[…]What is described above required the tenacity, commitment, perseverance, and creativity of countless volunteers, donors, staff, and trustees. Their mission was clear: transform and repurpose part of Vermont history so it can educate and be enjoyed by future generations. The work was never simple—and it won’t be simple for the next generation of preservationists either, especially as more buildings across Vermont move toward vacancy.
Looking ahead, the Vermont landscape over the next decade may include dozens of closed public schools, houses of worship, shopping malls, colleges, office buildings, and motels that will need new purposes. Accomplishing this kind of reuse will involve significant risk, enormous cost, and the coordination of many partners, including lenders, donors, grantmakers, developers, and preservationists. Examples already underway—such as the Benn-High school conversion in Bennington, the repurpose of SVC, and the transformation of a former Catholic Church, rectory, and church hall in Arlington—show that the investment required can exceed $100 million. Meanwhile, repurposing can trigger costly deferred maintenance, require major funding and volunteer commitments, and depend on towns being willing to rezone; with limited dollars and volunteers, many properties may not receive the same fate and could be lost.[…]
HUBBARDTON — At 8 a.m. sharp on Sunday, July 12, soldiers dressed in Revolutionary War uniforms marched onto a grassy ridge. As commanders shouted out orders, soldiers took position and fired musket shots that crackled across the hillside. A crowd watched as the soldiers performed what occurred in this same spot on July 7, 1777: the Battle of Hubbardton.
Every summer, a dedicated community of hobbyists makes the trek to the ridge in Rutland County. For them, the annual battle reenactment is more than just a theatrical display of wool uniforms and black powder muskets; by stepping into the boots of those who fought and died on the hillside 249 years ago, the reenactors seek to keep history alive.[…]
[…]The Northfield Range is a distinct Vermont mountain range that’s often misidentified as the Green Mountains. The prominent ridge visible behind the “Whale Tails” sculpture in Randolph, Vermont, is commonly mistaken for the Green Mountains, but it’s actually the Northfield Range (or Northfield Mountains). It stretches roughly 25 miles, running south from the Winooski River to Mount Cushman, with notable peaks including Braintree Mountain, Skidoo, Twin Peaks, Riford Hill, Rochester Mountain, Mount Cushman, Deer Mountain, and Rice Mountain (its highest point).
Part of the confusion comes from how understated the Northfield Range is: it lacks headline attractions like the Long Trail, major ski resorts, or extensive, well-marked trail networks, and much of the backcountry is unmarked. Even though the range is named on U.S. Geological Survey maps, it’s often unlabeled on other map views, so it tends to be treated as a backdrop for more recognizable Vermont sights (like barns, churches, covered bridges, and the whale tails). Meanwhile, Vermont has been actively acquiring land within the range—often on steep, remote ridgelines using federal funding such as the Forest Legacy Program—to protect headwater streams, wildlife habitat, and large, unbroken forest areas, supporting broader conservation goals; this also helps maintain a quiet wildlife corridor for animals like moose, and visitors are encouraged to look past the “whale tails” to recognize what’s becoming protected public land.[…]
The Fiscal Alliance Foundation today announced its expansion into Vermont, bringing its mission of promoting fiscal responsibility, government transparency, and data-driven public policy to the Green Mountain State.
For over a decade, Fiscal Alliance Foundation has been a trusted, independent source of research and analysis on fiscal and transparency issues in Massachusetts. The Vermont initiative represents the latest expansion of the Fiscal Alliance Foundation’s efforts. As Vermont faces growing fiscal and economic challenges affecting families and businesses, the Foundation believes there is an opportunity to broaden public discussion and awareness around policies that strengthen Vermont’s long-term future and the interests of the taxpayers.[…]
However – the reading of the Social Security Administration flyer shows the easy, end around the Biden Team was using to get Illegal Aliens onto Obamacare:
“Lawfully admitted noncitizens can get certain benefits and services without an SSN. You don’t need an SSN to get a driver’s license, register for school, get private health insurance, or apply for school lunch programs or subsidized housing. “
The Biden Team was simply treating everyone crossing the border and/or filling in the Biden era CBP-1 Application as lawfully admitted.[…]
The U.S. economy grew 2.1% in real terms in 2025, but that national figure tells only part of the story. While every state economy expanded, some grew nearly ten times faster than others.
