My hair-cut girl vacations in Jamaica with her husband.
A 12-year-old girl, daughter of a friend of mine, makes, packages, and distributes healthy dog treats.
I eat lunch most days at a place owned by a young woman, Amy. I love the place. Amy and the crew of Goddesses are uplifting; they serve healthy food.
A farmer and his wife take in foster kids. He says kids are the reason he loves life so.
A girl moved from a small Vermont town to San Francisco to experience living a specific lifestyle, a lifestyle many would call strange. If the many realized they're just as strange, we'd all be the wiser. The girl still loves Vermont a whole lot, but is glad she moved.
A guy in his mid-50s works three days out of seven. He visits his girlfriend in Canada every other week, and has a 58-year-old buddy who retired years ago and is totally content and happy. This friend has one creemee and one Milky Way candy bar each, per week.
A guy won't kill a woodchuck that has lived on his property for four years even though the ground hog has chewed on his front door jam. The other day the woodchuck ran rippling into his hole, about faced, stuck his snout just out the hole and looked at the guy. The guy watched the woodchuck for a long while. He thinks ground hogs are cute.
My cat calls to me to follow her out to the deck. She jumps on the old grayed out Adirondack chair, scratches her nails, and purrs, while I rub all along her back.
It's chilly here as I type this piece, but I will not start a fire.
A middle-aged man hikes Mt. Mansfield, in the winter, in all fashions of weather, with his one and a half year-old daughter attached by harness following behind in a mini-boggin. The baby is swaddled to the nth degree; she's a toasty warm maple scone cuddled in a muffin basket. He'll ski down, she'll follow-look out 2026 Winter Games.
A dentist flosses the teeth of others-often.
Forty two-guy teams compete to see which Town Road Crew has the best snow plow drivers. The teams navigate an obstacle course set with plastic bottle targets the driver and wing plowman try to knock over. It's a precision thing. You wouldn't believe how accurate these plow dudes are. Next winter, if after a storm, you awake to find your mailbox has been hit by the town plow guy consider your standing in town because the plow guy could easily have missed.
A friend of mine makes socks; sells them to our Armed Forces and the general public.
At the exact second I wrote this, and at the second you're reading it, thousands of hearty men and women are working roadway tollbooths. As you read, one of them is saying-"Exit 16? Take Route 4."
The sock guy? He employs hundreds of men and women.
Walking up the mountain behind my house, I came upon a moose standing with her calf by her side. I snuck up behind, oh, probably to within twenty feet of them. The mother's head nodded down toward her right front hoof "human," she said. The baby offered "big one."
You know what else I saw today? I saw a turkey fly. You didn't think they could?
There are people in bands playing Cuban music.
Behind my house, what essentially is, though I don't own it, my back yard, is a too hundred-acre piece of a six-mile long stretch named, Worcester Ridge. The parcel makes for dandy hiking. Near the apex of the ridge looking out to the west, one can scan a panorama from Camel's Hump, north as far as Lowell. From there, a three-minute hike to the apex of the ridge allows you to view a panorama of the east that includes most of Vermont's Northeast Kingdom, and all of New Hampshire's Presidential mountain range. Oooo, aaah!
On the way down from the ridge today, I thought maybe- some day-I'd plant some marijuana plants in the woods off the hiking road. I don't smoke dope, never did, and never will. I wouldn't have a clue how to get hemp seeds. But I could make some extra money selling it. Of course, I won't do that. But if you want to, you should go right on ahead.
Above are short comments on a few, out of a zillion things, one can do in Vermont.
Hey bored people, do you feel a little silly? Boredom is boring; it's a state that should once and for all be dragged to the trash bin.
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act "The Logger." His column appears weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Listen for The Logger, Rusty DeWees, Thursdays at 7:40 on the Big Station, 98.9 WOKO or visit his website at www.thelogger.com