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
Dandelion Recantation, Or, Can We Ever Know Anything for Sure?
A little over a year ago I wrote an ardent defense of the dandelion, Taraxacum officinalis. I accused Taraxacophobes of being prejudiced against a plant that isn’t merely harmless, but
Cats And Their Writers
It’s not usual for a woman to long for fat thighs, but I sometimes do. A plump pair of Rubenesque thighs would turn my lap into a wide enough platform
Hands-On
I’ve been thinking about hands, and how little I use mine these days. Yet my father made his living through manual labor—you can’t get much more manual than playing the
Babe Magnets
Years ago I had a colleague who often lamented his difficulties meeting women and getting dates. He was a robust Nordic type, neither handsome nor ugly, with a ready wit
Spammers I Have Known
For a blog as tiny as this one, I sure have a dedicated following among spammers. Every day I spend time deleting spam that I might otherwise spend fretting about
How It Began
In her first letter, my mother addresses him formally, as Vosté. He is, after all, her violin teacher from Barcelona. He has invited her and her family to a concert
Bad News for Vegetarians
Blame it on my somewhat monastic lifestyle, but I tend to get involved in the lives and deaths of the creatures in my house, such as the tiny ants whose
The Apron
In 1959, my parents and I went back to Spain for the summer. This was a big deal. Since leaving Barcelona, we had spent three years in the wilds of
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
Dandelion Recantation, Or, Can We Ever Know Anything for Sure?
A little over a year ago I wrote an ardent defense of the dandelion, Taraxacum officinalis. I accused Taraxacophobes of being prejudiced against a plant that isn’t merely harmless, but
Cats And Their Writers
It’s not usual for a woman to long for fat thighs, but I sometimes do. A plump pair of Rubenesque thighs would turn my lap into a wide enough platform
Hands-On
I’ve been thinking about hands, and how little I use mine these days. Yet my father made his living through manual labor—you can’t get much more manual than playing the
Babe Magnets
Years ago I had a colleague who often lamented his difficulties meeting women and getting dates. He was a robust Nordic type, neither handsome nor ugly, with a ready wit
Spammers I Have Known
For a blog as tiny as this one, I sure have a dedicated following among spammers. Every day I spend time deleting spam that I might otherwise spend fretting about
How It Began
In her first letter, my mother addresses him formally, as Vosté. He is, after all, her violin teacher from Barcelona. He has invited her and her family to a concert
Bad News for Vegetarians
Blame it on my somewhat monastic lifestyle, but I tend to get involved in the lives and deaths of the creatures in my house, such as the tiny ants whose
The Apron
In 1959, my parents and I went back to Spain for the summer. This was a big deal. Since leaving Barcelona, we had spent three years in the wilds of