WMEO Weekend Editon – The debate continues over AI

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Two cats sit behind a WMEO9 Weekend Edition news desk. Banner, an orange long‑haired cat wearing a black bow tie, sits on the left with a paper marked by paw prints. Balboa, a black short‑haired cat, sits on the right beside a toy mouse and a small teddy bear. A microphone rests between them, and the backdrop shows Dartmouth College with a clock tower under a clear sky.

Banner: Good afternoon, Taunton. This is your WMEO 9 Weekend Edition. We Meow- You Listen. 

Today we’re covering the continuing debate over the use of AI in writing. What began as a business‑sector concern has now moved directly into higher education. Dartmouth College is facing scrutiny after accusations surfaced that Provost Santiago Schnell may have used AI to generate portions of his recent published work — including an opinion piece about AI misuse.

Independent reviewers noticed a sharp shift in Schnell’s writing style beginning in 2022. Earlier work showed consistent human authorship. More recent pieces displayed patterns commonly associated with AI‑generated text. Dartmouth has launched a formal review committee, and the investigation is ongoing.

Balboa: “So he wrote about AI cheating with AI? That’s like me lecturing Banner about overeating while I’m sitting in the treat bowl.”

Banner: “Balboa, this is a matter of academic integrity.”

Balboa: “And convenience. Don’t forget convenience.”

Banner: “At WMEO9, we believe transparency matters. Whether in business, academia, or any place where trust is essential, the tools we use should be acknowledged honestly. Artificial intelligence can be helpful — even powerful — but it cannot replace accountability. When leaders ask others to uphold standards, they must uphold them themselves.”

Balboa: “Unless the AI writes better. Then maybe uphold it… but quietly.”

Banner: “Balboa, this is an editorial moment.”

Balboa: “I’m editorializing.”

Banner: “The Dartmouth investigation is ongoing, and we will continue to follow it. But the larger question remains: how do we balance innovation with integrity? That conversation isn’t ending today — and it shouldn’t.”

Balboa: “I vote for innovation. Banner votes for integrity. Together we make… moderate progress.”

Banner: “This concludes our WMEO 9 Weekend Edition editorial. Thank you for joining us.”

Two cats sit behind a WMEO 9 news desk as if hosting a broadcast. The orange cat on the left wears a dark blue bow tie, while the black cat on the right sits beside a small gray mouse toy and a brown teddy bear. A sheet of paper with red markings lies on the desk. The front of the desk displays the text “WMEO 9” in large yellow letters and “Thank you for watching” in white. The blurred newsroom background features blue and red tones.

A Poem Revisited

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Bright orange and red autumn leaves on a tall tree set against a vivid blue sky, capturing the color and clarity of early fall.

⭐  “October’s Bright Blue Weather”

Some things stay with you your whole life. When I was in fifth grade, we had to memorize October’s Bright Blue Weather by Helen Hunt Jackson for English class. At the time, I didn’t realize how deeply it would root itself in me — how those crisp images of autumn air and bright blue skies would follow me into adulthood.

All these many years later, it’s still one of my favorite poems. There’s something about the way Jackson captures October that feels exactly right: the clarity, the stillness, the sense of change in the air. Every time the calendar turns to fall, I find myself thinking of those lines again, remembering the rhythm of the words and the way they made the season feel bigger than the world I knew at ten years old.

And of course, Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” sits right beside it in my heart — two roads diverging, choices made, paths followed. Both poems have stayed with me, shaping the way I see autumn, memory, and the quiet turning of the year.

October’s Bright Blue Weather

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October’s bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October’s bright blue weather

Helen Hunt Jackson

Some favorites never fade. They just deepen.

 

Vermont’s Fall Colors

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A white steepled church sits in a small Vermont town surrounded by vibrant autumn foliage, with red, orange, and yellow trees, a grassy foreground, a winding stream, and misty mountains rising in the background.

🍁  Vermont’s Route 100 — From the Triangle to the Trees

After wandering through the mysteries of the Bennington Triangle, it turns out the perfect next stop is… Bennington itself. Because that’s where Vermont Route 100 begins — the most scenic drive in the entire state, and honestly one of the best in New England.

Route 100 is Vermont showing off. This winding two‑lane highway runs the full length of the state, more than 200 miles from bottom to top, hugging the eastern side of the Green Mountains the whole way. In October, it becomes a rolling ribbon of color — hills blazing in red and gold, quiet lakes reflecting the sky, rivers slipping through the trees, and covered bridges popping up like they were placed there just for your camera.

A curving paved road with double yellow lines winds uphill through a dense autumn forest, surrounded by vivid red, orange, yellow, and green foliage on both sides.

It’s the kind of road where every bend feels like a postcard.

You pass through tiny villages with white steeples, old farms tucked into the hills, waterfalls you can hear before you see, and long stretches where the forest arches overhead like a tunnel of color. We stayed on Route 100 almost the entire way, with just one detour planned: Smugglers’ Notch up north — because honestly, how do you resist a name like that?

A winding paved road curves through a bright autumn forest, with yellow and orange leaves forming a colorful canopy overhead and a large mossy rock sitting beside the road.

If the Bennington Triangle gave us Vermont’s eerie side, Route 100 is the soft, golden, leaf‑peeping side — the part that makes you roll the windows down, breathe in the cold air, and remember why fall feels like magic.

