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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.
Often on Friday afternoon, when I am supposed to start on next week’s blog post, I realize that I have nothing, but nothing, to write about. I have already written
After a childhood filled with Catholic doctrine, ritual, and festivals, I left the Church in the years following the Second Vatican Council. I didn’t leave because the reforms struck me
Between my face and my book there is, almost always, a cat. He is gray, with white chest and paws, and his name is Telemann. Since I am usually horizontal
In all the years I lived with my parents, I never once saw my father in a robe or in pajamas. Every morning he would emerge from the bedroom fully
We’ve been hearing a lot lately about the coming winter. It’s going to be cold, and long, and dark. Keeping warm is going to be a problem, what with the
Last summer I found, in a local nursery, a spindly lemon verbena seedling. As I touched the raspy leaves, it released its sweet lemony scent and (are you listening, Marcel
Sophia Loren once said that, if you don’t want to appear old, you should avoid groaning when you stand up from sitting. I don’t groan when I stand up, or
There is one population for whom, despite the ravages of time, I remain irresistible: I’m talking about bugs. Their fondness for me goes back a long way. “Mother of God!”
Often on Friday afternoon, when I am supposed to start on next week’s blog post, I realize that I have nothing, but nothing, to write about. I have already written
After a childhood filled with Catholic doctrine, ritual, and festivals, I left the Church in the years following the Second Vatican Council. I didn’t leave because the reforms struck me
Between my face and my book there is, almost always, a cat. He is gray, with white chest and paws, and his name is Telemann. Since I am usually horizontal
In all the years I lived with my parents, I never once saw my father in a robe or in pajamas. Every morning he would emerge from the bedroom fully
We’ve been hearing a lot lately about the coming winter. It’s going to be cold, and long, and dark. Keeping warm is going to be a problem, what with the
Last summer I found, in a local nursery, a spindly lemon verbena seedling. As I touched the raspy leaves, it released its sweet lemony scent and (are you listening, Marcel
Sophia Loren once said that, if you don’t want to appear old, you should avoid groaning when you stand up from sitting. I don’t groan when I stand up, or
There is one population for whom, despite the ravages of time, I remain irresistible: I’m talking about bugs. Their fondness for me goes back a long way. “Mother of God!”