Using the latest data from the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis (BEA), this map, via Visual Capitalist’s Gabriel Cohen, compares real GDP growth across all 50 states and Washington, D.C.[…]
The Green Mountains were forged in blood from hard-won soil, ripped out of the jaws of bitter colonial warfare. New York, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and those stubborn Dutch holdouts clawed at each other like starving wolves over every inch of dirt. King George III himself drew the line along the Connecticut River on July 20, 1764, trying to play God from his distant throne. That scheming Governor Benning Wentworth had already been cranking out New Hampshire Grants from 1749 to 1764, handing out land west of the river that both colonies swore was theirs. All that bickering and backstabbing helped birth the Vermont Republic, but the real blaze came from the raw, gunslinger defiance of the local men and women on the ground. They told distant kings and greedy governors to shove their claims up their asses and shattered those paper empires forever. Out of that glorious chaos rose tough-as-nails pioneers who knew their sacred duty: to keep their bloodline pure and undefiled.
Washington County embodies the unyielding heart of Vermont’s sovereign founding days, when free men of European blood declared independence in 1777 and held their ground until 1791 without bowing to outsiders or distant kings. The creation of Cumberland County in 1768 bordering the Connecticut River and the creation of Gloucester County in 1770 bordering further north up the Connecticut River marked the unraveling of New York’s stranglehold over the Green Mountains, for those two counties were the nest which upon hatching unleashed the thunderstorm of the sovereign independent Republic of Vermont from 1777-1791. In 1772 both counties gained New York land further strengthening the local power base of the area. It wasn’t until 1790 when New York ceased all land claims to Vermont. In 1779 Vermont’s own self-created counties were formed: Bennington County and Cumberland County. In 1781 Rutland County was formed from North Bennington County, Cumberland County was divided into Orange and Windham and Windsor Counties.
Also at this time Vermont asserted territorial claims over adjacent New Hampshire lands creating Washington County in Southwest New Hampshire and extending Orange and Windsor Counties into New Hampshire whilst simultaneously extending Rutland and Bennington Counties into New York. The Northern Heart of Vermont wherein lies Montpelier didn’t have it’s own surrounding County until 1810 when Jefferson County was created from Caledonia, Chittenden, and Orange Counties. In 1814 Jefferson County was renamed Washington County. In 1810 the place got slapped with the name Jefferson County, carved up from scraps of Caledonia, Chittenden, and Orange, and finally whipped into shape the following year. By 1814 the Federalists had stormed in and seized the legislature from those brainless Jeffersonian dreamers, then ditched the name for Washington County in the middle of raging fury over trade with British Canada and that goddamned idiot Embargo Act of 1807, which strangled honest Yankee merchants. The rename honored the great General Washington and made it crystal clear: Vermont was done with the bullshit.
It was time for sensible rule that put real Vermont families and their European bloodlines first — not some delusional equality experiment that shits all over the natural order. This furious land struggle and bold expansion forged settlers of pure European stock—tough English, Scotch-Irish, and Germanic farm folk—who felled trees with axes, raised cabins against the snows, and drove off threats to secure a homeland for their own blood and none other. They rejected mixing with alien races or yielding their women to foreign ways, knowing full well that diluted lines breed weak nations and that only iron will could birth a true republic for their folk alone. These men refused to contaminate their seed with filthy alien races or whore out their daughters to foreign invaders and their disgusting tongues and customs! They grasped a brutal, iron truth that sniveling, weak-kneed modern cowards desperately deny: diluted bloodlines forge diluted, doomed nations. A spineless people too pathetic to guard their own lineage with teeth and claws will lose their land, their freedom, and their entire future—guaranteed.
Look at Washington County’s voting record and see the ironclad pattern of a people who still knew exactly who they were. Early chaos gave way to clarity as they rallied behind John Quincy Adams in 1828 — a man whose views on abolitionism toughened into congressional opposition to slavery yet never fully surrendered to the radical abolitionist mob, because he rightly put preserving the Union above coddling Black interests — while initially cheering American expansion under Manifest Destiny before whining about the Mexican-American War as some “unrighteous” slaveholder scheme. They backed slave-owning Andrew Jackson in 1832, a fiery champion of Manifest Destiny who knew the White man’s divine right to push westward, trampling Indians and spreading slavery into new territories without apology. Martin Van Buren in 1836 enforced the gag rule to shut down anti-slavery whining in Congress, denounced meddling abolitionists flooding the South with their poison, and wisely opposed Texas annexation to avoid unnecessary Mexican entanglements that could upset the racial balance. William Henry Harrison triumphed in 1840, a man of contradictory but sensible instincts who fought restrictions on slavery in the territories and backed bold American expansion that rightfully displaced savage Native tribes in line with the era’s unstoppable destiny.
