Category Archives: Vermont Life

Agway Adventures

I am sitting in Carol’s Hungry Mind Café to write this column, as I do nearly every Saturday afternoon. Usually I crave this time, when my husband takes our daughters so that I can have a handful of silent and solitary hours – usually my only silent and solitary hours of the week – in order to “work.” (“Work” is in quotations, because being alone to write feels more like play to me.)

But today I had to force myself to come here. Today it was only the threat of a looming deadline that compelled me to drive over to Carol’s. The light rain helped, too. Still, I couldn’t resist stopping in at Agway before landing at Carol’s.

It was my third visit to Agway this week.

Right now, I am not craving silent time to write so much as I am craving time to start seeds, dig and weed, compost and mulch, reseed the lawn, and help my husband finish off the poultry fencing. I want dirt under my fingers more than computer keys.

I’m distracted because it’s spring, of course. Really and truly spring – I think. In Vermont, April is still on the risky side of spring: We are still balancing along the wire of the average last frost, still unsure that Mother Nature won’t throw us one final snowstorm for good measure. But my online forecast shows evening temperatures above freezing for the next ten days, so I’ve taken the plunge and put my spring planting schedule into play.

Spring planting means plenty of visits to Agway, our closest lawn, garden, farm, and pet supply store. And because the only time I’m guaranteed freedom from my children is Saturday afternoon, I usually visit Agway with at least some of my daughters.

Click here to read my latest “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

Backyard Birds and Growing Up

 

I have become a person who watches birds.

For as long I’ve known him – my entire life – my father has been a birdwatcher. Growing up, we always had bird feeders in the yard and birdhouses (which he built himself) on our trees. He could usually, immediately, name any bird that happened by; if he couldn’t he’d pull down our 1965 copy of A Guide to Field Identification: Birds of North America. When he passed that book on to our family this past year, I found that he’d taken notes in felt-tip pen of precisely where and when he’d seen each bird.

I never paid much attention to this peculiar birdwatching habit: I didn’t see the point. Birds were always just part of the scenery, hanging around in the background. They were nice, but far less important than studying, socializing, or going to the mall. Why should I bother to learn their names?

My dismissive attitude towards birds and birdwatching continued for nearly 20 years. I lived in cities for most of that time, where everything was too loud and too busy to even notice birds. Birdwatching, when I thought of it at all, seemed like a hobby for “old people:” people who had time on their hands, pricey binoculars around their necks, floppy-brimmed hats on their heads, and chunky hiking boots on their feet.

Change began gradually, after our family moved to Vermont. I can pinpoint the moment my interest in birds shifted: I was walking the dog, and I heard a mockingbird call. I didn’t know it was a mockingbird at the time, but I recognized the sad, haunting call as something that I’d heard often during the long, lazy afternoons of my childhood. When I got home, I looked it up. Now I knew one bird.

Click here to continue reading this week’s “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

Reflections on My First Town Meeting

 

Every year, around the first Tuesday in March, Vermont feels pretty proud of itself. That’s because, as any Vermonter can tell you, the first Tuesday in March is Town Meeting Day: the day when citizens meet in towns across the state to discuss and vote on town business and budget items (most importantly, the school budget.)

The pride that Vermont takes in its town meetings likely has something to do with the sense of small-town democracy that the tradition embodies. This was evident in the dialogue that took place in Wilmington, which voted overwhelmingly against a measure to replace an in-person Town Meeting with voting by paper ballot.

“I think what you’ve got here in Vermont is a pretty unique situation,” said Wilmington’s Merrill Mundell. “We try to do away with things that are traditional. The truth of the matter is, every time you nip away at it, it takes away a little bit of the special.”

“We don’t agree. But we do agree that the town is important, that the school is important, that we are important,” added Laura Stevenson. “And in a world of fake news, and identity politics…we have to meet each other face to face.”

This year, I attended Middlebury’s Town Meeting for the first time since moving to Vermont nearly six years ago.

