Local Affairs

Dear friends,

It’s been a winter with not much snow, though the ground has been white-crusted consistently, which is good for the plants. What are the local guys doing if they can’t snowmobile? Logging! Huge piles of red pine logs dot the roadsides here and there; their destination this year is the pulp market, I’m afraid.—that’s paper, maybe mulch. Kindly Dave Silloway and his nephews’ neat little lumber camp out in our south field

(an access favor we granted Rick, landowner of the ridge) is now dismantled so the men could get to sugaring. So the red pines never met their lofty destiny of telephone poles after all. At least the forest is improved for the growth of more useful species.

Changes came here with the logging. In early December, through snowless brush and brambles, Mark had driven his tractor straight up the lowest portion of the ridge, creating a new walking path for us that felt like luxury. He also mowed a sweet old field up there, making a new picnic spot. (He has Rick’s permission to improve his land.) Now Silloway’s new and well-done logging road bisects our modest new path, creating a feeling of intersection where so recently was only impenetrable territory. Other new logging roads put in break up the feeling of vastness up there. I have mixed feelings that apply to all roads: they are convenient, they invite walking, they open up new destinations, they invite the riffraff in with all their toys. Who knows how frequented these road-paths will be? Perhaps almost not at all, and we will continue to enjoy the more pleasant navigation up there.

Tomorrow is annual town meeting. Randolph, home of some bad politics, in a bad political age: the Randolph Herald, our regional paper which we really like, fears it will be a contentious meeting. I feel a little dread and a lot of fascination. You know the scene: the Almighty Dollarists versus the Common Gooders. Three Almighty Dollarists are running for Selectboard, with promises to cut the library hours and the kids’ summer camp and eliminate the catastrophic road blocks the town has placed in the way of all the businesses just dying to relocate to Central Vermont. They sent around a circular I found so loathsome I wrote my first letter to the editor. The circular contained the statement, “It’s all about money you know” (note the lack of proper punctuation). There was even a sub-header in it that said, “Be Angry and Don’t Forget.” This referred to one of their own who had been our town manager and gotten fired for polarizing and alienating the townspeople. His brutishness was known even in Montpelier. In my letter, I had a field day with the circular; it was a pleasure to dismember it. And I got to know some of the Common Gooders I hadn’t known before as a result.

Tomorrow is also our election day. I see it as a test of the Tea Party presence in our midst. I’ll follow-up after the Big Day. Stay tuned.

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The election and town meeting went well! After a wonderful zero-degree night, the sun beat on the snow, shining as brightly as a March sun can (heating up our sunspace to 85 degrees) and lots of people showed up, though it’s held on a Tuesday morning. (What are they thinking?) The most important local news: all three bozos lost the election, by at least 200 votes each. Despite the militarism and religiosity of the Randolph Fourth of July parade, I guess there are a lot of sensible people here after all. I feel much happier being a Randolph resident.

And the most important non-local impact of our meeting was this: the last article of business for the day is the “Is there anything else?” moment. At that time a young man in the back identified himself and said, “I propose the following non-binding vote. Because of the 2010 Supreme Court ‘Citizens United’ decision, I propose that we vote on two things—that money is not speech, and that corporations are not people.” Without discussion, when the moderator called for the vote every single person in that room save one reactionary Selectman who called out ‘Nay”, everybody in that room raised their voices in a resounding “Aye!” It was thrilling. Everyone knew about the issue already. Wow.

One more political note: It was presidential primary day and Vermonters are allowed to choose a Democratic or Republican ballot during town elections—no need to have registered as one or the other. Mark and I chose Republican ballots, just to get the satisfaction of being tiny foils to the front-runners. I felt wild, hearing the word “Republican” leave my mouth when asked which ballot I desired. Recreational voting. I voted for Jon Huntsman and Mark voted for Ron Paul. What does that say about us?

So now winter is brought to its knees by a bout of freakishly warm weather. An investment newsletter for commodities traders that I read said this non-winter is the result of the Icelandic volcano of last year, plus two in Siberia. They created an air pattern that kept the Arctic air from us and dumped it onto eastern Europe. Seemed to make sense.

Mud season is upon us a month early. Luckily, the first mud season variety show is tonight, at tiny Chelsea Town Hall, featuring the Old Groundhog Opry. If it’s great, I’ll let you know!

Love,

Josie

p.s. Photo of woman with creative hair style is our Town Meeting Moderator, a local lawyer and woman of standing—this year she forwent (word?) her suit and got expressive. She’s standing with a Frenchman, a pal of ours called Patrick who used to be a spy in Africa, among other wild things in his past.