Burlington will hold a mayoral election the first Tuesday of March, town meeting day.  Four candidates put themselves forward for the Democratic nomination.  Vermont caucuses and primaries are open to all registered voters in a given jurisdiction, which sometimes leads to mischief, but usually results in a pure form of democracy.

“You’re going to be voting soon, you need to see how this works,” I said.
“That’s twooo yeeears awaaay,” she replied.  A lifetime for teens.  She brought her phone, so she could distract herself by texting friends.

The streets around Memorial Auditorium were filled with citizens, discussing the merits (and demerits) of the various candidates.  The afternoon was pleasantly warm.  Occupy Burlington protesters formed a brass band and marched to the auditorium’s steps, politely moving out of the way so people could enter.

Inside, the atmosphere was chaotic, as Democratic Party events always and everywhere seem to be, but the mood was upbeat and the left-of-center urban Vermonters milled in the aisles, many sporting stickers or signs proclaiming their choice, but everyone cordial.

After a glitch-ridden registration period and brief speeches by nominators and candidates, thirteen hundred and nine voters participated in the first round.  State Rep. Jason Lorber, the low vote-getter despite an endorsement from the Burlington Free Press, graciously bowed out.

By now, the teenager was hooked.  She no longer rolled her eyes when I identified friends or politicians in the crowd.  “Senator Hinda Miller?  She’s the jog-bra lady!  I remember her from fifth grade!”  (For the record, the teen will deny she was ever interested.  She’s lying, but needs to maintain her side of the generation gap.  I respect this.)

A cookie from the snack bar helped maintain her mood (and blood sugar) but after four hours, I had only just dropped my round two ballot.  Back home, a neighborhood potato roast (as mentioned last week) was about to get started and since ballot counting was taking about an hour, we left.

Walking out, she said, “Remember how big the snowbanks here were last winter?”  I do remember.  I remember sitting beside them in the car, waiting to pick her up from basketball practice, listening to radio reports of anti-government protests in Tunisia following the self-immolation suicide/protest of Mohamed Bouazizi.

I walked the teen home, checked on the potato preparations (as ever, I contributed little to the feast), grabbed my bike and got back to the caucus just in time to hear that City Councilor Bram Kranichfeld had been eliminated in the second round.  He too, was gracious in defeat.

I made out my third-round ballot, dropped it in the box and headed home.  Down to two candidates, why stick around?  Most of the crowd agreed and the street corners were thick with small-town punditry as I pedaled away.

A few blocks south, Jarred and Caitlin, who still vote in New Hampshire, pulled up beside me and we cruised along updating the day’s events.  “This is what democracy feels like,” I thought.

Back yard punditry around the fire as we ate wild mushroom soup and waited for the potatoes to roast.  My cell phone rang; it was my friend Chris, still at the auditorium.  “Can you come back for another round?  It looks like neither candidate has a majority.  They’re tied.”

Tied they were – and are.  Remaining candidates Miro Weinberger and Tim Ashe agreed it was senseless to try and bring voters back Sunday night, so the caucus will continue as soon as the city Democrats figure out when, where and how.  Only those who registered Sunday will participate.

In New York and Oakland, police shut the Occupy camps.  The camp in Burlington was shut down as well, after a man tragically committed suicide in one of the tents.  Although these developments are unwelcome, they have been peaceful.

We need change in this country, change for the better.  The year which began with radio reports of a nascent Arab spring has seen governments toppled with varying degrees of violence while some undemocratic leaders violently hang on.  There have been bitter protests and riots in European cities from Athens to London.  Here in American we cling, however tenaciously, to peaceful processes of democratic change.  Let’s hope we can continue this; let’s hope our leaders recognize this and respond in kind.

© Mark Floegel, 2011

Adrienne and I have lived in Vermont for 12 years, or for one-tenth of the recorded history of weather. The newspaper published a list of the 20 largest snowstorms in Burlington history. It’s reasonable to assume we have witnessed 10 percent of those storms, but that assumption would be incorrect. According to the National Weather Service, I have witnessed 65 percent – or seven – of Burlington’s 20 worst snowstorms.

What gives? Global warming. It’s counterintuitive to think of snowstorms and global warming in the same sentence, but the long-term forecast for this part of the world is warmer and wetter.

In Vermont’s traditional weather pattern (and by “traditional,” I mean the way things used to be), the six weeks from New Year’s Eve until St. Valentine’s Day were the window for sub-zero temperatures. “As the days lengthen, the cold strengthens,” was the post-solstice proverb, according to David Ludlum in The Vermont Weather Book, published in 1985. (I keep a copy on my bookshelf, for sentimental reasons.)

When we first moved here, I remember the temperature plummeting between Christmas and New Years and no one wanting to stand outside and watch the midnight fireworks.

This year, all through our record storm, the thermometer hovered between 15 and 30 degrees. Mercifully, it stayed closer to 20 than 30, which meant the prodigious amounts of snow I was manually shifting were light powder instead of heavy cake.

None of which is to say that it can’t be 20 or 30 in Vermont in January or that it still won’t be below zero for some or all of the next five weeks (or even beyond). No single storm or season should convince us of anything, but snow rarely falls in sub-zero weather. For one thing, the lack of clouds contributes to the piercing cold.

When I opened the paper to see that I’ve been here for 65 percent of Burlington’s worst winter storms, it doesn’t prove anything, but it does seem to be an indication that things are changing and quickly.

I did a quick search of these commentaries (because I can’t remember what I write from month to month). The last time I used the term “warmer and wetter” was in July of last year. Spring and early summer had been all but washed out. It stayed that way through the end of July. August was the only bit of summer we got last year. “Global warming – hogwash!” some of my neighbors scoffed, just as they did last week, up to their hips in snow.

You’re free to believe or not believe, act or remain inert, as you see fit. I once heard a woman say to a Buddhist, “I don’t believe in reincarnation.” He answered, “Reincarnation either exists or it doesn’t, what you and I believe has nothing to do with it.”

Same goes for global warming, with an important exception. Unlike reincarnation (which may or may not exist), if global warming exists (and I believe it does), it is we who have brought it into existence and it is we who will determine its severity. Some scientists doubt the existence of global warming. Some scientists doubt the existence of evolution. The proportion of doubting scientists in each case in is infinitesimally small.

For now, I will enjoy the snow and the winter. I am a child of the north and having spent a decade of my life away, I have an appreciation of it, especially the profound silence of the two-day blizzard. I promise myself to wear winter like a cloak and savor it as it passes away.

© Mark Floegel, 2010