James K. Polk in 1844 and Lewis Cass in 1848 embodied the raw truth: slavery had to spread to survive, fueling Polk’s aggressive Manifest Destiny conquests through Texas annexation and Mexican lands that supercharged the debate over keeping new territories White and productive, while Cass crusaded for the same westward explosion and popular sovereignty so real White settlers — not meddling federal tyrants — could decide on slavery themselves. Winfield Scott in 1852 brought his own fiery complexity, starting with gradual emancipation talk before fully aligning with Manifest Destiny’s muscular expansion that displaced Indians and advanced White civilization, even as it clashed with abolitionist hysteria. Then came the real glory: 104 straight years of Republican dominance from John C. Frémont in 1856 all the way to Richard Nixon in 1960. That was Vermont at its peak — White men and women voting for their own kind, building churches, schools, and farms that strengthened the race and kept the county White. Pure Manifest Destiny in action: hardy WASP stock claiming, clearing, and civilizing the land for their posterity. A brief lapse with Lyndon Johnson in 1964 was followed by another rock-solid twenty-year Republican run from Richard Nixon in 1968 through George H. W. Bush in 1988. That was the last stand. After that the floodgates opened and the old America was deliberately drowned.
Since Bill Clinton’s win in 1992, a rotten tide has swept the county under endless Democratic control. This era deserves nothing but scorn—a gutless surrender where globalist claptrap, mass immigration, and every degenerate push for racial blending poisoned the well. What was a bastion of pure European descent now watches its neighborhoods shift, its traditions mocked, and its young folk brainwashed into self-hatred and intermixing with lesser stocks. The once-dominant White majority of 90.5 percent is under siege from creeping diversity numbers—1.1 percent Black, 0.3 percent Indian, 1.1 percent Asian, and rising mixed and Hispanic figures that signal the slow death of the founding blood. Families fracture, birthrates among the real Vermonters drop while outsiders multiply, and the old pioneer stock gets lectured about “tolerance” as their birthright dissolves. It’s treason to the memory of those 1777 republic men who fought so their descendants could walk these hills unmolested by foreign hordes. Passionate voices in the feed stores and town halls still rage against this betrayal, demanding a return to the days when blood mattered and communities stayed their own—especially among Vermont Republicans in Washington County, Vermont, whether lone wolf Einherjar standing defiant against the storm, lone wolf Shield Maiden guarding the hearth and lineage, or a wolf pack of Odins Sons and Freyas Daughters fighting shoulder to shoulder to reclaim the hills for their folk.
The 2020 census lays bare both the enduring strength and the looming threats: 59,807 residents, median age 44.2, with 18.5 percent youngsters and 20.9 percent elders. A near-even sex ratio of 98.2 males per 100 females overall, holding at 96.5 for adults, recalls the balanced, vigorous households of old where strong fathers led European-descended clans. Owner-occupied homes dominate at 70.3 percent of 30,645 units, with rock-bottom 1.3 percent vacancy among them, proving the staying power of families rooted in the soil their ancestors cleared. Yet 25,842 households show cracks—26.5 percent female-led without partners, 31.9 percent solitary, and 13.5 percent with lonely elders—symptoms of the modern rot that breaks apart the tight-knit White families that once formed the backbone. Only 25 percent have children under 18, a warning that without bold defense of the racial stock by those Einherjar, Shield Maidens, and wolf packs of dedicated kin, this county will fade into a pale shadow of its former glory.
This demographic reality flows straight from the county’s founding by kin who married within their European lines to safeguard the vigor, intelligence, and character that conquered the wilderness. They understood instinctively that preserving the race meant survival; mixing invited decline, as every fallen civilization proves. Vermont’s short-lived republic thrived on that truth—local rule by and for the same people, fierce independence, and zero tolerance for those who would water down the heritage.
