In fact, you don’t even call it maple syrup. It’s “the fake stuff” or “the maple impostor,” or occasionally something more crude. Plus, Aunt Jemima ain’t got nothing on your neighbor’s syrup.
It gets cold here. You’re not buying the trendy flannel that hipsters pay $100 for — you’re going straight to your local outdoor store and getting something with lining that will help during the below-zero temps.
Instead, you say something that sounds like “Vermawn” and “the mounains.” There are no T’s in your dialect.
You grew up on the mountain. You’ve spent days carving down Mad River, Jay Peak, Snow Mountain. We all know if you’re in Vermont and it’s snowing, you’re at the mountain.
The name may be weird, but you’ll never turn down a maple-black-raspberry twist. Never.
And you get annoyed when they stop in the middle of the road to take pictures.
You probably saw that Thanksgiving turkey on their farm, too.
Rain one minute, hot and sunny the next? Golf-ball sized hail? Just your average Thursday.
They left this out of the 2nd-grade textbooks, but boy do you know it’s true.
It’s highly represented in your phone, on your snowboard, and on t-shirts in your closet. You haven’t changed your phone number even if you’ve moved away, because there’s a strange need to keep those first three digits.
Because Vermonters aren’t scared of three feet of snow.
No matter if you subscribe to the flower child ways or not.
It’s hard to just pop in and buy milk when everyone wants to say hi.
It’s also a go-to while traveling, and you know and love at least one flavor from their graveyard.