Click here to continue reading this week’s “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

On the Ice

img_8954

Just like that, winter is over.

At least, that’s what it feels like today, as I look out at snowless fields under a sunny blue sky. The temperatures over the past week have been unseasonably warm for February in Vermont, culminating in a high of 66 degrees at our house. Our entire family spent the morning outside: the children romping in t-shirts, the adults starting some early yard work. As if to confirm the change of seasons, two honking V’s of Canada geese flew north overhead.

In all likelihood, winter is not over yet. My online forecast for the coming week predicts temperatures that are half of what we’ve experienced today. Like a cruel barn cat, the Vermont weather will toy with us for a while; it’s quite common to have decent snowstorms here in March, April – even as late as May.

But it feels as if a corner has been turned: If winter isn’t over, we’re heading into its downslope. As I look back upon the winter of 2016-17, it’s certainly not the snow I will remember; the Champlain Valley received very little snow, which came in a few dumps with long, bare breaks in between.

For me, this winter was about ice.

Click here to continue reading this week’s “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

Surprised by Love

img_8780

The weekend getaway was a surprise Christmas present from my husband.

Throughout our 18-year relationship, my husband has excelled at surprises. While we were dating, he orchestrated a “traveling surprise birthday party” for me: As we walked through lower Manhattan, we kept “accidentally” bumping into friends who joined us for dinner, coffee, cake. It was only when everyone converged at a late-night bowling alley that I realized the staggering amount of coordination my husband-to-be had put into the evening, which was anything but accidental.

Our engagement was a similarly impressive covert operation. No picking out the wedding ring together for us: Instead, my husband (then boyfriend) capitalized on my cluelessness to lure me to a Connecticut jewelry store, where my ring finger was measured on behalf of his cousin in California, who apparently had to have a ring from this particular boutique. On the evening of our engagement, the friends with whom we were supposed to have dinner cancelled at the last minute due to “illness,” so we ended up having a romantic dinner alone before strolling around New York City to view the Christmas decorations. It was only when my husband dropped to one knee under the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree and held out a (perfectly sized) ring, that I had any idea of what was happening.

I like surprises, which has served me well in this relationship.

Click here to continue reading the Valentine’s Day edition of my “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

The Cow on the Wall

img_8666

The cow was hanging on the wall, opposite the checkout counter at the Sweet Charity resale shop in Vergennes, and I fell in love with it immediately.

That I was in Sweet Charity, without children, on a Saturday afternoon, was due to a series of anomalous events. My husband was in Chicago for work, so a generous friend had taken pity on me and invited all four of my children over to her house to play for a couple of hours.

Faced with two precious hours of free time after two days of single parenting, I did what any woman would do: I went shopping for home furnishings with my mother, of course.

Click here to continue reading my latest “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent. 

Teaching Our Children About History

img_8637

One afternoon earlier this month, my daughters and I gathered around our kitchen island for a snack. I began asking my eldest daughter about a book she was reading. After a few one-syllable responses, she was tired of my questioning. Looking me right in the eyes, she said:

“’Every man his own priest,’ Mommy.”

She was quoting the followers of Martin Luther (“The original, not King, Jr.,” as my daughters are fond of saying.) During the Protestant Reformation in 16th century Europe, Martin Luther started a movement that changed many of the practices of the Catholic Church and put the Christian faith more firmly in the hands of the people. “Every man his own priest,” was the rallying cry of those who advocated translating the Bible and making copies more widely available, so that people could read and interpret it for themselves.

In other words, my daughter was using a cheeky historical reference to tell me: “If you’re so interested in what I’m reading, read it yourself!”

One year ago I started homeschooling my two oldest daughters, who are now in 2nd and 3rd grades. As much as I’ve taught them over this year, they’ve taught me more. One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is just how much children love history.

Click here to continue reading this week’s latest “Faith in Vermont” column in The Addison Independent.