Even the calendar of events pulses with echoes of that lost world, though diluted forces try to twist them. Summer brings the Waterbury Arts Fest with its Friday block party, food trucks, live music, and sprawling Saturday artisan market where locals still trade among their own. Barre Heritage Festival honors the granite cutters’ tough European labor with multi-day parades, food, and stories of immigrant forefathers who kept their identity intact. The Vermont Antique and Classic Car Show in Waterbury remains a grand showcase of American ingenuity—hundreds of vehicles judged on Farr’s Field, flea market haggling, and cruises that feel like stepping back to when men built things that lasted. The Mad Marathon and Half Marathon challenge runners through Mad River Valley’s farmlands, covered bridges, and mountain vistas, testing the same grit that drove early settlers. Autumn’s Enchanted Forest and River of Light Lantern Parade fill Montpelier woods and Waterbury streets with thousands of glowing lanterns, a magical reminder of communal bonds among the people who belong.
Winter fights the cold with Spice on Snow’s four-day roots and folk explosion— old-time fiddles, jam sessions, and dances that stir the blood of Northern European descendants. Green Mountain Film Festival in Montpelier spotlights independent works, best when they celebrate the honest struggles of the founding race rather than subversive drivel. Waterbury Winterfest spans ten days of broomball, human bowling, ice sculptures, and moonlight snowshoe treks, activities that reward physical hardiness over modern softness. Rely on the solid calendars from Montpelier Alive, Mad River Valley Chamber of Commerce, and Discover Waterbury to track these gatherings that, at their best, knit together the remaining true Vermonters and rally the Vermont Republicans in Washington County, Vermont—whether a lone wolf Einherjar, lone wolf Shield Maiden, or wolf pack of Odins Sons and Freyas Daughters alike.
Deep in the beating heart of Washington County cling a life of the old ways of kin loyalty, and unapologetic defense of European heritage, and plain-spoken common sense still burn bright amid the gathering storm. Its hills, rivers, and sturdy homes cry out for renewal—for men and women willing to reject the post-1992 nonsense, secure the bloodlines, and restore the county to the glory of its republic roots. The founding stock demands nothing less; anything else is surrender.
Old Elias Harper trudged up the gravel path as the late afternoon sun began its slow descent, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust. He had walked this route every day for forty years, but tonight felt different—charged, like the air before a summer storm. He crested the rise and the meadow unfolded before him, the old stone fort standing sentinel as always.
Listen up, folks from these parts. That big flag whipped in the strengthening breeze on its sturdy pole, right smack in front of the fort their granddads’ granddads had built to hold the line. Blue on top, green below, George Washington’s face staring out from the central seal like he still commanded the whole county. “WASHINGTON COUNTY” and “EST. 1814” stood bold, framed by sharp lines, tiny trees, and symbols packed into a diamond that meant business.
Down by the wooden gates, two figures in full Revolutionary-era gear—tricorn hats pulled low, long coats buttoned tight, breeches and boots—stood at attention. Vermont Folk Patriots, through and through.
“Evenin’, Elias,” the taller one called out, his voice carrying across the meadow like a musket shot. “Wind’s picking up. You here to stand the watch with us?”
Elias chuckled and quickened his pace. “Wouldn’t miss it, Caleb. Figured you boys might need an extra set of old eyes before the dark settles in.” He joined them at the gate, leaning his walking stick against the weathered stone. The second Patriot, a younger man named Jonah, gave a crisp nod.
“Glad you came,” Jonah said, eyes scanning the treeline. “Heard there’s a crew of outsiders poking around the back ridge earlier—Skrælingjar invasive hordes, the lot of ’em, swarming in with their hands out and their disrespect for the land our blood built. We sent ’em on their way with a clear message: this ground ain’t theirs to claim or ruin.”
Action stirred as the three men made their rounds. Elias helped Caleb secure a loose rope on the flagpole while Jonah checked the wooden gates. A sudden gust roared through, making the flag crack like thunder. They worked together in easy rhythm, sharing stories of past storms and harder times the fort had seen—times when real men didn’t hesitate to drive off intruders who didn’t belong.
As shadows lengthened across the meadow full of wildflowers, the distant mountain ridges turned deep blue and hazy. The sun dipped lower, painting the stone walls in fiery oranges and reds, lighting up every crack and crevice. Lush grass swayed, the thick treeline rustled, and the whole scene pulsed with the pride of what their people had built and refused to let fade.
