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The long disaster
Nov 20, 2023
The internet today tells me people are dangerous and conniving. The world though, the real one, tells me they’re generous and trusting.
Bikes rest outside businesses, unlocked. Roadside boxes have cartons of eggs with signs that read ‘$3, leave money in the box’. Mom-and-pop-style BnB’s, quaint, are unlocked and unmanned between the hours of seven pm and nine am. Free veggie stands decorate street corners, ‘please take’. People pick up hitchhikers. Homes are unlocked. Kids frolic unattended in the street. It’s legal to walk and hunt, without permission, on any land unposted. This place reeks of small town shit and I say that in utter admiration.
We’ve been on the road for some days and are yet to sleep out in the open. The first two nights Ike welcomed us to his barn. Then Mark and Wendy opened up their guest bedroom and hottub. Then the Arlington Inn. Then Chance’s garage. Then Ian’s farm. Then Pamela and John and the king bed. Marshall and I are charming, but not that much.
I see a state, Vermont, that has been buffered from the homogenizing forces that have deadened the soul of many towns across the country. I see a state that still believes in the innate goodness of humans, yet to give in to the fear that is being spoon fed to us by the gallon. Be this a byproduct of rural living? Progressive state politics? A good school system? The brooks that trickle through every town center? The woods? The wild spaces?
The rolling green landscape is thick and alive and accented by a series of townships that sprout from the soil like colonies of interconnected microbial life. Circuited pockets of podunk-y people have chosen the general store over Target and it means that this place still holds it’s character and flare. Or is it the deciduous boundary, isolating them twenty miles in every direction, that seemingly suspends this place in time? I don’t know but I much like it.
The only shared commonalities between towns are the post office, general store, and heartwarming levels of neighborly trust. I’m told it’s a Vermont thing and that it’s been turned up to ten this fall in reaction to the natural disasters from the summer. Unity is in the air.
As we bike, neighbors throughout the state are still licking their wounds from the July flooding. They tell me it has consumed their life for the better part of the month. As damaging as the floods were, they continue, the worst part is that the extreme levels of water have caused an overgrowth of fungus– Anthracnose– to proliferate on the Maple leaves causing them to transition from green straight to brown without the typical yellow, orange, and red intermediary steps.
Peeping season will be dulled this year— affecting local tourism and hearts alike. They tell me changes like this, climate ones, are bringing increasingly frequent disasters to the area and I tell them ditto about my home.
The internet this morning missed the mark in regards to people. In regards to the environment however, it was spot on: it’s only a matter of time until the isolated climate disasters start overlapping into one big and continuous long one.
The internet today tells me people are dangerous and conniving. The world though, the real one, tells me they’re generous and trusting.
Bikes rest outside businesses, unlocked. Roadside boxes have cartons of eggs with signs that read ‘$3, leave money in the box’. Mom-and-pop-style BnB’s, quaint, are unlocked and unmanned between the hours of seven pm and nine am. Free veggie stands decorate street corners, ‘please take’. People pick up hitchhikers. Homes are unlocked. Kids frolic unattended in the street. It’s legal to walk and hunt, without permission, on any land unposted. This place reeks of small town shit and I say that in utter admiration.
We’ve been on the road for some days and are yet to sleep out in the open. The first two nights Ike welcomed us to his barn. Then Mark and Wendy opened up their guest bedroom and hottub. Then the Arlington Inn. Then Chance’s garage. Then Ian’s farm. Then Pamela and John and the king bed. Marshall and I are charming, but not that much.
I see a state, Vermont, that has been buffered from the homogenizing forces that have deadened the soul of many towns across the country. I see a state that still believes in the innate goodness of humans, yet to give in to the fear that is being spoon fed to us by the gallon. Be this a byproduct of rural living? Progressive state politics? A good school system? The brooks that trickle through every town center? The woods? The wild spaces?
The rolling green landscape is thick and alive and accented by a series of townships that sprout from the soil like colonies of interconnected microbial life. Circuited pockets of podunk-y people have chosen the general store over Target and it means that this place still holds it’s character and flare. Or is it the deciduous boundary, isolating them twenty miles in every direction, that seemingly suspends this place in time? I don’t know but I much like it.
The only shared commonalities between towns are the post office, general store, and heartwarming levels of neighborly trust. I’m told it’s a Vermont thing and that it’s been turned up to ten this fall in reaction to the natural disasters from the summer. Unity is in the air.
As we bike, neighbors throughout the state are still licking their wounds from the July flooding. They tell me it has consumed their life for the better part of the month. As damaging as the floods were, they continue, the worst part is that the extreme levels of water have caused an overgrowth of fungus– Anthracnose– to proliferate on the Maple leaves causing them to transition from green straight to brown without the typical yellow, orange, and red intermediary steps.
Peeping season will be dulled this year— affecting local tourism and hearts alike. They tell me changes like this, climate ones, are bringing increasingly frequent disasters to the area and I tell them ditto about my home.
The internet this morning missed the mark in regards to people. In regards to the environment however, it was spot on: it’s only a matter of time until the isolated climate disasters start overlapping into one big and continuous long one.
