Williston Observer

Champlain Valley Union High’s star cross-country runner Taylor Spillane is headed to this weekend’s Nike Cross Nationals in Portland, Ore., but unlike the past two years, she is the lone Redhawk to make the field.

Spillane took second in Saturday’s Northeast Regionals in Wappingers Falls, N.Y., trailing only long time foe Ellie Purrier, who graduated from tiny Richford High this spring.

“Taylor ran probably the best race she has ever run,” Coach Scott Bliss wrote in an email to the Observer. “She has been about that distance from Elle a couple of times but this was one of the closest. She ran the fastest 2nd half of the race of anyone in the field. There was a plan set and she followed it perfectly.”

Purrier, the defending regional title holder, knocked some 20 seconds off her winning time last year with Spillane just six seconds back. Purrier toured the course in 18 minutes and 9.4 seconds.

The CVU team, national qualifiers in 2011 and 2010, fell to ninth among the 27 teams competing. Autumn Eastman joined Redhawk teammate Spillane at the front of the 216 competitors by taking 10th place with a time of 18:54.9.

Julienne Devita came in at number 78 of the 216 runners with a time of 20:27.5; Abby Keim was 105th with 20:55.7; Carly Neeld 120th with 21:13.4; Kestral Grevatt 155th with 21:43.6; and Emma Putre 169th with 22:03.8.

Bliss said the team’s ninth-slot finish was about what he expected.

“We are not as strong after Taylor and Autumn as we have been in the past,” he said. “Autumn ran a great race and improved over a minute from the year before.”

The CVU boys team took 26th place out of 37 teams, led by Nick Bouton and Clarke Shedd, who both ran the course in 17 minutes and 43.3 second, taking 128th and 129th places, respectively. Jared Keyes finished with a time of 17:55.9; Zach Marshall with 18.01.6; Chase Weaver with 18:27.1; and Will Kay with 20:00.8.

Mal Boright,
Observer correspondent

Taylor Spillane

By Karen Wyman

Although you would never know it now, I used to be quite athletic when I was younger. Ever since my husband and I stopped playing on our co-ed softball team when the twins were born, I had thought my days of competitive sports were long over. This may be why it was such a huge shock to my system last week when I found myself actually competing in an extreme sport—Black Friday shopping.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am far from out of practice when it comes to shopping, but Black Friday is like getting called up to the Big Leagues for shoppers. I felt like a rookie completely surrounded by seasoned professionals, and I knew I had to step up my game. I had to be focused and keep my eye on the prize—the latest iPad. My inexperience and total lack of preparation were painfully obvious, but luckily some of the veteran shoppers quickly initiated me.

My initiation started right away as I stood in line with about 400 other people. It seemed everyone was prepared to be outside for a long time, except, of course, me. I naively thought since I arrived only 10 minutes before the opening that I would just walk in after the masses who had been in line for hours were let in first. Apparently a little thing called a “fire code” prevents this from happening. It was the old “two out, two in” once the maximum occupancy was reached. Being the amateur that I was, I didn’t account for all of the employees inside who also contributed to this quota. Needless to say, I now understood why people in line had camping chairs, blankets and coolers with food and drinks. What had I gotten myself into?

The veterans in front of me brought me up to speed on the standard pre-game warm up to be completed while in line. They showed me maps of the store that they had printed out and highlighted where their desired items were located. They also explained their zone offense to me: always bring at least two other people with you, assign items to each person and then spread out and try your best to score. But be forewarned—if you let your team down, you will be replaced next season! They also demonstrated their communication techniques as they handed out walkie-talkies to their team members. The captain would use a cell phone to talk to another team at a different store vying for some of the same items. If this sister team scored a big-ticket item first, the captain would call an audible and reassign one of her players.

Even though there was a lot of trash talk in line about who was going to get what and what they would do to whoever got in their way, I felt that there was a certain sense of camaraderie. Once I was finally allowed inside the store, I realized whatever bond we had formed outside was quickly broken. Game on!  People rushed around with garbage barrels and emptied entire displays of DVDs and video games into them. Shoppers used carts and even their children to block opponents from entering aisles or getting close to displays. It was absolute mayhem.

I anxiously made my way through the throngs of people to the electronics department at the back of the store. That’s when it dawned on me why people had been studying the maps the retailer had provided online. The merchandise was strategically placed all over the store, and people were not willing to disclose where the hot items were located. Finally a nice couple took pity on me and pointed me to the iPad line that started in the automotive aisle.

After desperately making my way to the opposite side of the store, I was handed a ticket and told that the specially priced iPads would be unveiled in two hours, and I was not to get out of line or my spot would be forfeited. This wasn’t an issue for the teams who had players spread all over the store. I, however, was stuck staring at windshield wipers for the next 120 minutes, unable to take advantage of any other deals. For the majority, the game was just beginning. They utilized the time in line to pore over the sales fliers and memorize the maps of the stores they would be hitting next. As for me, I used the time to get in some quality people watching, and boy were there some colorful people to observe! My favorite overheard comment was from a woman bragging how she had even thought to wear Depends.

