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
The Nun on the Bus
When the noon bell rang in the hill-top convent school of Nuestra Madre de la Merced in Quito, Ecuador, we would board the pale-yellow school bus that took us home
Early Critters
It may have been my mother\’s mother, the one who brought me a lame chick to keep me company after my tonsillectomy, who ignited my passion for animals. Or it
Pizzicato (finale)
“Flat! Flat! You’re flat!” my father cried, swooping into my bedroom and waving his arms. He wasn’t scolding me—he just couldn’t bear it when I played out of tune. Occasionally,
Pizzicato (continued)
Slowly and solemnly, my father set the violin on my left shoulder and tucked it under my chin, then stretched out my left arm to support the neck of the
Pizzicato
“Would you like to do a pizzicato?” my father would ask, smiling under his black and bristly mustache. I would toddle over and he, taking care that my grubby fist
Fun with Foreign Languages
My mother was a born adventurer, a conquistadora , the first female ever to leave her village in quest of higher learning in Barcelona. But after she married the mindset
River of Words
I was too short to reach the faucet, so to ask my mother for a glass of water, I said “un vas d’aigua, si us plau.” But if I had
Therapy Chicken
My mother opens my nightgown and sticks the thermometer under my arm. “Hold it tight against your side and don’t move,” she says, checking her watch. “How long?” I ask.
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
The Nun on the Bus
When the noon bell rang in the hill-top convent school of Nuestra Madre de la Merced in Quito, Ecuador, we would board the pale-yellow school bus that took us home
Early Critters
It may have been my mother\’s mother, the one who brought me a lame chick to keep me company after my tonsillectomy, who ignited my passion for animals. Or it
Pizzicato (finale)
“Flat! Flat! You’re flat!” my father cried, swooping into my bedroom and waving his arms. He wasn’t scolding me—he just couldn’t bear it when I played out of tune. Occasionally,
Pizzicato (continued)
Slowly and solemnly, my father set the violin on my left shoulder and tucked it under my chin, then stretched out my left arm to support the neck of the
Pizzicato
“Would you like to do a pizzicato?” my father would ask, smiling under his black and bristly mustache. I would toddle over and he, taking care that my grubby fist
Fun with Foreign Languages
My mother was a born adventurer, a conquistadora , the first female ever to leave her village in quest of higher learning in Barcelona. But after she married the mindset
River of Words
I was too short to reach the faucet, so to ask my mother for a glass of water, I said “un vas d’aigua, si us plau.” But if I had
Therapy Chicken
My mother opens my nightgown and sticks the thermometer under my arm. “Hold it tight against your side and don’t move,” she says, checking her watch. “How long?” I ask.