September 22nd, 2016
RUTLAND — A large and enthusiastic crowd gathered at 121 West St. in downtown Rutland last Thursday afternoon to celebrate the official opening and renaming of the Clement Building, which now houses Castleton University students in two formerly empty floors.
HIGH SCHOOL SPORTS
9/19 Mt. Abe vs. Burlington 2-0
9/21 Mt. Abe vs. Colchester 3-1
9/21 Mt. Mansfield vs. MUHS 5-1
9/21 Bellows Falls vs. OV 3-2 (2OT)
9/20 MUHS vs. CVU 1-0
RUTLAND — The beautiful photography of former Addison County resident Steve Costello is going on display at this weekend at Rutland’s Chaffee Art Center in an exhibition titled “Eye on Nature: Photographs by Steve Costello.”
On Friday, Sept. 23, from 11 a.m.-5 p.m. and again on Saturday, Sept. 24, from 11 a.m.-3 p.m., the public is welcome to visit the Chaffee at 16 South Main St. for a pop-up exhibit of Costello’s photography. This is the first time Costello has publically shared his work.
BRISTOL — A group of Bristol residents have proven their willingness to bare all for Holley Hall.
This Saturday at the Bristol Harvest Festival they will unveil the “Bristol Au Naturel” calendar, featuring naked residents posed “discretely” at a number of favorite Bristol locales.
We all love the '80s right? Why wouldn't you? Wild hair, overstated duds, amazing dance moves and epic guitar riffs. But here in Vermont (ahem, Addison County) we might not be 100 percent '80s rockers at heart (we'll leave that for the students on the hill). Gotta get us some of that finger-pickin', foot-stompin' bluegrass twang before it's a real party.
Get ready, because the best of both worlds are hitting the stage on Friday night at the Marquis in Middlebury. Yes, that's right, an '80s Bluegrass Hillbilly Ball — get excited!
In Rutland, the struggles that town and city have gone through in its reckoning to become a refugee resettlement site provide important lessons other Vermont communities seeking similar refugee status should consider.
It appears the hen’s urging
her poult to wait at the edge
It’s 10:30 on a Friday night and the lights of faraway Boston bleach the hem of the darkness as I travel at exactly 73 miles per hour toward Logan Airport. My mouth is thick with the sour taste of rest area coffee and my eyes feel like raisins. My companion, a disembodied voice broadcasting from an undisclosed location in California’s Bay Area, wants me to know there’s something wrong in America.