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
R Is For Rustic
I remember exactly when I fell in love with the rustic life. I was eight years old. It was summer and I was reading under the pear tree next to
Q Is For Quandary
Step into my clogs for a moment, and consider the situation. You live in a place where the winters are long, and to mitigate cabin fever for yourself and your
P Is For Pesto
P is for Pesto, which makes all things palatable–even kale. I have gone on at length before about the industrial quantities of kale that each year burst forth from a
O Is For Order
I like and need order. I have to have clear surfaces on which to rest my eyes. Pictures must be hung straight, rugs aligned, or I cannot think well. My
N Is For Nevermore
Nevermore will I sleep with my hair in rollers.Nevermore will I wear a garter belt.Nevermore will I walk long distances in spike heels.Nevermore will I keep goats (alas).Nevermore will I
The Cat Pascal-Pazuzu, Part The Last
I was telling how my daughter and I were marooned by the side of the interstate with a broken timing belt when Pascal-Pazuzu somehow opened his crate and ran out
The Cat Pascal-Pazuzu, Part The Second
I need not have worried. Pascal made it through the night, and the next morning, relieved but bleary-eyed from all those feedings, I put him in his shoe box, packed
M Is For Meow
This is the story of my cat, Pascal-Pazuzu, and how he came by this two names. When the workers who were repairing the roof of the administration building brought down
My Green Vermont
Latest Posts
R Is For Rustic
I remember exactly when I fell in love with the rustic life. I was eight years old. It was summer and I was reading under the pear tree next to
Q Is For Quandary
Step into my clogs for a moment, and consider the situation. You live in a place where the winters are long, and to mitigate cabin fever for yourself and your
P Is For Pesto
P is for Pesto, which makes all things palatable–even kale. I have gone on at length before about the industrial quantities of kale that each year burst forth from a
O Is For Order
I like and need order. I have to have clear surfaces on which to rest my eyes. Pictures must be hung straight, rugs aligned, or I cannot think well. My
N Is For Nevermore
Nevermore will I sleep with my hair in rollers.Nevermore will I wear a garter belt.Nevermore will I walk long distances in spike heels.Nevermore will I keep goats (alas).Nevermore will I
The Cat Pascal-Pazuzu, Part The Last
I was telling how my daughter and I were marooned by the side of the interstate with a broken timing belt when Pascal-Pazuzu somehow opened his crate and ran out
The Cat Pascal-Pazuzu, Part The Second
I need not have worried. Pascal made it through the night, and the next morning, relieved but bleary-eyed from all those feedings, I put him in his shoe box, packed
M Is For Meow
This is the story of my cat, Pascal-Pazuzu, and how he came by this two names. When the workers who were repairing the roof of the administration building brought down