Archive for the ‘Life in Vermont’ Category
Posted on August 5, 2006 - by deCadmus
And the Daisy Goes To…
Congrats to Philip Baruth, whose wicked good political blog — Vermont Daily Briefing — takes home this year’s Seven Daisies Award for Best Vermont Blog.
I’m a regular reader of VDB, and I marvel at Philip’s ability to channel his inner absurdist to comment on the local and national political stage with both acerbic wit and elan. Particularly so when the self-same events he chronicles send me into lathers of righteous indignation and the only comments I can think of I am entirely unwilling to print, ’cause, you know… I wouldn’t want my Mom to read that kind of thing. (This explains why Bloggle remains virtually politics-free.)
Kudos, Philip!
But keep in mind… this whole oh-we’re-interested-in-politics thing is probably just a flash in the pan. I predict next year it’s back to bread and circuses, as usual.
Posted on July 25, 2006 - by deCadmus
The View From Up Here
Living in a valley nestled up against the Green Mountains I guess it’s only natural to want to to get a little closer look sometimes — to see the world from up there, to reach out and tickle a cloud or two. I haven’t yet mastered the slopes in the winter-time (honest, I’ll take snowboarding lessons this year!) but it’s an easy enough trek to the summit in summer… given a reasonably capable vehicle. (You didn’t really think I climbed, did you?)
Here then… the view from the top of Mount Mansfield.
Oh, and Mom… remember how you didn’t much care for Lincoln Gap? You’d *hate* this road. ;)
Posted on July 10, 2006 - by deCadmus
Hello, Silvia?
Oh, bother.
Since moving to our tiny little homestead in Vermont, what with its galley kitchen and severe lack of counter-space, I’d pretty much given up on home-grown espresso until we’d moved to a grown-up place… i.e. to a home we might someday buy or build here that has a more or less dedicated space for my coffee adventures. Until then my plan was to make-do. Make-do with hit-and-miss espresso beverages from local coffee shops. Make-do with an infrequent dose of espresso nirvana from the coffee lab at Green Mountain (where I too rarely have opportunity to show my face, much less beg a cappuccino.) Oh there’s plenty of brewed coffee to enjoy, sure enough… but for espresso, make-do. (more…)
Posted on July 9, 2006 - by deCadmus
Independence Day 2006
For a bang-up Fourth of July parade, there’s no place I’d rather be than a small town in Vermont. From the community bands, to the flag-flying-farm-tractors, to the local squadron of the Lawn Chair March & Drill Team, it’s a family affair, a community effort, and a point of pride that Vermonters can hang their collective hat on. That’s to say nothing of the neighborhood lemonade stands, frog-jumping races and mini-golf for all. But don’t take my word for it… see for yourself.
While the parade was a pleasure, shooting the fireworks was a more daunting task. What with a mild winter and a very soggy spring, mosquito populations have exploded. More, as this particular population of mosquitoes lives within shouting distance of the 158th Fighter Wing (AKA, the Green Mountain Boys), they’ve learned a thing or two about flying in formation. It’s only with the dedicated efforts of a former neighbor (who drove in from Indiana for the occasion) that we were able to defend against the skeeter attack — especially during the longer exposures. While I’d press the shutter button and commence to swatting furiously, John-Park would hold down the tripod with one hand (lest it get carried away) and spray sweeping arcs of Deet with the other. It was hit and miss, but we snagged a few photos that are — hopefully — worth the electrons they’re printed on.
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Posted on April 4, 2006 - by deCadmus
Springtime in Vermont
Last night I grilled dinner on the deck out back, and pointed out to herself how the tulips and daffodils were pokin’ up and thinking about getting their bloom on. Just when you thought it was safe to lose those snow tires… this happens.
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Posted on March 30, 2006 - by deCadmus
Seasons a Plenty
Pay no attention to that whooshing sound… it’s yet another flock — a covey? a gaggle? — of missed deadlines and calendar pages swooping by the sunny window overlooking the commons here at Chez Bloggle. The fact that I have a moment to appreciate the sun is wonderful news, save for the accompanying fact that suggests somehow Winter is well on its way to becoming Spring, and with it, another pack (a herd? a fleet? ah!… an embarrassment!) of deadlines. (1)
Ah, well… the warming sun is its own reward.
Lest that little red circle ’round the 20th of March on your calendar lead you astray, I should remind you that here in Vermont things don’t really begin to green up in earnest ’til Memorial Day or so. Meanwhile we have other seasons to celebrate.
