Jules Guillemette grew up on a farm in Lamoille County that has been in their family for nearly 100 years. Since then, Jules has worked as a chef, a meat cutter and now they're an electrician.
Reporter Erica Heilman talks with Guillemette about what it means to own land of tremendous value, but always struggle to save enough money in this latest installment of "What Class Are You?"
This interview was produced for the ear. We highly recommend listening to the audio. We’ve also provided a transcript, which has been edited for length and clarity.
Jules Guillemette: I grew up in French speaking Vermont, you know. So, that was being a Guillemette, you know. There were a lot of farms in the valley. There were distinct farm families. Folks helped each other. They shared equipment. You know, everybody was milking cows.
My grandmother had a ton of friends that lived nearby, that were also French speaking, and she never learned to drive. She never learned English. So, you know, we would drive her to visit her friends. Their kids would drive them to visit my grandmother. And that's how it was in Lamoille County, in the old farm families.
I forget what year it is. Pretty soon it'll be 100 years of Guillemettes there. My grandfather saved his money and bought the farm, and he didn't bring my grandmother down from Montreal until he had things paid off and pretty well set up. So I've always been land rich, and we still have that place long after he's gone.
But, you know, my mom and my dad, they were very frugal. They taught us about cutting coupons and not going for name brands, and saving money. But when I think about folks having more or being wealthy in my community, I think of the folks that own the lumber mill.
I remember I was at their house. I was friends with one of their kids, and the mom was out somewhere, running errands. And it was me and Lindsay, and her dad was home, who was my mom's boss. And he asked us if we were hungry, and he made me a grilled cheese. And he burnt the grilled cheese. I mean, it was black. And he looks at me, and he's got it in the pan, and he says, "This is kind of burned. Is that OK?" And I said, "Yeah, oh yeah, that's how I like it, yeah."
And his wife comes home and sees me eating this grilled cheese and gets pissed. And she said something about "why would I do that? Why would I eat something so obviously inedible?" And something about my mom, like teaching me to be polite to a fault. And I felt so much shame. I felt so much shame in that moment. I've never forgotten it. It was very poignant.
Erica Heilman: What was she saying? Was it a class difference, a culture difference? What did you —
Jules Guillemette: I don't know. Should I be better than that? Should I be better than a burnt sandwich?
Erica Heilman: You described at one point your family as working class. Do you consider yourself working class?
Jules Guillemette: Yeah, 100%. And then maybe blue collar as like a point of pride. I've always worked in trades, or right now I'm on my third trade. You know, I was a chef, and then I was a meat cutter, and now I'm an electrician. Those are all trades. But somewhere inside of me, I think that I'm really smart, and I could have maybe done something different with that.
Somewhere I started making calculations of, "OK, I've taken some hits. I have pain. What can I do now that is going to make me the most amount of money per hour of pain? So that I can dig myself out. So that I can get ahead?" You know that message of working hard? I feel like I did something wrong. I did it wrong because I worked so hard, and I worked all the time, and what did I have to show for it?
I'm my parents' kid. They taught me how to save, and I have saved. I save my money. I work and I work and I save, and I guess I just don't know when it's safe to stop, like I don't know when it's enough. I keep thinking that I'm just going to keep working so hard so that I can save up enough, so that I can work less.
I don't have benefits, I don't have paid vacation time, and I'm 46 years old. I make money when I'm working, but nothing is safe. It's all based on me being able to put my pants on every day. And I don't know how long I'm going to be able to do that for.
I come from a long line of poor farmers that have always claimed to be land rich and cash poor, and I am not a farmer, but I am still that. I'm land rich. I have this land, this legacy that has been in my family. What will I do? What will I do with it?
Erica Heilman: Your family instilled in you a work discipline, but you can't see — looking forward — comfort, necessarily, or a place where you can rest. So what do you do with the land? Do you fantasize about selling the land?
Jules Guillemette: It was my family's kingdom. My Uncle Dennis liked to call it his kingdom. But I don't live there. I'm not a farmer, so it's not, for me. It's not the same thing.
I think people are having the same struggle all over Vermont right now. I'm not even gonna say "As more and more farms go out of business," because it's already — it's been decimated. But I do grapple with this weight of wanting to save myself. How can I get to that point where I can work a little less? Feel a little less pain? I have this resource, what do I do? When is it time to change the story? There's a lot of struggle there.
