Vermont

The road meanders through the green mountains on the way from Killington to Waitsfield, Vermont. Although not forecasted, a squaw of snow coated the one-lane highway. Throughout the cautious drive, the occasional red barn or forest-green shanty occupies the desolate land, sitting below the rolling mountains. Needless to say, this part of Vermont is serene.

My dad and I rambled into a gas station in the town of Waitsfield for the sole purpose of seizing Vermont’s elusive beer: Heady Topper. No dice, but the clerk–similar to most Vermonters we encountered–was congenial. She provided a few stores to checkout, and thirty minutes later, she had steered us correctly: Heady Topper was materialized.

The people in Vermont take pride in their powdered slopes, local stores, various art mediums, and especially, their beer. Vermont’s craft beer possesses substance–something which is devoid in most commercial beers. Overall, a different, but natural feel lingers throughout the state. There is no urgency to mass produce, become famous, or compete with the rest of the society. Vermont does its own thing, and does it well.

On the journey back, we veered off onto an unknown dirt road which rolled over a narrow river. We pulled over at the bridge and got out, panning the enchanting scenery which surrounded us. I braced on the railing and gazed down at the river. The water was clear and appeared pure. The only sound was the soothing flow from below. It was refreshing.

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