Returning to Vermont after months away reminds you why you came here 32 years ago.

Pick any subject - politics, money, getting your tires changed. The advantages of living in Vermont come rushing back every time you return. It's small, safe, and easy to navigate, and it resists the destructive forces of the market economy.

Take the COVID vaccination. Here is what happens when the state Department of Health says you can get vaccinated.

Sidenote - this discussion is so loaded with conflicts of interest that it might sink. My attitude about vaccinations, pharmaceutical companies, and the government's partnership with Big Pharma is complex. I even lobbied on this issue in the Vermont Legislature one year against a bill to take away a citizen's right to refuse vaccinations based on their philosophical objections. We lost that debate, and today the only way you can refuse vaccination is on religious grounds. Back in the day, your kids might get 4-5 shots. Today, I count 15 shots in the first 15 months of life. That's a lot of drugs for small people. It always made me nervous. I understand the debate over these vaccinations and know that feelings run high.

With all that in mind, here was our COVID vaccination process - a joy of good government, caring people, and efficiency on a Vermont scale that left us feeling that much is right with the world.

We could find out about the vaccination from our doctor, our neighbor, our media outlets, and our governor, who is on the radio twice a week giving the details.

We went to the Department of Health website, and three minutes later, we had an appointment. No getting kicked off, no confusion. Simple.

Then last Friday, off to the Barre Auditorium for our first shot. For those non-Vermonters, the Barre "Aud" is one of the great small basketball arenas in the country, located in the world capital of granite. Italian, Irish and Spanish stonecutters came here to cut granite, and many of their kids and grandkids are still here. The Socialist Labor Party Hall stands in downtown Barre.

I played "town team" basketball at the "Aud," and coaching there was one of the thrills of a lifetime. When the place is packed for high school hoops playoffs, it seethes like the frost coming out of the ground in spring, the smells of the hotdogs and popcorn at the basement concession waft through the gym.

And the people. There is an in-crowd that runs the place. They wear crimson blazers, and from a distance, they are frightening. Up close, they are local Barre guys who have been around for decades, friendly as can be. Many of their parents worked the quarries and the sheds.

When you attend a high school game at the Aud, you spend most of your time seeing old friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. To my left in the bleachers is Asa, who I coached in high school, with his son. Over there is the girl's coach from a southern Vermont school I met at a clinic. And at the PA system is the same guy for the last 25 years.

The Aud's purpose has always been to nurture young lives through basketball. When it works, it's sublime.

Today, the job is to save lives. This time, instead of kids and their families and coaches and local fans, the Vermont National Guard greets you in force. They are mostly young and have that efficient but pleasant "Yes Maam, No Sir" about them.

They take your temperature. You present your driver's license. They see your name. They knew you were coming. You get a card and are escorted into the gym, now carpeted over to protect the deeply varnished floor. (I bet the Aud hoops folks made sure that floor was protected.)

A young Guard member escorts us to metal folding chairs to await our shot. Everyone is masked and distanced. That is very clear. No politics here. No tough guys refusing masks. Then we're escorted to our vaccination station and greeted by the nicest doctor who works at the VA hospital in White River Junction, about an hour down Interstate 89. This guy is really nice. We are in the best hands.

"Most anybody can give a shot," he says. "Taking blood is tougher."

He explains the difference between the Moderna, Pfizer, and J&J shots. We are getting Pfizer.

It's strange how I vilify Big Pharma most days but then gladly line up for my shot and let politics take a back seat in a pandemic. But here I go.

The doc says they are giving 1,000 shots per day at this location, 10,000 a day in Vermont. The US broke records last weekend by issuing 4 million shots in a single day.

Shots done; we wait the required 15 minutes to look for bad reactions. Then it's to the next table to make the appointment for the second shot in two weeks.

Out the side door, the same door I entered with the high school hoops team I coached more than a decade ago.

Wow - that was smooth and efficient. No politics. No screwups. No lines. Just competence and dedication from caring, well-trained people who know their jobs.

Good to be back in Vermont.