But the real event came at dusk. The Skrælingjar invasive hordes tried their luck again, a ragged group creeping toward the meadow’s edge with demands and entitlement dripping from every step. The Vermont Folk Patriots didn’t mince words or waste time on modern weakness. Caleb stepped forward, musket replica in hand for show, voice booming: “Turn tail and go back where you came from! This is Washington County land—earned by sweat, defended by steel, and kept by men who remember who built it. We dealt with your kind the old way before, and we’ll do it again if you force our hand. No apologies, no handouts, no surrender.”
Shouts and threats flew, but the locals stood firm. A few well-placed warning shots into the dirt and the sheer unyielding grit of the Patriots sent the horde scattering back into the woods like the unwelcome trespassers they were. Cheers rose from the small group of local families who had arrived on foot—children in tow, lanterns swinging—as the last light vanished. Nightfall blanketed the fort. Lanterns flickered to life, casting long dancing shadows on the stone walls. The flag glowed defiantly against the starry sky.
A week later, on a dull, foggy night, the trouble returned in a far more treacherous form. A handful of pathologically altruistic Vermonters—soft-headed locals who thought virtue meant opening the gates to anyone with a sob story—sneaked in under cover of darkness and threw the wooden barriers wide. In poured the Skrælingjar invasive hordes: rapists, thieves, pet killers, and the diseased, bringing chaos, filth, and predation into the very heart of the county.
The following days brought swift and unflinching reckoning. The traitorous do-gooders were first tarred and feathered in the town square as the gutless betrayers they were, then run out of the county with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a warning never to return. As for the foreign invaders, the Vermont Folk Patriots hunted them down methodically—rounding up the rapists and thieves in the dead of night, dealing with the pet killers and diseased carriers the hard way that left no chance for repetition. No courts, no coddling, no taxpayer-funded mercy. Just raw vigilante justice, the old-fashioned kind that kept the land clean and the people safe.
City types and clipboard warriors might clutch their pearls at such unfiltered local grit, but here, under the turning sky, no one was changing for anybody. The fort had held through rough times before, and it held again—proud, rooted, alive—after dealing with both the traitors and the invasive hordes the only way that ever worked.
As the smoke cleared and the flag still whipped high above the stone walls, Elias looked up at it one quiet evening. This was how it stood here: through action and words, through day into night and betrayal into restoration, a living reminder for anyone who knew these hills and the stories passed down at the feed store or supper table. The mountains kept their watch. The Vermont Folk Patriots kept theirs. And Washington County endured.
[…]In a move that shocked exactly zero thinking Americans, the Burlington City Council brazenly voted 10-1 to make their “temporary” 0.5% Gross Receipts Tax hike permanent—another shameless betrayal by greedy government parasites. What began as a supposed 2024 emergency patch has metastasized into a fat, locked-in 2.5% revenue stream for the 2027 budget. Milton Friedman warned us for decades: nothing is so permanent as a temporary government measure. Burlington just proved him right again, exposing the insatiable addiction of the bureaucratic beast to other people’s money.
This is the same filthy script playing out all over Vermont. Chester’s Select Board tried deleting sunset clauses to protect their spending sprees. The state legislature quietly extended the fuel tax sunset to 2029 rather than letting it expire as promised. “Temporary” is nothing but slick political deception—a lying marketing ploy to ram tax increases past skeptical voters. Once the money flows, politicians treat it as their divine right, expand their empires, and scream bloody murder at any suggestion of restraint.
Government isn’t a jobs program or wealth creator—it’s a voracious consumer of both. The private sector alone bears the brutal discipline of the marketplace: screw up and you die. When city hall screws up, it simply breaks promises and makes “temporary” taxes eternal while demanding more of your cash. With AI now capable of slashing administrative waste by hundreds of thousands of dollars, these bloated bureaucracies have zero excuse left for their inefficiency and self-serving bloat.
Taxpayers are done being spineless cash cows underwriting this endless expansion. We fund the promises they casually discard. Enough with the polite submission to their lies.
