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
Making the Marital Bed: Some Anniversary Thoughts
It’s laundry day, and time to change the sheets. My spouse and I do this together, in an efficient and, I think, graceful choreography that we have developed over the
My Mother Goes to the Opera
“You’re going to the opera again?” I would whine as my mother stepped into her evening gown. I was a clingy kid, and hated being left alone with the maid
The Place I Left Behind
Hardest to leave were the chickens and the goats, especially the tiny Nigerian Dwarfs (see size comparison with hens, below). Full grown, they were small enough to almost fit on
Remember Bugs?
It’s a hot summer evening. Three of us are standing in front of my little strip of garden when the first Monarch of the season descends from the skies and
The Kind of Hostess I’d Like To Be
I would like to be the kind of hostess who is still stirring sauce in the kitchen when the doorbell rings, wipes her hands on her apron, pushes back the
The Torn Veil and the Mattress
There are no photos of my parents’ wedding. Somebody did make a home movie of the occasion, but since we didn’t own a film projector, I never saw it. But
Return to Yoga
It’s like coming home. After a two-year, pandemic-related hiatus, I’m back on the mat, and in my body. I remember my first yoga class, twenty-five years ago. I thought the
Little Old Lady, Little Old Dog
Every glance in the mirror confirms it: I have definitely attained Little Old Lady status. Not that there is anything pejorative in the term: in the post-RBG era, Little Old
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
Making the Marital Bed: Some Anniversary Thoughts
It’s laundry day, and time to change the sheets. My spouse and I do this together, in an efficient and, I think, graceful choreography that we have developed over the
My Mother Goes to the Opera
“You’re going to the opera again?” I would whine as my mother stepped into her evening gown. I was a clingy kid, and hated being left alone with the maid
The Place I Left Behind
Hardest to leave were the chickens and the goats, especially the tiny Nigerian Dwarfs (see size comparison with hens, below). Full grown, they were small enough to almost fit on
Remember Bugs?
It’s a hot summer evening. Three of us are standing in front of my little strip of garden when the first Monarch of the season descends from the skies and
The Kind of Hostess I’d Like To Be
I would like to be the kind of hostess who is still stirring sauce in the kitchen when the doorbell rings, wipes her hands on her apron, pushes back the
The Torn Veil and the Mattress
There are no photos of my parents’ wedding. Somebody did make a home movie of the occasion, but since we didn’t own a film projector, I never saw it. But
Return to Yoga
It’s like coming home. After a two-year, pandemic-related hiatus, I’m back on the mat, and in my body. I remember my first yoga class, twenty-five years ago. I thought the
Little Old Lady, Little Old Dog
Every glance in the mirror confirms it: I have definitely attained Little Old Lady status. Not that there is anything pejorative in the term: in the post-RBG era, Little Old