Old Gold, in Burlington, was a beacon in the night during my teenage years. It was the closest I could get to Madonna and big city lights. I love the way this photo reflects clouds over lime green lace, capturing the mix of worlds I felt then, and now.
Burlington was half an hour away, and it was hard to find a ride both there and back. The Greyhound bus that raced down Route 7 passed by my road twice a day, and I learned I could hop off at the old Weinerburger sign and walk the mile or two home. Down the hill, over the rail road tracks, past fields of corn I walked, holding the new screen printed or glittery souvenir that represented the big city.
I've often wondered who in Vermont is buying all those sequined pasties and high heels from Old Gold. What is going on under all that wool and flannel?
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