I believe that change can happen, but it can take a lot of effort. Three years ago God presented a hurdle that deeply hurt me, challenged my political beliefs, and had the power to destroy our family, farm business, and most painfully my faith in my beloved hometown.
Through this devastation I’ve started my own process of trying to not let others eat away at me, which is for some reason insanely hard for me.
I’ve redefined my core values and reassessed how I believe Vermont can thrive. It has pushed me to become not just quietly part of our democratic process, but to stand for what I believe is right publicly. I’ve written letters to the editor, spoke at the statehouse, and networked like a lobbyist.
I’ve grown to deeply respect the “silent workers” like plow truck drivers, loggers, and utility line workers who keep our world running without asking for much in return. I’ve become keenly aware of the elitist prejudice openly spewed in my community that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. You can’t curse the guy out with the big truck, yet require his services when you’ve helplessly slid off the road. You can’t deny a permit for firewood, then call in November wondering where your dry wood is.
I don’t know where this fire inside of me will take me. Perhaps my purpose is just a Song of What Was, of trying to hold onto something that’s already too far gone, but I think there’s enough grit in me to keep trying. I’ve enough momentum to get me through today.
Song of What Was