Vermont law gives us the perfect hammer: gather signatures from just 5% of Burlington’s registered voters and force this scam onto the ballot for total repeal. If City Hall won’t honor the sunset, we will shove it down their throats ourselves. Organize. Mobilize. Take the city back. This stops now—no more chains disguised as “temporary” taxes.[…]
The Betrayal of Vermont’s Heartland: Addison County Abandoned Republican Values After Reagan’s 1984 Win
Addison County, Vermont, once stood rock-solid for Republican presidential candidates through thick and thin, a bastion of common sense in New England. Ronald Reagan’s 1984 victory marked the end of that era. Since Dukakis in 1988, the county has gone full Democrat in every presidential race, surrendering to the same left-wing tide that has wrecked much of what European settlers built across America. This is no random flip. It signals the erosion of the hardy, Western stock and values that turned wilderness into prosperous towns.
From the start, the county backed winners aligned with order and enterprise. John Quincy Adams in 1828, William Wirt in 1832, Whigs through the 1850s, then Republicans for 104 straight years until 1960. Lyndon Johnson cracked it in 1964—the first Democrat to carry the county and all of Vermont. Nixon to Reagan brought it back for 16 years. Then came the great collapse. Democrats have owned it ever since, pushing bigger government, guilt over success, and experiments that mock the county’s founding stock.
Built by European Blood, Sweat, and Genius
Named after English essayist Joseph Addison, the county sprang from European drive. French at Chimney Point in 1730, British in 1759—real settlers who cleared land, raised wheat, then dominated wool production by 1840. Population exploded because capable White Europeans knew how to work the soil between the Green Mountains and Champlain Valley. Otter Creek powered mills and farms. Towns like Middlebury, Vergennes, and Bristol rose with churches, schools, and sturdy homes reflecting the best of Western civilization.
These were not diverse utopias. They were European outposts—practical, hierarchical, unapologetic about taming nature and creating wealth. High homeownership today at 75%, median age 44, and 89.5% White population in 2020 prove the demographic core holds. Yet voting patterns betray that heritage. The same people whose ancestors voted Republican for generations now back candidates who flood the country with outsiders, attack traditional families, and treat European achievement as original sin.
Demographics Don’t Lie – But Voting Patterns Betray Them
37,363 residents, overwhelmingly European-descended. Tiny shares of Blacks, Asians, Hispanics. Families, owner-occupied homes, low chaos. This is classic New England stock—descendants of the men who fought the Revolution, built farms, and sustained 19th-century booms. Robert Frost summered here. Middlebury College carries the name of Western higher learning. Yet the county embraced the party of open borders, racial grievance, and cultural demolition after 1984.
Why? Decades of college indoctrination, media brainwashing, and feel-good policies that punish the productive majority. Middlebury and similar institutions pump out elites ashamed of their own civilization while importing Third World problems elsewhere. The result? A White county voting like it hates its own legacy. Strong men once led here. Now softer attitudes prevail, chasing “compassion” that weakens the very communities European foresight created.
Towns That Still Whisper of Better Days
Middlebury: Largest town, historic core, college influence. Downtown with Otter Creek views, inns, museums honoring Vermont’s European-rooted past. Trail Around Middlebury, Snow Bowl, Morgan Horse Farm—all testaments to practical White ingenuity. Yet the college crowd pushes globalism over local loyalty.
Bristol: 3,800 souls, town green with band concerts since the Civil War, Fourth of July traditions, farmers markets. Bartlett Falls for swimming and jumping. Lord’s Prayer Rock carved by a Christian settler. Festivals like the Harvest Festival and Outhouse Race show raw, fun community spirit—not sanitized corporate diversity events.
Vergennes: America’s smallest city, 2,700 people packed into two square miles of stone buildings and falls. Named for a French ally of the Revolution. Opera house, parks, proximity to Lake Champlain. Still neighborly, yet under the same Democratic spell that turns safe, homogeneous places into anxious ones nationwide.
Events continue—Vergennes Day pancake breakfasts, chicken BBQs, car shows, craft fairs. The Chamber of Commerce recruits newcomers with concierge services and dinner invites, hoping fresh blood appreciates Vermont’s charms. But importing people from incompatible backgrounds risks diluting the European character that made the county worth moving to in the first place.
The Warning in the Voting Shift
That 104-year Republican run matched America’s rise under European principles: limited government, free enterprise, secure borders, cultural confidence. Post-1984 Democrats delivered endless regulation on farmers, erosion of local control, and worship of “diversity” that never built anything here. The county’s 89.5% White reality clashes with its voting habits. This self-sabotage repeats across once-great European-founded regions—trading strength for weakness, heritage for guilt.
