A cranky, cliquish, touristy little hamlet surrounded 360 degrees by angry toothless alcoholic drug-addicted welfare-supported red-state Vermonters living in rusted-out trailers and tar-paper shacks. The town itself is a haven for rich Connecticuts with liberal aspirations and a fondness for the worst dinner theatre company on the East Coast. If you like rubber deer meat and amateur-night reruns of the Fantastiks and glaring, hostile, menacing natives and hordes of ice cream cone eating overweight grey-haired nursing home bus tours and the highest property taxes in the United States, this is your dream!
In Weston VT don't even think of going for a walk in the woods during hunting season. If you don't get shot through the chest you're likely to have a Deliverance moment, I mean the Ned Beatty part! Oh and by the way there is a Vermont state law against mufflers on all internal-combustion vehicles.