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
Good-Enough Parenting–His Story
We were at table with some friends recently, talking about the foods we used to like as children, when my husband said, \”I made pancakes for lunch one day when
What I Wish I\’d Said To My Mother
My ninety-five-year-old mother is deeply demented, and there\’s not much I can do for her on Mother\’s Day. She nevertheless still likes to eat, so I\’m sending her a soul-food
Rain, Maybe
I just walked in the house from taking the dogs out in the field, and all three of us are actually wet. Well, maybe only moist. But after two and
Semi-Silent Spring
Where are the birds? On our hill, this slow spring has been curiously bird-free. I do hear the occasional chickadee and goldfinch. The bluebird hung around singing for a few
The Control Freak Learns A Lesson
Sometimes when I\’m invited to dinner at someone\’s house I\’ll walk in and find the hostess in the middle of, say, browning onions. She\’ll put down her spatula, pour us
A Wild Cat On Your Lap
There\’s an article in this week\’s New Yorker about people who are attempting to breed domestic cats that look like ocelots, jaguars, and tigers: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/06/130506fa_fact_levy Their aim is paradoxical: to
Why I Never (Well, Hardly Ever) Buy Mulch
Over the last twenty-five years a tide of mulch–some shredded, some chipped, some brown, some bright orange–has spread over America. It makes the landscaping in people\’s gardens, around the parking
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
Good-Enough Parenting–His Story
We were at table with some friends recently, talking about the foods we used to like as children, when my husband said, \”I made pancakes for lunch one day when
What I Wish I\’d Said To My Mother
My ninety-five-year-old mother is deeply demented, and there\’s not much I can do for her on Mother\’s Day. She nevertheless still likes to eat, so I\’m sending her a soul-food
Rain, Maybe
I just walked in the house from taking the dogs out in the field, and all three of us are actually wet. Well, maybe only moist. But after two and
Semi-Silent Spring
Where are the birds? On our hill, this slow spring has been curiously bird-free. I do hear the occasional chickadee and goldfinch. The bluebird hung around singing for a few
The Control Freak Learns A Lesson
Sometimes when I\’m invited to dinner at someone\’s house I\’ll walk in and find the hostess in the middle of, say, browning onions. She\’ll put down her spatula, pour us
A Wild Cat On Your Lap
There\’s an article in this week\’s New Yorker about people who are attempting to breed domestic cats that look like ocelots, jaguars, and tigers: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/06/130506fa_fact_levy Their aim is paradoxical: to
Why I Never (Well, Hardly Ever) Buy Mulch
Over the last twenty-five years a tide of mulch–some shredded, some chipped, some brown, some bright orange–has spread over America. It makes the landscaping in people\’s gardens, around the parking