Firstly, there’s Mud Season. I’ve heard more than a few thrilling tales — matter of fact, their telling is something of an art around here — of folk who’ve found themselves hip-deep in goo following a February thaw, 
where melting snow, ice and ground frost conspire to entrap the unwary in muddy ruts where even the most sure-footed four wheeled tow trucks daren’t plant their rugged tread. Oh, sure… you on your fancy pavement may not suffer such indignities, but the greater share of roads in Vermont remain — yes, even in the 21st century — little more than gravel-sprinkled plowed ground. ‘Course, from where I sit, while the roads may be tricky there’s few challenges to compare to the marathon scrub-a-dub session when the pooch bounds after a bunny, and instead bags a bog. Whoof.
The other season of note is, of course, Sugaring Season. To those among you who have never experienced the singular sensation that is Vermont maple syrup, my deepest sympathies… more so if your only experience of nature’s perfect pancake topping is some phony caramel-colored corn syrup pretender.
Real maple syrup is the product of a hard work, and — like telling tall, muddy tales — in Vermont it’s an art-form, a past-time, and for some, a way of life. It takes 40 gallons of maple sap to make a single gallon of syrup… and, because the sap is at its very best still fresh and cold from the tap, you’ll find the evaporators at sugar houses boiling away all night long. Looking for a sugar house? Follow the billowing plume of steam… and at its end you’ll find a hard-working Vermonter, who will probably be more than happy to share a sample of his amber-hued product, and maybe a shot of bourbon, besides.
Only in Vermont…
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(1) While there are oodles of imaginative collective nouns for most everything from an exaltation of larks to a fright of ghosts, there appears to be no collective for deadlines… which strikes me as an opportunity for some suitable coinage.
Posted on February 24, 2006 - by deCadmus
Reader Email
Like most everybody with an email address, I get a daily deluge of email offers to sell me mortgages, prescription drugs, and college diplomas… and while I’d love to paper my walls with non-accredited college diplomas in fantastic subjects — Semiotic Philology, Medieval Film Studies, Contemporary Coffeeology — these places never include a price list. (What kind of marketing is that, anyway?)
I also get a number (a small number) of emails from Bloggle readers. Some are praise! Others are criticism. (Both are welcome.) Most are questions… and most often those questions become fodder for future posts. Here’s a sampling of those that I don’t think I’ve yet written about… and their answers.
So how do you like living in Vermont?
Very much, thanks.
Really?
Yes, really.
When you review coffees, how do you brew the coffee, and why don’t you offer a number scale?
Great question. Most all of the reviews I offer here are based on tasting coffee versus cupping coffee. The distinction — in my mind, anyway — is important.
Cupping coffee is a technique usually used (and in my mind, best used) to evaluate green coffee, both to determine its roast potential, and to identify defects. (See Cupping Coffee with the Pros for details on the mechanics of cupping.) Tasting coffee, however, is something that everybody does… it’s just that some of us are perhaps more contemplative over their cup than others.
I make every effort to taste and evaluate coffees the same way you would, and so I brew the coffee I’m tasting much as you might, in a Melitta pour-over cone, brewed at 200 degrees F. (This is, incidentally, how I make most *every* cup I drink.) I’ll occasionally find a coffee that prefers another brewing method… when I do I’ll note that, too.
Cupping coffee is more rigorous — and more methodical — than tasting coffee. Cupping affords more opportunity to quantify a cup, but little opportunity to appreciate it. Cupping generates lots of numbers, to be sure. But numbers alone can’t tell the story of the farm where that coffee was grown, or how it was harvested, or how that coffee pairs with dessert. Numbers do little to describe the vast array of distinctive origins and flavors and aromas that make up the world of specialty coffee. At worst, numbers can have an unfortunate homogenizing effect on a market… at best, they simply fail to tell the whole story.
Is it snowing in Vermont?
Yes, at the moment it’s something of a blizzard out there. It’s lovely, really.
I own a little coffee shop in [Anytown, USA] and I roast my own coffee. If I send you some coffee, will you review it?
I love tasting coffee from all over. I really do. By all means, feel free to send coffee… and if I find it particularly distinctive I’m almost certain to write about it. Please send your coffee sealed in its commercial packaging. (To learn where to send coffee, drop me an email — there’s a link under my photo on this page — and I’ll forward you a postal address.)
If you write about my coffee, can I use your review to help sell my coffee?
Yes. It’s your coffee, after all.
Can I approve what you write about my coffee before you publish it?
No.
If I enclose a twenty dollar bill, can I guarantee a good review?
