Mom Goes to Doe Camp

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It started with fly fishing.

My daughters were asking to go fishing. Neither my husband nor I, both suburban kids, have any fishing experience aside from some childhood Girl Scout and Y Camp trips. I’ve been keen to learn, though, and felt particularly drawn to fly fishing which, in my mind, is associated with two of my favorite things: Norman MacLean’s gorgeous story A River Runs Through It, and Brad Pitt’s performance in the movie of the same name.

But, as I understand it, fly fishing involves hours of standing in water. It doesn’t seem compatible with being the mother of four young daughters. I decided to shelve it for a few years.

Then, on our anniversary, my husband handed me a tiny figurine of a doe. He was sending me to Doe Camp.

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

 

 

 

A Morning at the DMV

I spent the morning of my 39th birthday in the waiting room of the Middlebury DMV.

Here are a few things that you should know:

-The Middlebury DMV is a “mobile” DMV, which means that it’s not in operation every day. It’s open for business in the Middlebury Courthouse every Thursday, and alternating Wednesdays. That’s it.

-I needed to renew my driver’s license. And, since my license expired on my 39th birthday, I needed to renew it that day. (I found out later that I had a two-week grace period to renew my license, but I’m a good girl who likes to meet the deadline.)

-My birthday is on September 11.

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

The House that Electra Built

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Just outside the town of Shelburne, an affluent Burlington suburb, a modest purple roadside sign reading “Shelburne Museum, Open May 9 – October 31” stands at the entrance to a parking lot with sweeping views of the hills bordering Lake Champlain. The museum itself is not readily apparent. Through the fence surrounding the grounds one catches glimpses of a red round barn, a lighthouse, a covered bridge, and – is that a steamboat?

The first impression is less a museum than the oversized miniature golf course of a putt-putting giant.

It’s a wonderful place to take children; in addition to exploring the lighthouse (which protected Lake Champlain’s Colchester Reef from 1871 to 1952, and was reassembled piece by piece on the Museum’s grounds) and the steamboat (The S. S. Ticonderoga, which served ports along Lake Champlain from 1906 until 1953, when it was moved two miles overland to its resting place on the Shelburne’s lawn), there’s a locomotive and rail car parked at the former Shelburne Railroad Station, a working carousel, the old Castleton jail, and The Owl Cottage, which is filled with dress-up clothes, toys, books, and crafts.

That’s only a fraction of what’s on view at the Shelburne Museum, which encompasses over 150,000 works of art and Americana throughout 39 exhibition buildings and galleries on 45 landscaped acres. It’s exhausting, which is precisely why the Shelburne is such a wonderful place to take children; one morning at the Museum, and they’ll nap all afternoon.

For three years, I visited the Shelburne Museum only  in the company of children. I saw the same things repeatedly – the carousel, the Ticonderoga, the Owl Cottage – to the exclusion of most of the collection. So I never had time to wonder: Why?

Why this strange assemblage of buildings – barns, a one-room schoolhouse, a meetinghouse, and a roadside tavern — mostly from Vermont in the 1700s and 1800s, which were transported to the Museum in pieces and  reassembled?

Why the eclectic collections: a 4,000-piece wooden circus parade, over 400 quilts, 225 carriages, 400 dolls, 900 decoys, folk art, 19th– and 20th-century American paintings, and Impressionist masterpieces by Degas and Manet? The Museums’s website boasts: “Shelburne is home to the largest U.S. museum collections of glass canes, trivets, and food molds.”

Why?

I finally asked these questions over Labor Day weekend, when my husband and I visited the Shelburne Museum alone to see what we’d missed in the company of our four young children.

The answer, as it turns out, is: Electra Havemeyer Webb.

Click here to continue reading about a fascinating character in my latest “Faith in Vermont” column for The Addison Independent.

The New Playground

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The plan for the “New Kidspace.”

 

Middlebury’s Mary Hogan Elementary School got a new playground this summer. If you’re the parent of a young child, this is probably old news. I myself have taken my four daughters to what we call “The New Kidspace” on a weekly basis for the past month; they play on the playground while I gaze longingly at the school building and count the days until vacation ends.

The new playground is a welcome update. The “Old Kidspace” was erected back when I was in elementary school, when the height of technology was using Logo to move a pixelated turtle in a square on your computer screen. It was a splinter factory, constructed of wood and tires and heavy chains. If that sounds medieval, it was.

