Putney, Vermont. It lays just far in enough from the border of Massachusetts. Enough to feel as if you have space. Space from the fast moving world, space from the modern world, space from flat-land.

Hills, valleys, and pasture feed and form the community of Vermont into a place unlike anywhere else I have ever lived. I became a part of the community so fast, and the community became a part of me even faster.

Putney, Vermont has had some of the biggest impacts on my life. I have learned and experienced so much while living in Putney. From long, loving, relationships, to hectic one-night-stands. The beauty of Putney, for me, was mostly captured behind the ever-so-lacking-power of a 1974 Honda motorcycle through the system of back roads, leading me nowhere, leading me to peace and soaking up the beauty of the green mountains. The smells, the dust of the roads, and the quiet nights spent in the back of truck under the stars on Putney Mountain, it is home.

I find the deepest connection with Putney. The rustic community, the rustic landscape, and simply, the rust. I stop everyone and anyone in Putney when I find them behind the wheel of a rusty old pickup truck. I have yet to meet a soul that isn’t as true as their rusty old truck. Full of stories, full of hard times and good times, but all in all, full of happiness and dirt, the people I stop to ask about their rust-buckets have become friends and acquaintances for years to come.

The culvert that we swam in after school and work, the copper pipe coming out of a hillside that flowed ice-cold, fresh, mountain water during the warmer months into a wooden barrel, and the Putney Muffin at the Putney Diner. Oh, these three things sure have saved me after nights full of cheap beer.

Putney attracts my type of people. Putney attracted me. Putney will always be where I live.