No. And for that matter, I can’t guarantee that I’ll write about your coffee at all… but if I do, I’ll call it like I see it. Of course, you’re still welcome to send your money… I may be in the market for a non-accredited college diploma.
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Posted on November 24, 2005 - by deCadmus
A Day of Thanks
Ah… Thanksgiving. A day to look back, reflect, and ponder all those things for which we are most grateful. And to stuff ourselves silly on carbolicious food.
Since when are fresh cranberries pink? Pink?! Absurd. No pink cranberries while I’m in charge of the cook-top… nope, it’s the rich, red-hued, three times conventional-priced organic cranberries to go with this year’s organic, locally-farmed turkey (guaranteed, says the turkey-farmer herself, to have gone to its reward with a happy grin on its beak — a privilege apparently reflected in the price I paid for the bird.)
Next year… I’m thinkin’ take-out. Or maybe I’ll lavish attention only on those beloved and traditional side dishes (cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, of course… and maybe even the green bean casserole with the little french-fried onion thingies on top) all served up with sliced turkey from the deli-counter. Or, maybe it’s just the tryptophan talkin’.
Now where’s that pie?
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Posted on November 20, 2005 - by deCadmus
Vermonter Quiz, Winter Edition
The Winter issue of Vermont Life magazine (no, the magazine title is not intended to be ironic) boasts a contest… a quiz whereby you may determine just how true a Vermonter you really are. Being a recent transplant — and a flatlander, at that — I quickly thumbed to the quiz pages, hoping to learn something new about my adopted home.
As it happens, not only do the editors not provide the answers to their 49 questions — not even as to why they seemingly lost their enthusiasm before they could advance the count to a nice, round 50 — from this flatlander’s point of view they’re asking the wrong questions. After all, I don’t lose any sleep over the fact that I don’t know the length of the state of Vermont, or of Vermont’s Long Trail (me, I thought a Long Trail was measured by its weight in ounces). Nor do I know the answer to the question, What is the smallest (organized) town in Vermont? Are they suggesting that some towns really have their act together, while others are merely confused federations of local taxpayers? A true Vermonter probably knows…
I’d think they could do those of us with a low Vermont Quotient a genuine service by asking questions that are truly relevant to the Vermont Experience… and, of course, providing a handy answer key. And so, in an effort to promote the general welfare of fellow transplants, flatlanders and other folk from Summer Else, I submit the following questions — and my understanding thus far of what the answers may be, ’cause heaven knows I haven’t been able to find a clue on Answers.com — for inclusion in the Vermonter Canon.
- What’s a plowbill?
A: This is the heart-stoppingly awesome sum of money you will be paying to a neighbor who has a truck or tractor with a snow blade attachment. It is a base rate that does not include tips or gratuities, which are not only appreciated, but evaluated to determine the relative urgency of removing the snow from your driveway as opposed to the drive of the guy down the road who pays in advance — in cash — and furthermore has a cute daughter of dating age.
- My street sign reads PVT. What’s that mean?
A: This is, in fact, an abbreviation for the Latin, Peculium Vermonti Terminum, or, the property of Vermont ends here. This means that neither the state of Vermont nor any of its townships (no matter how organized) make any claim to this property whatsoever… just think of that street as being a long feeder lane for your driveway, and refer to Question #1.
- Is it true that Vermonters have 23 words for snow?
A: No. In fact, Vermonters rarely refer to snow at all, save for waving a dismissive hand at “that white stuff”. Flatlanders, however, employ dozens of clever phrases to describe snow, many of which were made famous by comedian George Carlin… and some of which would likely make Mr. Carlin blush furiously.
- Why are there 5 foot poles on top of all the fireplugs?
A: On account of all that white stuff.
- The weatherman calls it a mild winter, but my thermometer reads 12 degrees below zero. What do Vermonters consider cold?
A: You see all those red barns? It’s cold when they turn blue.
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Posted on November 13, 2005 - by deCadmus
It’s Pathetic!
Ah… the classic Christmas stories: Holiday Inn, It’s A Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, and my personal favorite, A Charlie Brown Christmas.
You may never own an Inn in Vermont, experience what the world would be like without you, or meet the real Santa Claus… but you can get your very own Pathetic Christmas Tree.
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Hello.
Bloggle is the online playground of Doug Cadmus, a usability guy, writer, photographer and sometime dramatist who moved to Vermont for the coffee. When not writing, reading or walking his old, blind golden retriever, he roasts coffee in his garage and is the Web Guy for Green Mountain Coffee in Waterbury, VT. Flickr Photos