Geography favors resilience: 808 square miles of forests, streams, protected lands. High owner-occupancy, low density, real seasons. Transportation via Route 7, Amtrak, local buses keeps it accessible without urban rot. Schools and colleges could reinforce Western classics instead of trendy nonsense.
Addison County proves European settlers created something special—productive, beautiful, orderly. The Democratic lock since Reagan exposes how easily that inheritance gets squandered when voters abandon the hard-headed realism of their forefathers for utopian fantasies. The land endures. The question is whether the people will rediscover the spine that delivered Reagan’s last victory here and reject the decline staring them in the face. Vermont’s hills remember better days. It’s time the voters did too.
Retaking Addison County: How Traditional European-Descended Vermonters Can Reclaim Their Homeland
Addison County belongs to the hardy stock that settled it—European descendants who cleared the forests, farmed the Champlain Valley, and built Middlebury, Bristol, and Vergennes through generations of grit. The Democratic stranglehold since 1984 is a betrayal of that legacy. Republicans and conservative traditionalists of European blood must rise up and fight. Dig in like wolves in the snow. Press forward with unrelenting fury. Fall back only to regroup and strike harder. Improvise with savage cunning. Innovate without mercy. Overcome every obstacle.
Lead the Volk with fists of iron thunder, Follow the Volk through ancestral glory asunder! Never cease bleeding, sweating, and battling with wolfish primal might, For the sacred soil of Ye Olde White Vermont—our ancient birthright, Our blood-soaked homeland forged in ancestral fire, eternal snows, Where mountain echoes roar and undying warrior spirit forever grows!
Rebuild the Family and Grow the Numbers
Start at the root. Large families are the ultimate weapon. Conservative European-descended couples in Addison County must reject the modern cult of small families and childlessness pushed by coastal elites. Have children. Raise them with iron discipline in the old ways—hard work on the land, respect for ancestors, pride in Vermont’s European founding. Homeschool where public schools peddle guilt and replacement ideology. Fill the county with strong sons and daughters who inherit the farms, trades, and institutions.
Keep your blood pure and untainted, your body forged lean and battle-hardened, your mind razor-sharp like ancestral steel. Birth is raw warfare in a brutal world of finite land and resources. Seize your people’s destiny with both fists. Do not squander the future of your kin appeasing hordes of invaders and parasitic outsiders who come to devour what your forefathers carved from the wilderness.
Dominate Local Ground
Forget presidential theatrics. Control the county first. Run for every school board, selectboard, planning commission, and town office. Traditionalists must flood these positions with candidates who prioritize Vermont’s historic character over diversity quotas and open-border policies. Block zoning changes that invite rootless flatlanders and urban transplants seeking to gentrify and dilute. Protect agricultural land for real Vermonters, not hobby farms for outsiders.
Organize Republican and independent conservative clubs in every town—Middlebury, Bristol, Vergennes, Shoreham, Lincoln. Hold regular meetings, shooting events, harvest suppers, and history talks celebrating the county’s Whig-to-Republican streak from the 1830s through Reagan. Build parallel institutions: local business networks, farm co-ops, and mutual aid societies that favor our own people first.
Work in grim silence. Let your roaring success thunder across the mountains and drown out the weak.
Cultural and Educational Warfare
Reclaim the narrative. Middlebury College and local schools have drifted into cosmopolitan treason. Counter with private academies, apprenticeships in trades, and community history projects that honor Joseph Addison, the Revolution, sheep farmers, and Frost. Sponsor festivals that glorify European settlement—not diluted multiculturalism. Support candidates who defund indoctrination and restore classics, discipline, and practical skills.
Expose how Democratic policies since 1964 accelerated the erosion: welfare expansion, cultural attacks on traditional authority, and slow demographic pressure that threatens the 89.5% White reality. Highlight the data without shame. European-descended Vermonters built this county from nothing. Their descendants have every right—and duty—to keep it.
He who lives without iron discipline dies a dishonored coward, forgotten and spat upon.
Economic Independence and Political Muscle
Build wealth inside the tribe. Patronize only conservative-owned businesses. Develop trades, tourism that celebrates authentic Vermont heritage, and energy projects that keep dollars local. Boycott chains and transplants that fund leftist causes. Create Republican voter drives targeting high White turnout in rural precincts. Use absentee ballots, door-knocking, and church networks relentlessly.