 

Haunted October: Join Me in the Bennington Triangle

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A misty Vermont forest with dense evergreens and low‑lying fog drifting through the trees, with a shadowed mountain rising in the background.

🎃 Join me — if you dare — on a nature hike deep in the forests of Vermont.

There’s a stretch of wilderness in the southwestern corner of the state where the trees grow close, the air hangs still, and the quiet feels heavier than it should. Hikers talk about a strange hush that settles over the land — a silence that doesn’t sound natural, a stillness that makes you stop walking and listen without knowing why.

This is Glastenbury Mountain, the heart of what people now call the Bennington Triangle.

🌲 A Campfire in the Dark

A glowing campfire burning on a rocky riverbank at dusk, with flames reflecting off the stones and silhouetted trees in the background.Picture our campfire: a bright circle of light in the darkness, twigs snapping as they burn. Someone from our group steps away — just for a moment. Maybe to grab something from the tent or pick up a sweater. Nights get cold in these woods.

But they never return.

Vanished. Gone in the blink of an eye.

It sounds impossible… until you learn that five people have walked into these woods and never come back out. Only one was ever found — and her remains had been lying out there for months before surfacing.

👣 The Vanishings

Middie Rivers — 1945

An experienced woodsman leading a hunting party along a familiar trail. He walked a short distance ahead to scout the path, rounded a curve, and simply never returned.

Search teams combed the area for days. No footprints.or  broken brush. No sign of an animal attack. Nothing. It was as if the forest opened up and took him.

One moment he was there. The next, he wasn’t.

Paula Welden — 1946

A 19‑year‑old college student who went for a hike on the Long Trail. She was seen heading toward the woods… and then never again. Despite weeks of searching, no trace was ever found.

An empty pair of blue‑gray bus seats with a worn green backpack and a weathered brown duffle bag resting on them, next to a window showing a blurred outdoor view.James Tedford — 1949

A veteran traveling by bus through the area. Passengers saw him sitting in his seat as the bus approached Bennington — but when it arrived, he was gone. His belongings were still there. His seat was undisturbed. He had vanished from a moving bus.

Paul Jepson — 1950

Only eight years old. His mother left him in the family truck for about half an hour. When she returned, Paul was gone. Bloodhounds tracked his scent to a nearby road, where it simply ended. He was never found.

Frieda Langer — 1950

An experienced hiker and the only one ever recovered. She slipped into a brook and went to change her clothes. She never came back. Months later her body was discovered — but no cause of death could be determined.

Five disappearances. Five unsolved cases. One small region.

🌫️ A Mountain the Abenaki Would Not Enter A foggy woodland trail lined with tall moss‑covered trees, with mist drifting through the forest and the path fading into the distance.

The Abenaki knew better than to trust Glastenbury. Hunting parties steered clear of its woods, no villages ever took root on its slopes, and travelers passed through without stopping. In their stories, the mountain was a place that swallowed people whole.

🎃 Why the Bennington Triangle Haunts Us

The Bennington Triangle is spooky not because of ghosts, but because of the feeling it gives you. It’s the kind of place where the forest seems to close in, where the trail feels longer than it should, and where the silence makes you wonder what’s listening.

It’s New England at its most mysterious.

So I ask you again…

Will you join me in the Bennington Triangle?

A nighttime campfire burning inside a ring of rocks, with two empty yellow camping chairs facing the flames and dark trees silhouetted in the background.

 

The Great Pasta Debate Lives On

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A plate of spaghetti topped with a thick tomato meat sauce, sprinkled with grated cheese and garnished with a fresh parsley sprig.

🍝 You’re Cooking Pasta ALL Wrong!

I guess the Great Spaghetti Debate is never going to rest.

Despite my very reasonable explanation back in April — To Break or Not to Break: The Great Spaghetti Debate — I opened my email this morning to a headline screaming at me like I’d committed a culinary crime:

“You’re Cooking Pasta Wrong.”

Well of course I had to read it. And inside? Another dramatic proclamation:

“arounddustyroads.com According to an Italian Chef.”

Alright, fine. What am I supposedly doing wrong now?

According to Chef Marcello of the Academia Barilla, the perfect bowl of pasta requires long noodles cooked in salted water — without breaking them — so the sauce can swirl and cling like it’s performing a romantic tango. After wading through all the author’s detours, it became clear he was talking about pasta dishes where the sauce is mixed into the noodles, not the kind you spoon on top once it’s on your plate. And after all that drama… they didn’t even include a recipe!

Okay. I can accept that. But I’ve moved on.

I am now 100% in the Short Noodle School of spaghetti cooking. I’ve even stocked up on the “pot‑sized” spaghetti you can buy at the grocery store. I don’t need a restaurant‑sized cauldron to make a single serving, and the pot‑sized noodles work beautifully. No muss, no fuss, no rogue noodle shards launching themselves across my kitchen like tiny edible javelins.Two boxes of pot‑sized spaghetti on a kitchen counter beside a container of uncooked pasta, with a cooking pot in the background.

So yes — the debate lives on. But this home cook has chosen her side.

And if Chef Marcello wants to challenge me, he can meet me in the pasta aisle — I’ll be the one holding the pot‑sized spaghetti with zero regrets.