Rude 7

Despite good planning, there are times when we are forced onto Route 7 towards Burlington. We don’t want to drive to Burlington but we often need something besides a box of beads, hippy skirts, cow paintings or a balsam scented coffee mug.

Route 7 is an unfortunate highway, if you can call it a highway. There are pot holes, frost heaves, blind curves, and insufficient shoulder lanes, not to mention speed traps just south of Shelburne and north of Ferrisburg, the only two areas of the route wide enough to maneuver without white knuckles. Continue reading

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Sour Grapes

There sure are a lot of big houses around here. And big cars. And big swimming pools. And big horse stables and tennis courts. Even big sheds. Vermont used to be in scale, as I remember. Everybody had a small to medium sized house and a small to medium sized car that they parked in a small to medium sized garage. The town doctor and town lawyer’s houses had a better paint job and pruned trees with one or two special features in the house, like a real stone fireplace or a sky light, but we didn’t think much about it. Continue reading