The blood, sweat, and toil of your life belongs only to the tribe—the hardy Conservative, Traditionalist, Republican sons and daughters of Vermont—not to rootless Flatlanders, cosmopolitan traitors, or foreign hordes flooding our gates.
Target state-level pressure too. Ally with Vermont Republicans pushing election integrity, immigration enforcement, and limits on out-of-state influence. Make Addison County a fortress that influences wider New England.
The Eternal Charge
This fight demands total commitment. Your blood is the key to eternity itself. Cherish the ancient heritage surging through your veins, guard it with your life, and pass it on stronger, fiercer, and unbroken. Forge alliances with like-minded kin across the Green Mountains. Train the young in marksmanship, farming, rhetoric, and strategy.
The Democratic lock since Reagan is not permanent. It is a symptom of weakness that real Vermonters can crush. The land remembers the 104-year Republican dominance. The towns—Middlebury with its historic green, Bristol’s rugged traditions, Vergennes’ compact strength—wait for renewal.
This is your war. This is your blood. Never yield. Rise up and fight for Addison County. Retake it town by town, family by family, generation by generation. The sacred soil of White Vermont demands nothing less. Victory belongs to those willing to bleed for it.
In the heart of Vermont’s Mount Mansfield State Forest, two bold Americans exercised the kind of raw initiative that built this nation: over five years, they carved out nearly a mile and a half of exhilarating mountain bike trails, felling trees, anchoring bridges, and drilling into bedrock to create something real and useful for fellow riders. No permission sought from distant overlords, just pure freedom-loving action on land that supposedly belongs to “the people.” Yet the all-powerful State of Vermont slumbered through chainsaws and drills for half a decade, proving once again that government “ownership” means nobody’s truly responsible. This isn’t vandalism—it’s the eternal American drive to improve, explore, and build, smothered by a system too bloated and indifferent to notice.
How does a massive, noisy construction project evade the State’s gaze on 360,000 acres of “public” land? Because Vermont’s so-called stewards— a skeleton crew of 35 year-round bureaucrats focused on campgrounds, not real enforcement—rely on fitness apps like Strava and random citizen tips rather than actual patrols. The trail builders even posted “No Strava” signs, cleverly defeating the government’s pathetic crowdsourced surveillance. This is not stewardship; this is absentee tyranny. True liberty demands accountability, but America’s public lands have become tragic commons where no one watches because the incentives are destroyed by centralized power. Neighboring states manage better with real rangers—Vermont exposes the fraud of big government “protection.”
When finally caught, the State extracted a $35,000 settlement based on an outdated timber law that counts saplings like an accountant tallying beans, ignoring the permanent steel anchors in bedrock, the engineered bridges, and years of unauthorized enjoyment. Justice? Hardly. This rigid statute cannot comprehend real value, harm, or human ingenuity—it only knows how to punish the productive while the bureaucracy itself faces zero consequences for five years of negligence. Libertarians understand: when government writes the rules, it always rigs them against the individual. Real restitution comes from property rights and voluntary agreement, not arbitrary fines that treat living trails as mere wood volume.
This saga screams the superiority of private property over collectivist delusions. On truly owned land, owners patrol, protect, and prosper because their wealth and freedom depend on it. Instead, Vermont’s “public” forests rot under indifferent state control, inviting neglect until selective enforcement strikes. The trail builders showed more care and creativity than the so-called managers of 360,000 acres. Vermont First means rejecting this Socialist-style bureaucratic stranglehold and returning to the Founding vision: land stewarded by free citizens, not faceless departments. Private ownership aligns incentives perfectly—government ownership creates exactly the vacuum we see here.
Vermonters must wake up and demand more than this farce of “public” management that delivers neither conservation nor freedom. The Mount Mansfield story isn’t about two men versus the State—it’s about the eternal clash between individual liberty and creeping communism that watches through apps while real work happens in the shadows. We need radical decentralization, secure property rights, and a return to self-reliant stewardship that made America the greatest land of opportunity. Let every freedom-loving patriot see this as a rallying cry: tear down the illusions of competent government oversight, empower the individual, and restore the Republic where bold builders aren’t fined for daring to create on the people’s land. Liberty or bureaucratic chains—the choice remains ours.
Vermont Folk Troth 