The New Kidspace is built mostly of plastic, which probably isn’t really plastic, but some sort of recycled composite material. It features two three-story tall towers, a series of ramps and walkways, multiple climbing walls, slides both twisty and straight, and ladders that rise perpendicular or twist around like double helixes.

After our first outing to the new playground, I asked my oldest daughter — who attended kindergarten at the Mary Hogan School last year and had daily experience with “The Old Kidspace” — to rate her experience.

“Is it better than the old playground?” I inquired.

“No,” she answered.

“Is it worse?” I asked, alarmed that my tax dollars may have been misspent.

“No,” she replied, “It’s just different.”

The next day, she was begging to return to the new playground.

And that, of course, is the essence of what it is to be a kid: Everything elicits awe and excitement. The new playground and the old playground are equally worthy, equally fun.

So my children, all four of them, give the new playground high marks. And me?

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

How Does My Garden Grow?

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I’m an ambivalent gardener. This stems from my upbringing: As the only child of parents who have Miracle Gro running through their veins, I grew up observing the obvious pleasure that gardening bought my parents, along with the beautiful results. Weekends at our house were often spent in the backyard, where my parents’ tireless weeding, mulching, planting, and cutting turned our suburban acre into a verdant paradise.

On the other hand, I spent a lot of time playing alone in that backyard, breathing in the fertilizer fumes, and I may have resented — just a tiny bit — the time that my parents spent focusing on the flowerbeds when they could have been driving me to the mall.

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

Minibury Guest Post: Meet the Parent VI

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Maine Saville is one of those moms I see all the time around town at kid-related activities, but aside from a quick “hello,” or commenting on her very adorable newborn, I’ve never had much opportunity to talk with her. Whenever I do, she always makes me laugh.

Then last month I ran into Maxine at Junebug, and she said she’d been enjoying these “Meet the Parent” profiles; that she’d learned of a mom who’d just moved into her neighborhood through reading one. So I promptly recruited her to be my next profil-ee. (Lesson: Be careful about talking to me!)

I knew I’d made a good choice when Maxine emailed me her responses, prefaced by: I am on my phone in my driveway while kids sleep (ah, peace)! What parent can’t relate?

Click here to continue reading the latest in my “Meet the Parent” guest series for Minibury.

Going Batty

Since our family moved to Vermont from more urban environs, I’ve often thought — and sometimes said — “It’s wonderful to live in a place where our children can see a variety of wildlife in its natural habitat, where the animals around us aren’t limited to those that managed to survive having their environment paved over and built upon.”

I say this during the magical moments when my daughters are catching toads in our yard, or when they spot an owl in a tree across the street, or when a doe and her fawn run right in front of us. I find it harder to say when my husband is emptying the 857th mousetrap, or when I’m digging a deer tick out of my child’s back, or when the smell of close-range skunk drifts through the bedroom window at night.

You take the bad with the good.

Like the other day, when I entered my husband’s home office to put our one-year-old daughter down for a nap in the playpen where she’d been sleeping because we’d had weekend houseguests. The shades were pulled, the room dim, but out of the corner of my eye I saw something that made me think, “What a large moth!” As the thing reversed direction and came straight towards me, I thought, “That’s no moth, that’s a BAT!”

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

 

 

 

Minibury Guest Post: Meet the Parent V

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I’m thrilled to introduce the subject of my latest “Meet the Parent!” profile for Minibury: my dear friend Caitlin Myers! This one includes an important announcement about the Adam Myers Memorial Fundraiser, so if you read nothing else, check out the details on that at the end. Click here to meet Caitlin!

My Summer By the Pool

“If you value your life, don’t do hockey,” they said.

I heard that advice from multiple parents after our family moved to Vermont. Never mind that our daughters were still too young to participate in organized sports, or that they’d never once displayed the slightest interest in or aptitude for hockey; the advice came unsolicited: “Hi, I’m Susie. Don’t let your kids play hockey!”

I believe the warnings against hockey stem from a combination of the heavy and expensive equipment, the rigorous practice schedule, and the hours of weekend travel to tournaments. But I can’t be sure, because I don’t know any hockey families personally — perhaps because they’re either in the throes of or recovering from hockey season.

Nobody warned me about swimming.

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