The Rutland Area Food Co-op, a three-minute drive from my apartment, hosts frighteningly-shaped mushrooms, dietary supplements whose names I cannot pronounce, and a few faces I know better than most in this town.
In June — three months deep into the pandemic — I moved to Rutland City to begin reporting on southern Vermont for VTDigger and Report for America, an organization that mirrors the values of Teach for America and AmeriCorps. Its goal: fill coverage gaps across the country with journalists eager to keep readers informed through shoe-leather reporting.
Shoe-leather reporting looks a little different these days.
Over the phone, I’ve heard countless stories from residents of southern Vermont. But I can’t help but imagine how my regional beat might look had I arrived in time to meet Rutland and Bennington in person. I might have walked to meetings for the Board of Aldermen, or Project VISION, an organization that has measurably changed this city. Perhaps I would have lingered afterward, connecting with people who came with something to say.
I haven’t exchanged pleasantries with everyone who stocks the shelves or works the register at the small store in Rutland City. Even so, my trips there have helped me join this community in a tiny way I can’t help but cherish this year.
Regional reporting aims to articulate a community’s challenges and successes. Crinkled eyebrows, pointed fingers, raised fists: these actions are facts in their own right, illustrating a narrative of a place with texture, empathy, clarity and knowledge.
While I’ve written most stories from the desk, a few fleeting, carefully distanced ‘boots on the ground’ moments underscore the value of witnessing the physical.
At a Black Lives Matter mural painting event in Bennington, I felt the tension between opposing groups, saw police make arrests, watched yellow paint spill on pavement and tears shed in anger.
I tasted Syrian coffee prepared by Hazar Mansour after a socially distanced Habitat for Humanity dedication ceremony, during which she, her husband Hussam Alhallak and their three children celebrated their permanent settlement to Rutland after a long journey fleeing war in Syria.
After phone and Zoom conversations, I thought I had completed a piece about the harassment that pushed Tabitha Moore from Rutland County. But upon visiting her home for a photo, I saw the re-painted, formerly vandalized Black Lives Matter sign she’d referenced, and the white picket fence that surrounded the house she’d soon leave behind. I saw that she was tired. Almost all of our conversation from the short visit earned a place in the piece.
Near the Rutland Airport, scientists pieced together the geology of the Clarendon Gorge, hoping to map the spread of toxic chemicals. Their hands gestured from one rock formation to another, and watching this helped me understand the rock, the contamination and their work so I could explain it to readers (with help from digital editor Mike Dougherty).
A few times now, I’ve heard that the southern half of the state is Vermont’s “stepchild” — often overlooked by those in northern counties. I’ve started to feel a little pride when I hear that term, because I live in this place and get to witness its secrets, pitfalls and strengths. I’m here with the specific intention of knowing southern Vermont, and telling the rest of the state what’s at stake for the people who live here — myself included.
The pandemic has presented a challenge in knowing it.
The Rutland Co-op helps.
