Sometimes I wonder why I live in a State with a gopher shooting contest. So, I guess for you guys, maybe a little background might be helpful?

I moved from Texas. We went to rodeos, we wore boots, we shot people for no reason because that’s the law -- you know, the usual. My then boyfriend, (now husband) and I wanted to have kids eventually and thought Vermont might be the place to be because of the clean healthy air and the less traffic and the whole general store get a soda for a nickel and go sit by a river somewhere type thing. Well, my first newsflash: sodas ain’t a nickel. Okay okay, I didn’t expect them to be THAT cheap, but I was surprised at the significant markup on tasty carbonated beverages up here. Not to mention that fun little extra five to 15 cents on bottles that can be redeemed. That means a lot of extra change for your six-pack of Dr. Pepper, if you can find it in the first place. I, being from the south, assumed that as one of the four food groups (Fried Things with Cream Gravy, Mexican Food, Dr. Pepper, and Sides of Cow.), Dr. Pepper was required by state law. Apparently not. Upon arriving I realized that the Northeast is the land of milk and honey to the Pepsi Corporation. Feel free to pick up a Diet Pepsi Caramel Jazz; they have those in spades. But forget doing a days honest work to relax in the evening with an ice cold Big Red. To the Vermonters, that’s merely a gum, not a tasty red cream soda composed entirely of cotton candy, sugar, and crack. Perish the thought that you can make a cake out of it. My coworkers were all a-fluster when I tried to explain that. Cake from a soda? (I feel it should be the fifth food group, but that’s still open to negotiations.) But I digress…

Moving on to item #2 on the not-so-expected list. Milk. Not until late in the 90s I believe, did the population of people in Vermont surpass the population of cows. Basically… there are a lot of damned cows. And unlike Texas, they don’t raise them from fuzzy little infants into healthy males only to whack them in the head and serve them on a bun. It’s all dairy baby. Fifty-gajillion Mrs. Cows, all waiting to give this precious little state it’s calcium. So why, on God’s green earth, and it is green up here, instead of a toasty brown, is milk MORE expensive? Oh, yes. I don’t know about you kids in Middle America and the sunny Big Island and everywhere else, but milk in Texas was barely over two bucks when I left. Remember, bloody slaughtery boy cows. Here, it’s somewhere in between three and four bucks. Plump happy fatty milky chick cows. What da' damn deal yo? Can you tell I’m a little homesick? Well that brings me to item #3.

Apparently, I am a flatlander. This is a derogatory term that the Vermonters user for we who are not from Vermont. This of course makes no sense, as someone from the Rockies does not very well live on flat land. Nor does someone from Pennsylvania or New Hampshire… you get the idea. Either way, it means we’re stupid, and we don’t know nuthin’ cuz we ain’t from Vermont. Boo to you! There are things I like about this state! I like maple syrup! I think fried dough is a great idea; it’s funnel cake without the holes! That eliminates the uselessness within the cake itself. Why don’t you like me? I can shovel snow. I should be the snow shovelin’ mo’fo’in champion! I brought my friends and family up here for my wedding in October to say, “Hey, look at the trees. They’re really pretty. Would you like some fried dough? Here, add some maple syrup. Hang around for the winter, and I’ll show you how I shovel.” I was really excited. I made snow angels. I went to Tunbridge Fair and played Vermonty games and watched Oxen pull big blocks and not ONCE did I try to shoot OR eat them. (Although if they were gophers pulling little teeny tiny blocks, I guess that would be all cool.) I have TWO flannel jackets. I think that shows progress doesn’t it? Would a flatlander look at the exhibit on farm equipment through the centuries?!?! Bah. I need a Plato Grande #7 and a margarita.