Before long there was a palpable excitement in the air. You could hear other lines throughout the store roar in delight as big screen televisions and sought after toys were unveiled. People began singing Christmas carols and for the first time it actually felt magical. At this point I didn’t even care if I got an iPad, I was too enthralled with the experience itself. As I marveled to those around me how surreal my first Black Friday was, they quickly corrected me that this was in fact Grey Thursday. The name seemed perfect to me, since I hadn’t felt this much anticipation and adrenaline in my body since I read “Fifty Shades of Grey.”

On that note, I would like to thank all of the employees who kindly worked on Thanksgiving so people could participate in this November Madness. Even though I did score in my first official appearance, I have decided to retire after only one season. I realize that, unlike the real sports heroes whose jerseys are hung from their stadium rafters, I will never have enough skills to have my purse hung from the rafters at Wal-Mart as one of the greatest shoppers of all time!

Karen Wyman has been a Williston resident for seven years, and lives with her husband and twin 5-year-old daughters.

By Bill Skiff

THE APRICOT ADVENTURE

My buddy’s grandmother was a wonderful cook. She baked delicious pies. My favorite was apricot.

Grandma used dried apricots for her pies; she kept them in a glass jar with a tin screw top. The jar was stored in her pantry. We were not allowed in the pantry—for good reasons.

One day, we developed a strong hankering for dried apricots. We shinnied up the porch pole, crawled across the floor, opened up the pantry window and climbed in. After filling our pockets with the dried fruit, we reversed the process and headed for the barn to devour our spoils. After a while, the dryness of the fruit gave us a huge thirst. We went to the watering trough for a drink. Our stomachs were soon filled with cool spring water.

One does not have to be a chemist to know what happens when dried apricots are combined with spring water: soon our stomachs were so tight you could play Drums Along the Mohawk on them.

As we rolled around on the ground in pain we experienced the price of breaking and entering.

THE LAUNDRY LESSON

The wife of Dad’s hired man was mean—at least, as 8-year-olds we thought she was. She lived in the tenement house next to ours. My buddy and I liked to walk through her yard on our way to the sugarhouse. She would yell and scream and tell us to stay away from her house and her yard. It made us mad.

One day, as we watched her leave the driveway our eyes drifted over her yard. We spotted her newly washed sheets hanging on the line. We had the idea that perhaps another laundering might be in order. We walked over, pulled the cloths off the line and threw them in the brook. Then we stomped them down to the bottom where they came to rest among the mud and stones.

After the second laundering, we ran into the barn, climbed up into the hay mow and hid. As we sat there joyfully, fear crept in, as we knew it was only a matter of time before Mother’s voice would pronounce our fate. It came: “Billy, you come down here right now, and I mean right now.” Mother could dish out quick and timely justice.

We learned it is better to leave drying laundry alone than to get hung out to dry together.

SUGAR SHACK SIGHTINGS

One summer, I had a job working for Jimmy Beard who owned a hardware store in Jeffersonville.  Jimmy hired me to stock shelves and wait on customers. I received $10 a week for my services.

When payday came, I never seemed to have any money to take home. I always needed to pay off a bill for some item I had purchased during the week. One week it was a Remington 22 rifle.

I became a good shot—and was always looking for new targets. One day, I began taking interest in an air vent that protruded out of our hen house roof. The angle provided a challenge, but soon I could hit it with regularity. Not the safest target in the world, but it was fun hearing the ping as the vent was contacted.

One day, I decided to play army. I went up on the hill and dug myself a WWII foxhole. Then, I sighted across the hill at the smokestack of the sugarhouse. It was a long way away, but I had seen John Wayne do it. He sighted his rifle to allow the bullet to travel in an arc to reach the target.

After a few practice rounds, and some angle adjustment, I could hit the stack most of the time. It was fun to hear the sound of the rifle followed by a few seconds of silence before the ping as the smoke stack was penetrated—again, not the safest target in the world.

All went well until sugaring season came around. One rainy day while Dad was boiling, he noticed the sugarhouse roof was leaking. When he looked up, he saw a series of small holes around the base of the smokestack. It didn’t take Dad long to put two and two together and come up with 22.

Another month spent in purgatory, to say nothing of losing the use of my favorite rifle for the summer.

SKUNK SCENTS

Like most farmers in the 1940s and ‘50s, we piled our trash in the shed during the winter and took it out in the spring. One day, I noticed a skunk was living in the shed. He was crawling all around looking for food. I decided to use my new 22 to eliminate the problem.

As I sneaked into the shed, I saw him about to crawl into a small barrel. I crept up the stairs leading to the storage room and looked down. There he was checking out a morsel of food. I aimed my rifle down and fired. I missed—but he didn’t.

They say if you get sprayed by a skunk in the face it improves your eyesight. I can vouch for that: I could still see all those people standing so far away from me.

I ate my supper in the barn that night (Mother wouldn’t let me in the house). I had to throw away all my clothes, including my Johnson breeches. I suffered through a couple of baths in some combination of tomato juice, and, I think, kerosene. I also was not popular at school for a few days. Who would want to go to a dance with a skunk?

They say let sleeping dogs lie—I say that goes for skunks, too.

