Keeping your community covered. We're committed to producing high-quality, fact-based news and information that gives you the facts in this community we call home. If our work has helped you stay informed, take action, or feel more connected to Windham County – please give now to help us reach our goal of raising $150,000 by December 31st.
Keeping your community covered. We're committed to producing high-quality, fact-based news and information that gives you the facts in this community we call home. If our work has helped you stay informed, take action, or feel more connected to Windham County – please give now to help us reach our goal of raising $150,000 by December 31st.
I've been thinking about Hugh Hefner, the Playboy empire, and their impact on our society since his death in September.
For many of us, Playboy made its way into our curious hands, because either our parents - or our friends' parents - hid copies of the magazine under bathroom sinks or within the privacy of their bedrooms.
This all started with a question I posted on social media, a question that came from my thinking for years about the state of Brattleboro. I asked everyone: Is our town going down the tubes due to what seemed to be a degradation of our overall environment (drugs, crime,
This story starts with a conversation I was having with my husband about what might be referenced as “Black names.” I showed him “To All the Little Black Girls with Big Names,” a piece by spoken-word poet Sha'Condria “iCon” Sibley which encouraged me to think differently about what might...
Remember,” my friend said through the phone, “when everything felt like it was the end of the world as teenagers, and that feeling ended when we were 28?” She finished her sentence with a certainty, but I quickly chimed in, barely letting silence nestle between her statement and my reply. “It ended? No, it still feels like the end of the world when things end... especially relationships.” We continued our conversation, and as we talked, we discussed the fact that...
I wanted to pinch myself several times as I stood above the lower level of the airport. My gaze overlooked the overflowing immigration line and became glued to the large hand mudras within the Delhi airport. Why here and why now? Was it the letters that I exchanged for a short time with a high-school friend, Veenu, who traveled between India and the United States? Was it the poster-sized picture of the Taj Mahal that I purchased 10 years ago...