The internet today tells me people are dangerous and conniving. The world though, the real one, tells me they’re generous and trusting.
Bikes rest outside businesses, unlocked. Roadside boxes have cartons of eggs with signs that read ‘$3, leave money in the box’. Mom-and-pop-style BnB’s, quaint, are unlocked and unmanned between the hours of seven pm and nine am. Free veggie stands decorate street corners, ‘please take’. People pick up hitchhikers. Homes are unlocked. Kids frolic unattended in the street. It’s legal to walk and hunt, without permission, on any land unposted. This place reeks of small town shit and I say that in utter admiration.
We’ve been on the road for some days and are yet to sleep out in the open. The first two nights Ike welcomed us to his barn. Then Mark and Wendy opened up their guest bedroom and hottub. Then the Arlington Inn. Then Chance’s garage. Then Ian’s farm. Then Pamela and John and the king bed. Marshall and I are charming, but not that much.
I see a state, Vermont, that has been buffered from the homogenizing forces that have deadened the soul of many towns across the country. I see a state that still believes in the innate goodness of humans, yet to give in to the fear that is being spoon fed to us by the gallon. Be this a byproduct of rural living? Progressive state politics? A good school system? The brooks that trickle through every town center? The woods? The wild spaces?
The rolling green landscape is thick and alive and accented by a series of townships that sprout from the soil like colonies of interconnected microbial life. Circuited pockets of podunk-y people have chosen the general store over Target and it means that this place still holds it’s character and flare. Or is it the deciduous boundary, isolating them twenty miles in every direction, that seemingly suspends this place in time? I don’t know but I much like it.
The only shared commonalities between towns are the post office, general store, and heartwarming levels of neighborly trust. I’m told it’s a Vermont thing and that it’s been turned up to ten this fall in reaction to the natural disasters from the summer. Unity is in the air.
As we bike, neighbors throughout the state are still licking their wounds from the July flooding. They tell me it has consumed their life for the better part of the month. As damaging as the floods were, they continue, the worst part is that the extreme levels of water have caused an overgrowth of fungus– Anthracnose– to proliferate on the Maple leaves causing them to transition from green straight to brown without the typical yellow, orange, and red intermediary steps.
Peeping season will be dulled this year— affecting local tourism and hearts alike. They tell me changes like this, climate ones, are bringing increasingly frequent disasters to the area and I tell them ditto about my home.
The internet this morning missed the mark in regards to people. In regards to the environment however, it was spot on: it’s only a matter of time until the isolated climate disasters start overlapping into one big and continuous long one.
The internet today tells me people are dangerous and conniving. The world though, the real one, tells me they’re generous and trusting.
Bikes rest outside businesses, unlocked. Roadside boxes have cartons of eggs with signs that read ‘$3, leave money in the box’. Mom-and-pop-style BnB’s, quaint, are unlocked and unmanned between the hours of seven pm and nine am. Free veggie stands decorate street corners, ‘please take’. People pick up hitchhikers. Homes are unlocked. Kids frolic unattended in the street. It’s legal to walk and hunt, without permission, on any land unposted. This place reeks of small town shit and I say that in utter admiration.
We’ve been on the road for some days and are yet to sleep out in the open. The first two nights Ike welcomed us to his barn. Then Mark and Wendy opened up their guest bedroom and hottub. Then the Arlington Inn. Then Chance’s garage. Then Ian’s farm. Then Pamela and John and the king bed. Marshall and I are charming, but not that much.
I see a state, Vermont, that has been buffered from the homogenizing forces that have deadened the soul of many towns across the country. I see a state that still believes in the innate goodness of humans, yet to give in to the fear that is being spoon fed to us by the gallon. Be this a byproduct of rural living? Progressive state politics? A good school system? The brooks that trickle through every town center? The woods? The wild spaces?
The rolling green landscape is thick and alive and accented by a series of townships that sprout from the soil like colonies of interconnected microbial life. Circuited pockets of podunk-y people have chosen the general store over Target and it means that this place still holds it’s character and flare. Or is it the deciduous boundary, isolating them twenty miles in every direction, that seemingly suspends this place in time? I don’t know but I much like it.
The only shared commonalities between towns are the post office, general store, and heartwarming levels of neighborly trust. I’m told it’s a Vermont thing and that it’s been turned up to ten this fall in reaction to the natural disasters from the summer. Unity is in the air.
As we bike, neighbors throughout the state are still licking their wounds from the July flooding. They tell me it has consumed their life for the better part of the month. As damaging as the floods were, they continue, the worst part is that the extreme levels of water have caused an overgrowth of fungus– Anthracnose– to proliferate on the Maple leaves causing them to transition from green straight to brown without the typical yellow, orange, and red intermediary steps.
Peeping season will be dulled this year— affecting local tourism and hearts alike. They tell me changes like this, climate ones, are bringing increasingly frequent disasters to the area and I tell them ditto about my home.
The internet this morning missed the mark in regards to people. In regards to the environment however, it was spot on: it’s only a matter of time until the isolated climate disasters start overlapping into one big and continuous long one.