Bill Skiff grew up on a farm between Cambridge and Jeffersonville. After a career in education, he now lives in Williston, where he is a justice of the peace and Fourth of July frog-jumping official. In “Places I’ve Played,” he shares his experiences of growing up in Vermont. Comments are welcome at [email protected]

LEAH MAPLE BOUTIN 

Leah Maple Boutin, 88, of Williston, passed away Nov. 13, 2012. She was born April 22, 1924, to Frank Senna and Leona Lapierre. Leah was predeceased by her husband, Robert Maple; son, Larry Maple; second husband, Albert Boutin; sister, Theresa Lehoullier; brother, Peter Senna; half brother, Clement Senna; and half sister, Julianne Washburn. Leah is survived by her daughter, Rhonda Maple; granddaughter, Angie Maple; sisters, Janet Senna, Janice Lague, Dorothy Theriault, and sister, caregiver and best friend, Doris Lamphere. At Leah’s request, there will be no services.

CHARLENE TIBBITS JOHNSTON 

Charlene Tibbits Johnston, 73, of Williston, passed away on Thursday, Nov. 22, 2012, at home surrounded by her family, after a two-year bout with lung cancer. Charlene was the youngest daughter of Ivan and Myrtle Tibbits of Enosburg Falls. She graduated from Enosburg Falls High School in 1957. Charlene married Vernon Johnston on Dec. 2, 1961. Charlene is survived by her husband, Vernon of Williston; daughter, Laura of Winooski; sister-in-law and brother-in-law, Karen and John Colgrove; and several nieces, nephews and cousins. She was predeceased by her sisters, Lucille, Geraldine Godin, and Susan; and two brothers, Ivan and Paul. Family and friends were invited to a gathering at the Johnston home on Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2012, from 1 to 3 p.m. Burial will be at the convenience of the family. Memorial contributions may be made to the charity of one’s choice.

Turf fields not a luxury

As a parent who has persevered through CVU’s stuttering soccer season, I feel compelled to respond to the misguided facts put forth in the letter (Williston Observer, Nov. 15) regarding the request for a turf field.

The suggestion that coaches are requesting turf as a “luxury” item and have not considered the facts is way off the mark. The current CVU fields have proven unable to support sporting activities in periods of inclement weather, resulting in students having to miss classes (traveling to “home” games) and having to improvise training (e.g. on asphalt in the parking lot).

The request for turf is to simply provide a usable playing surface for our athletes. It is an embarrassment that such an eminent school as CVU is unable to provide such a basic need.

Several arguments in the letter simply bear no relevance to CVU (e.g. the potential for heat exhaustion may be an issue in southern states, but not Vermont) and should have been substantiated prior to publication. Let’s face a simple reality—there is a reason that UVM, St. Mike’s, Burlington and South Burlington have made educated decisions to install turf, and this is a well-established precedent.

By way of context, CVU recently invested in upgrading the auditorium to support the arts. If we were to have posed similar arguments prior, would we have considered it OK for our musicians, dancers, singers and actors to perform rehearsals in the parking lot as our athletes have been forced to do?

Turf field decisions need to be based on relevant and substantiated facts, and whether we as taxpayers wish to provide the level of support that athletes enjoy at other Division 1 schools.

Alan Brown

Williston

Learn about adoption

Do you believe every child deserves a family? We do.

Thousands of children in America live day-to-day moving from home to home, without the love and care of permanent families. November is National Adoption Awareness Month and as we celebrate all forms of adoption as a wonderful way to create or extend families, I would like to draw your attention to a very special group of children—right here in America—who desperately need families.

Today, more than 100,000 children are in foster care through no fault of their own as victims of child abuse, neglect or abandonment, and have been permanently removed from their homes. These children urgently need to move from temporary foster homes into permanent, loving, forever families. We aren’t talking about someone else’s children; we are talking about children in our very own Vermont. In Vermont, there are more than 100 children waiting to be adopted.

The need has never been greater. Children often wait five years or more to be adopted, can move three or more times in foster care, and frequently are separated from siblings. And tragically, tens of thousands of children available for adoption turn 18 and leave the system each year without families.

So, we invite the community to learn, donate, adopt and support the work of organizations like the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption that find children in foster care the forever families that they deserve.

Wanda Audette

Lund’s director of adoption

Brick Church still used for worship

Regarding the Observer’s Nov. 21 front page story, “CVU athlete spurs unprecedented support for Brick Church concert,” I’m not a music buff, but give me the opportunity to sing a Christian song to the glory of the Lord and I’m in heaven.

My point: the first sentence of the article says, “The Old Brick Church … is no longer a place of worship.”

Not so: every Sunday morning, since 1981, excepting when the building was being repaired for lightening (fire) damage, our fellowship has been worshipping the Lord Jesus Christ, mainly in the basement area of the building, being that we are less than 50 in number. We have, at times, used the main floor, also.

Our moniker: Christian Faith Assembly (CFA). Our pastor: John Fresia – 802-893-0049. Mail address: PO Box 400, Williston, VT 05495.

We invite you to come and check us out any Sunday at 10 a.m. For more information, please visit www.soundanalarm.com.

Al Parsons 

Williston