my green vermont

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Welcome to My Green Vermont

I was born in Barcelona, where I went to a school run by German nuns, studied solfeggio, and played the violin. When I was ten, my parents and I moved to Ecuador, where I had a number of exotic pets and strange adventures. Four years later, we landed in Birmingham, Alabama. None of us spoke English, and the strange adventures continued. (Many of these appear in My Green Vermont.)

Survived high school. Got B.A. in French and Biology, Ph.D. in Romance Languages (French and Spanish). Gave up the Church and the violin, got married, had two daughters, taught at a liberal arts college in Maryland. Also grew veggies, made bread, kept chickens, milked goats, and wrote for newspapers and magazines. Got bored with teaching, took up running, and went into higher ed administration. Was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS), and learned to live in a totally different way.

I started My Green Vermont when we moved to that state. For ten years I lived with my spouse, three dogs, twelve hens, two goats, and assorted passing wildlife in a house on a hill, surrounded by fields and woods. In 2014, we moved to a cottage in a continuing care residential community near Lake Champlain. Gave up livestock and vegetable gardening in favor of wild birds, honeybees, a little red dog, and a gray cat.

My Green Vermont is a fertile compost pile made up of stories about the weirdness of growing up in three countries and three languages; portraits of beloved animals, both wild and domestic; and reflections on aging, being kind to the earth, and staying as calm as possible. I hope you will visit often, and add your own stories and reactions.

Latest Posts

The New, Improved Dog Walk

Old dog training books were all about dominance, and one of the best ways to show your dog who was boss was by training her to heel. Whenever my dog

Read More »

A Glimpse of Stocking

As a person of venerable age, I have lived through the evolution of countless objects and materials, from dip pens to word processors, rotary phones to mobiles, and paper, leather,

Read More »

A Bruising Stick Season

We’re heading into what Vermonters call “stick season,” the time of year after the last crimson leaf has dropped from the last maple tree and before the first snow covers

Read More »

The Little Donkeys of Palestine

For millennia, the semi-arid lands around the Mediterranean bore the imprint of donkeys’ hooves. From Gibraltar to Galilee, donkeys carried burdens, tilled the fields, and endured whatever humans imposed on

Read More »

The Introvert’s Complaint

(Written during this past weekend) There is a block party in my neighborhood this afternoon, and I’m not going. I have not made this decision lightly. But it is causing

Read More »

My Own Mary Poppins

I am banging on her bedroom door, yelling “Let me in! I want to see an Indian!” But the door stays closed. Behind it my mother’s sister María,  whom I

Read More »

On Being (Not Quite) Eighty

The year I turned five I began to think of myself as being six. Being six meant starting school and having my First Communion, so six seemed a good thing

Read More »

Latest Posts

The New, Improved Dog Walk

Old dog training books were all about dominance, and one of the best ways to show your dog who was boss was by training her to heel. Whenever my dog

Read More »

A Glimpse of Stocking

As a person of venerable age, I have lived through the evolution of countless objects and materials, from dip pens to word processors, rotary phones to mobiles, and paper, leather,

Read More »

A Bruising Stick Season

We’re heading into what Vermonters call “stick season,” the time of year after the last crimson leaf has dropped from the last maple tree and before the first snow covers

Read More »

The Little Donkeys of Palestine

For millennia, the semi-arid lands around the Mediterranean bore the imprint of donkeys’ hooves. From Gibraltar to Galilee, donkeys carried burdens, tilled the fields, and endured whatever humans imposed on

Read More »

The Introvert’s Complaint

(Written during this past weekend) There is a block party in my neighborhood this afternoon, and I’m not going. I have not made this decision lightly. But it is causing

Read More »

My Own Mary Poppins

I am banging on her bedroom door, yelling “Let me in! I want to see an Indian!” But the door stays closed. Behind it my mother’s sister María,  whom I

Read More »

On Being (Not Quite) Eighty

The year I turned five I began to think of myself as being six. Being six meant starting school and having my First Communion, so six seemed a good thing

Read More »