and kinship that develop among people in small rural communities provide fertile ground for endless amusement and personal growth. We make our own fun, know far too much about each other’s business, never forget anything that happened way-back-when and mostly don’t hold grudges. We can be ourselves, run to the store with our hair sticking up first thing in the morning without fear of judgment, and we often develop a ready sense of humor that is wry, but warm and accepting. As a professional, over time, I have learned that in Vermont there is a wonderful network of people who know who to call for what when and know who can be counted on to follow-through or up. We know who is good at what they do and who isn’t and we don’t have to waste time or play games. We can drive from one side of the state to the other for a meeting and be home in time for dinner. A statewide gathering feels like old home day. Living here is fun. There are some challenges. I worry about drug abuse and the issues that go along with that. I worry about our youth in general. I think the future looked brighter when I was in elementary school and I think we need to be aggressive and creative in providing our young people with reasons to feel hopeful. I have just spent weeks trying to find a computer camp for my 11-year-old son this summer. Vermont does not have one. Shouldn’t our young people have access to advanced technology education when they are in middle school? Maybe next year…Things are relatively easy to get up and running. Having a voice in state affairs, and being heard when you want to be, is another thing I value about our state. Sometimes you just have to a bug in the right ear! Thank you VPR!

Claire, Lyndon
Posted by VPR Online Producer, Tim Johnson

My Vermont



There are two things I love about Vermont: the land and Vermonters.
I love how Vermonters have pursued their interests regarding the land and, as a whole, collectively, have an amazing depth and breadth of knowledge from the impact of nuclear waste to the struggles of the tiniest endangered species. When I want to learn about solid waste or cave bats, it is easy to find knowledgeable people who are excited to teach me what I want to learn. I come home the richer for it and, in turn, teach my own family.
I love the land, because it is the soul of New England, these stony, rock hard hills covered with pasture and forest. With the ever-changing seasons there is always something new. In April, for example, we left the relative quiet of winter and awakened to song bird soloists and a choral serenade of peepers chanting the notes of a new beginning. The warm breath of spring transports us into new activities, new life.
My only fear is if we should let down our guard and, for reasons of greed or some other untoward purpose, allow our vigilance or knowlede to flag. There are many pressures and reasons to compromise our vigilance and many of them may seem logical in argument. It is up to us Vermonters, collectively to withstand this onslaught. The land will hold and sustain us as long as we uphold our duty to the land.


Heidi Buxton Ladd
Chester