Our town has only a few hundred inhabitants but has lots of open land. I can still get on a horse and ride up into the mountains for hours on end without seeing a house or another human being. It is one of the most rural counties in the state.
There is a good trout stream that runs through the town, starting up in a cave in Beartown. (Our family explores the cave every summer — it is about 60 feet deep.) There are waterfalls, the Carthusian monks have a monastery on top of the mountain, there are abandoned cemeteries to be rediscovered, and there are small streams that yield surprisingly large fish.
The town is still run by three selectmen and town meeting is the first Tuesday in March. It can get heated. A recent discussion of limiting four-wheelers ended up with name-calling and yelling and there is always a lot of discussion of the road crew and the ongoing costs of maintaining the roads. Flatlanders and Vermonters don't always agree on how to spend our limited budget.
Still, local gossip is the mainstay of the town's entertainment. Stories about kids finding dead bodies, streams that flood out and go underground, stacking the dead like cordwood during the influenza epidemic in the 19th century, the time a small boat was stolen — cut in half and dumped into the back of a pickup, the locals who hunt right behind the warden's house (he isn't there much during the season), the drunk turkey in the local country store, and, of course, the local who got caught shooting a moose on videotape. It beats YouTube.