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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.
I just heard that stressed-out law students at Yale and a few other universities can now check out a therapy dog from the library, just like (but not for as
I read an article in the Times about how people no longer call each other on the phone, but use e-mail instead. If they do call, they first arrange the
It might have been too much for our winter-wizened systems, after two days in a row of warmth and sun. So today we\’re back to clouds and chill, and I
the pond in our patio; the tip, none the worse for wear, of the little arbor vitae I planted in the fall; the lavender bushes–seemingly alive–by the stone wall; the patch of lemon
Today you can practically hear the hoof beats of spring galloping north toward our latitudes. Bright sun, blue sky, hens cackling, birds rejoicing. And the snow sinking, sinking into the
I read somewhere–I think it was in a book by the herbalist Stephen Buehner–that when a field of clover is being overgrazed by sheep, the plants increase their production of
\”Though … [Mozart] lived through the French Revolution you search his letters in vain for anything other than the most oblique references to this continental cataclysm. He had no feeling
Well, it\’s hardly summer when the ground is still covered with snow, but the light more than makes up for the lingering chill. Oblivious of outside temperatures, my houseplants know
I just heard that stressed-out law students at Yale and a few other universities can now check out a therapy dog from the library, just like (but not for as
I read an article in the Times about how people no longer call each other on the phone, but use e-mail instead. If they do call, they first arrange the
It might have been too much for our winter-wizened systems, after two days in a row of warmth and sun. So today we\’re back to clouds and chill, and I
the pond in our patio; the tip, none the worse for wear, of the little arbor vitae I planted in the fall; the lavender bushes–seemingly alive–by the stone wall; the patch of lemon
Today you can practically hear the hoof beats of spring galloping north toward our latitudes. Bright sun, blue sky, hens cackling, birds rejoicing. And the snow sinking, sinking into the
I read somewhere–I think it was in a book by the herbalist Stephen Buehner–that when a field of clover is being overgrazed by sheep, the plants increase their production of
\”Though … [Mozart] lived through the French Revolution you search his letters in vain for anything other than the most oblique references to this continental cataclysm. He had no feeling
Well, it\’s hardly summer when the ground is still covered with snow, but the light more than makes up for the lingering chill. Oblivious of outside temperatures, my houseplants know