Night Visitor
Saw the cat staring fixedly out the glass door to the backyard the other night, and went to investigate. Our birdbath is set right against the glass, to give my
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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. Got bored with teaching, took up running, and went into higher ed administration. 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.
Saw the cat staring fixedly out the glass door to the backyard the other night, and went to investigate. Our birdbath is set right against the glass, to give my
“I miss old stones,” my father said. We were coming out of Sunday Mass at the brand-new church of Our Lady of Sorrows, in Birmingham, Alabama. It was an architecturally
I may be wrong, but the cat may just be the creature to get us through these times. Don’t misunderstand me, I love dogs. But dogs are too much like
I am writing this three days before the election, and I have no idea what the world will look like by the time I post on Wednesday. Regardless of the
“Americans,” Julia Child used to say in her inimitable warble, “are afraid of food.” Back when she had her TV show, from 1963 to 1973, we thought that the worst
Some people go through life seeing birds. “There’s a juvenile fork-tailed flycatcher!” they’ll say pointing to a brown speck of a bird high in the canopy. My spouse, on the
She had blond, curly hair and a freckled face, the legacy of some Visigothic invader tangled up in the roots of her family tree, and to me she was as
Mostly through no fault of my own, I have ended up with several versions of my name, to the point that people who have known me for years get confused
Saw the cat staring fixedly out the glass door to the backyard the other night, and went to investigate. Our birdbath is set right against the glass, to give my
“I miss old stones,” my father said. We were coming out of Sunday Mass at the brand-new church of Our Lady of Sorrows, in Birmingham, Alabama. It was an architecturally
I may be wrong, but the cat may just be the creature to get us through these times. Don’t misunderstand me, I love dogs. But dogs are too much like
I am writing this three days before the election, and I have no idea what the world will look like by the time I post on Wednesday. Regardless of the
“Americans,” Julia Child used to say in her inimitable warble, “are afraid of food.” Back when she had her TV show, from 1963 to 1973, we thought that the worst
Some people go through life seeing birds. “There’s a juvenile fork-tailed flycatcher!” they’ll say pointing to a brown speck of a bird high in the canopy. My spouse, on the
She had blond, curly hair and a freckled face, the legacy of some Visigothic invader tangled up in the roots of her family tree, and to me she was as
Mostly through no fault of my own, I have ended up with several versions of my name, to the point that people who have known me for years get confused