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. I got bored with teaching, took up running, and went into higher ed administration. I 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.
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
An Herb For Our Time
Three years ago, on Mother’s Day, I received a terracotta planter filled with annuals in bloom. In the fall, after the first frost, I ripped out the dead plants and
The Mystery of the Unborn Calf
I was a backward child, wandering dreamily in a world filled with mysteries and miracles. At ten, even as my breasts were starting to develop, my mother had to
Raccoon
This morning in the woods, Bisou treed a raccoon. He was almost her size, and cursing loudly, and it took me a while to get her away from him. Who
Hermits
The hermit thrush alone is a good reason to live in Vermont. All by himself, this little brown bird with the speckled breast makes up for the cold, dark winters,
Guys on Monuments
Walk through almost any public park, and you’ll find yourself staring up at the hooves of rearing stone or bronze horses, mounted by guys brandishing swords or guns. Sometimes, instead
The Soul of a Chipmunk
There is a bird bath by our back door, and in the evening the wildlife come to drink. It’s like a Serengeti waterhole, with finches, a squirrel or two, and
The Lament of the Hostess
Heaven knows, I am a compliant soul. My female condition, not to mention my Catholic girlhood, incline me towards obedience. So when, in this virusy era, residents of the community
How I Watch the News
This is how I watch the news these days. First, the cat, the dog, and I jockey for position on the loveseat. Guess who always wins… Then the daily blend
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
An Herb For Our Time
Three years ago, on Mother’s Day, I received a terracotta planter filled with annuals in bloom. In the fall, after the first frost, I ripped out the dead plants and
The Mystery of the Unborn Calf
I was a backward child, wandering dreamily in a world filled with mysteries and miracles. At ten, even as my breasts were starting to develop, my mother had to
Raccoon
This morning in the woods, Bisou treed a raccoon. He was almost her size, and cursing loudly, and it took me a while to get her away from him. Who
Hermits
The hermit thrush alone is a good reason to live in Vermont. All by himself, this little brown bird with the speckled breast makes up for the cold, dark winters,
Guys on Monuments
Walk through almost any public park, and you’ll find yourself staring up at the hooves of rearing stone or bronze horses, mounted by guys brandishing swords or guns. Sometimes, instead
The Soul of a Chipmunk
There is a bird bath by our back door, and in the evening the wildlife come to drink. It’s like a Serengeti waterhole, with finches, a squirrel or two, and
The Lament of the Hostess
Heaven knows, I am a compliant soul. My female condition, not to mention my Catholic girlhood, incline me towards obedience. So when, in this virusy era, residents of the community
How I Watch the News
This is how I watch the news these days. First, the cat, the dog, and I jockey for position on the loveseat. Guess who always wins… Then the daily blend