It is a cliche now: “Vermont Strong.’’

It’s an old trope that refers to our Vermont values, our grit, how we pull strangers out of the ditch and bring food to our neighbors in trouble. The news media often talks about it whenever they venture here to write about us. 

“Nestled in the Green Mountains, this hardy band of neighbors pulls together in a crisis. They are the essence of the small American community that Norman Rockwell drew.’’ 

Or something like that. 

This has been true for generations but technology, the Interstate, and farm modernization have all combined to pull us apart bit by bit. 

But every once in a while, forces beyond our control pull us back together.

We had the flood in 1992 that created a historic ice jam on the Winooski River and decimated our small state capitol of Montpelier. Then, in 2011, we had Tropical Storm Irene which roared up the east coast and washed away entire homes.  

Now this.

Two days of heavy rain last Sunday and Monday put Montpelier on the front page of the New York Times. I must admit, I was a little slow to act on this one. My wife and I are used to rain and the garden needed it. But then it kept coming. And coming. And late Monday night, in about an hour, our basement, along with every building and retail store in Montpelier was flooded 

By now we are used to this. The storm hits and destroys everything. The news media arrives from Manchester, Boston, and New York to tell the story of the quaint village of hardy New Englanders pulling together. The congressional delegation arrives for a tour of the damaged communities. They go on TV and radio, including my Vermont Viewpoint show, to promise federal aid. They drag the FEMA Director with them, who promises to help, to speed up the process of getting financial help. Then they all leave town and the merchants and citizens of towns from Jamaica to Johnson are left to fend for themselves, that grant money a tiny speck of a promise far down the road. 

In Downtown Montpelier, where the storm hit the hardest, there is despair, exhaustion, and helplessness. Many are wondering the same question: how on Earth can we rebuild this town? Government buildings are literally in the middle of a river. The ground floor and basements of coffee shops, book stores, hardware stores, our tiny gem of an art house movie theatre, and the toy store are all underwater. Their inventory is destroyed. Hugo’s Bar and Grill on Main St. lost $30,000 worth of food in one day. Every one of these businesses has lease payments. None have flood insurance. 

I saw City Manager Bill Fraser walking the town, taking notes, trying to execute a clean-up plan. Mud is everywhere. People are filthy. That mud and the air we breathe are filled with a toxic brew of oil and sewage that sting your eyes and lungs. 

These are people who shut down their businesses during COVID and emerged still kicking. Now they have to deal with this. It’s brutal and tragic and so so sad. 

But then…

You see Fred Bashara, who just sold the Capital Plaza Hotel to a new owner. He closed the deal last week. He has no reason to be here. But here he is. In his muddy boots, showing the new owners around, advising them on how to proceed. Why is he here at 80 years old? “I know where everything is,’’ he says. He remembers. And he knows. Because he bought this hotel in 1993 just after the last flood destroyed it!

In a small attempt to help out, my son and I brought some tools and work gloves to our favorite bookstore - Bear Pond Books. The place has been underwater for two days. The health inspector has only just permitted entry. We walk in to find an army of people, mopping, sweeping, unscrewing shelves, and moving computers. 

The owners - like most of their colleagues - have a dazed look that lands somewhere between despair and giddy optimism. It is hard to tell. Right now they are just putting one foot in front of the other. But they are among friends - their people- fellow book lovers who work in the store, buy their books and come get filthy when the chips are down. There is laughter and teamwork. There is community.

Their landlord, Tim Heney, is there in HIS mud boots. He owns many of the buildings in Montpelier. He has lots of decisions to make. 

Heney’s contractor has already ordered the new flooring for the bookstore. He will rip out the old wet floor in the next day or so. I listened to their plans, amazed. There is nothing like a skilled contractor on a disaster scene who knows how to move things, break things, rebuild things. There’s nothing like it, except maybe a group of neighbors who just showed up. 

One thing is apparent, these people are not going away. They are sticking with it. They will return tomorrow. And they will reopen. And we will be back. We will buy books from them that we can get cheaper on Amazon because we like the people, because they would be there for us, because if we lose Bear Pond Books, or the coffee shop next door, or the hardware store, we lose something deeper. We lose the very reason we are here in the first place. 

Living in a tiny Vermont city is hard. It’s freezing in winter. The food is the same price as it is in New York. Rents are climbing. There is a housing shortage. And the entire downtown just flooded. 

But people are rallying to help in ways they wouldn’t if Vermont was dominated by Wal-Marts and Pottery Barns. There is pride in that, even arrogance. But it’s real and can sustain a community.

Vermont Strong.