What God createth, God will take away. That applies even to roadkill. Carcasses are moved as necessary to clear the way for routine maintenance such as (if you’re squeamish, close your eyes for the next word, as it gets fairly graphic if you have a good imagination) mowing and line striping. This policy did not come about as a result of a powerful vulture lobby or the grassroots Vermont Maggots Need to Eat, Too! movement. This came about because we are legendarily, as tourists would say, “frugal,” or “thrifty.” Among ourselves, we can describe it without the Yankee shtick. We’re cheap. Tight with a nickel. Our pockets are deep, our arms short. If it would cost each Vermonter 1.5 cents to scrape up that hideous mound of what used to be a beaver, that’s 1.5 cents we could be spending elsewhere. The beaver will be gone in a few weeks. To live in Vermont is to endure Mother Nature’s vagaries. It takes time for flesh to break down. Let the refined folks of Illinois tidy up their road surfaces in short order. This is Vermont. We got nothing but time — and not much money
Paraguay RPCV Ed Shamy writes: Measure a state by its treatment of roadkill
Ed Shamy: Measure a state by its treatment of roadkill
June 8, 2008
The following is a commentary about public policy, the efficient use of tax dollars and roadkill.
Perfectly understandable if you choose not to read further. No hard feelings.
Having recently endured a rather nasty winter — lots of snow, not enough salt, rising gas and diesel prices — highway departments are financially pinched. In order to continue ignoring potholes and to carry on letting bridges rot, the keepers of our byways are having to cut corners.
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That took a ghoulish turn in Illinois, when the state highway department weeks ago quit scooping up roadkill because time is money and stop-and-go driving is hell on fuel efficiency. A budget gap is a budget gap and a department does what it takes in lean times.
Thanks to an emergency allocation, it is now safe again to visit Illinois. The possum-pancake scooping resumed last week in the Land of Lincoln.
Could this happen in Vermont, where roadkill is a way of life? Could the harsh winter and high fuel prices exact a toll on our roadkill collection unit?
Not likely, thanks to years of careful management of our collective resources.
Our bar has been set so astonishingly low on the roadkill front that the cost is invisible to the naked eye. If Vermont stopped its roadkill collection efforts tomorrow, we wouldn’t have saved enough scratch to buy so much as a roll of fax paper by year’s end.
Here’s the policy: The Agency of Transportation moves deer struck by cars out of the lanes of travel — not for the deer’s safety, which is no longer an issue, but for the cars’ wellbeing. No burial, no graveside service. Just try to get it out of view of the tourists and let the turkey vultures and the coyotes do the rest.
Moose and bear are removed by the Fish and Wildlife Department.
The rule for all other beasts smaller than the Big Three: Let it lie.
Let the crows and the rain and the heat and the pavement and friction and — well, I could go on for some time, but won’t — do their thing.
What God createth, God will take away. That applies even to roadkill.
Carcasses are moved as necessary to clear the way for routine maintenance such as (if you’re squeamish, close your eyes for the next word, as it gets fairly graphic if you have a good imagination) mowing and line striping.
This policy did not come about as a result of a powerful vulture lobby or the grassroots Vermont Maggots Need to Eat, Too! movement.
This came about because we are legendarily, as tourists would say, “frugal,” or “thrifty.”
Among ourselves, we can describe it without the Yankee shtick. We’re cheap. Tight with a nickel. Our pockets are deep, our arms short.
If it would cost each Vermonter 1.5 cents to scrape up that hideous mound of what used to be a beaver, that’s 1.5 cents we could be spending elsewhere. The beaver will be gone in a few weeks.
To live in Vermont is to endure Mother Nature’s vagaries. It takes time for flesh to break down.
Let the refined folks of Illinois tidy up their road surfaces in short order.
This is Vermont. We got nothing but time — and not much money.
Ed Shamy’s column appears Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 660-1862 or eshamy@bfp.burlingtonfreepress.com
