Leafer Epidemic

Published October 16, 2007

By Julia Taddonio

Autumn in Vermont is a marvelous season; the leaves are changing, the sunsets are unbelievable, and I get to bust out my sweet winter hat and stop washing my hair as regularly. Winter’s just around the bend and with every day that passes, the wind seems to pick up a little, the days get shorter, and the window of opportunity to wear sandals and skirts gets smaller and smaller (unless you’re one of those super-heady chicks who wears your skirt over your pants).

When I’m not working, I like to spend my weekends hiking, biking by the lake, or sleeping in really late and going to a yummy (or not-so-yummy if I’m hung over and more like a waste of money) breakfast of cheesy eggs and hash browns (NOT to be mistaken with home fries, and yes, there is a big difference). It’s difficult for me to enjoy these activities when the Leafers are in town. Whether they flock from the tri-state area or migrate south from Quebec, these tourists, more specifically, Leafers, come to town to take in the picturesque beauty of the change in seasons and it becomes rather obnoxious. Although I realize that the tourist industry immensely helps and supports the good people and businesses of Vermont, the Leafers take all the parking spots in town, make a mob scene out of Church Street, and make the wait at Penny Cluse four hours instead of two (but they only serve home fries so who really cares anyway).

During this season, the Burlington Bikeway swarms with securely-helmeted bikers who crawl along side by side, three abreast, breaking incessantly at every glimpse of the lake through the trees. There goes my bike ride. The other day I reached the summit of Camel’s Hump to find, no joke, thirty Quebecians perched all over the rocks (luckily I descended before them). If you want to go for a hike around here, take a difficult trail, or don’t even bother because all the shorter more gradual ascents will be congested

Not only do the Leafers interfere with my leisure time but they bother me at my place of employment. I work at a sandwich shop and am constantly exchanging Canadian coins (usually pennies) from out of my tip jar with American currency from the cash register. I deal with many picky, rude out-of-towners who shoot me death looks and don’t say “thank you” when I set down a perfectly constructed sandwich (so beautiful you might not even want to eat it) in front of them.

Only when the trees are bare, their branches shivering naked in the cold wind, will the Leafer Epidemic come to an end. Luckily for Vermont, the tourist industry is a year-round source of revenue. Tough shit for all you skiers and snowboarders who will have to deal with the Leafers (who lose their respective label until next fall) on long weekends and holidays at the mountain, and you will curse them as you lose feeling in your toes, shuffling along in the never-ending lift lines. I guess it’s the reality we have to deal with since we live in such a beautiful area, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed off about it.

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