My internal time and geographic clocks are completely off. Sometimes, it feels like I'm in the South. Other times I hear the accent and I know I'm in New England. Most of the time though I feel that I am not in the U.S. at all, but in a country all its own, removed from things. The crickets never stop. Like white noise, you forget about the hum after a while until you realize that it's still going. Then it fades to the background. Time and place feel jumbled together and strewn about like dice. What can I tell you about Brattleboro? It's a place of juxtapositions. A place where shiny new adirondack chairs sit on the roofs of houses with peeling pain and squeaky doors. It's a place where ten or more interstates intersect but the South Main Street that I live on doesn't have a center lane. It's a place where the meat farmer will talk your ear off--but not make recommendations about what you should buy and will only tell you recipes after you've made a decision and bought it. I thought I'd feel at home at the farmers' market, but the cultural difference there is more palpable than anywhere else. Or maybe, but trying to recreate the familiar associations I knew at home, I only distanced myself more. I am the Other now. And while it's exciting, and new, and wonderful in its own way, it's also bittersweet. I write this in the cemetery, where maple leaves are already turning. The distanced friendliness will take getting used to, and I wonder if I will keep my pacific northwest openness or if I will evolve into a New Englander.
And yet, it's hard not to be happy here. I am surrounding myself with nerds and circus people, glitter and sci-fi and cooking and tea geeks. I am off on an excellent adventure. I can walk everywhere, the main food store is a co-op, and the restaurants I've been to al serve VT grass-fed beef. It is beautiful and foreign and homey all at the same time. My apartment is small, has a rat in the basement, a washer that only works if you fill it less than half way, and a wall in the living room designated for handstands. There are swimming holes along the river, and a house that's always open where friends hang out, cooking and talking. The bar looks more like a coffee shop with dim lighting, there are three bookstores and three tea stores all within five blocks of each other. This place is special. The more I hang out with new friends while training mannas in the living room, the more I walk past the cemetery out to the school, the more I smile and laugh and stay open, the more it feels like home.