Tattoos are to Portland what dreads are to Vermont. Johnson's effortless look not only matches the current state of terrain (clumpy, muddy) but also coincides nicely with the continuous loop of jam band music played at the town bar (yup, I was there by last Wednesday) and the less hipster, more authentic lumberjack style of wool flannels, dirty blue jeans and knee-high hiking boots. On a related note, Vermont also beats Portland in being "whiter than sour cream," as one resident put it.
Mud is to Vermont what spring is to the rest of New England. Right now, we are in the crux of maple and mud season (the other two seasons being the more traditional winter and summer). Walking along, you'll find maple trees "tapped" with tubes, dripping sap into buckets. You'll also be doing this walking in a lot of dirty snow and mud.
In an attempt to force the season of spring, everyday my new friend Megan, a performance artist, takes her hairdryer (connected by a zillion feet of extension cords) around the campus and tries to melt the last pockets of snow. Yesterday, a fifth grader walked by and muttered almost hostiley, "Yeah. Right. I get the joke." (I was going to film her today, but alas, it's actually snowing.)
She has also written an open letter to the Vermont tradition of "sugaring," the process of making maple syrup.
She also has a few opinions about milk.
This may be more of a reflection of the colossal milk dispenser in our cafeteria than the drink's statewide popularity. Though I have to admit that I do hit up that monstrosity every night to wash down my frosted brownie or pecan pie. Yup, we have dessert seven days a week and the rumor is there won't be any repeats all month long.
Which leads me to one last analogy: Cupcakes are to Vermont Studio Center what unicorns are to um...an already magical place? (Where do unicorns live? Wikipedia tells me Germany.) Whatever. Whipped cream cheese is fantastical.
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