Category Archives: homesteading

Forcing Spring

Just before we leave for the evening, the girls run out and cut some lilacs branches. On our kitchen table, forsythia sticks from a friend soak up water in a jar, their yellow blossoms half-open. Since my girls were little, … Continue reading

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Rain Patter

In our former house, the pink Owens-Corning insulation had been so shredded by mice in the ceiling that we could easily hear rain on the metal roof — a pleasant sound, although the resulting winter cold didn’t match that coziness. … Continue reading

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sometime in late March, collage

My daughters and I place bets on when the snow in the garden will completely disappear. The stakes? Yet to be determined…. End of March: either the dusty or snowy or rainy season in Vermont. The back roads are miserable, … Continue reading

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Spring’s Confusion: Looks Like Winter…

Sunburn, ski trails so sticky my pro daughter face-planted on a downhill, melodious redwing blackbirds…. Vermont March in all its splendid, unpredictable messiness. “Prayer” Whatever happens. Whatever what is is is what I want. Only that. But that. — Galway … Continue reading

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Wide Open Windows

Hallelujah! What I believed had permanently departed my patch of Vermont returned: sun! Warmth! Yesterday afternoon while I’m holed up in the Montpelier library, working, my daughter texts me, asking if she can open the house windows. Please? It’s hot. At … Continue reading

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Reprieve

At the hardware store in town, the woman ringing up my chicken feed asks if I’m going out partying for New Year’s Eve. Are you kidding me? I blurt out. Then I apologize and ask about her plans. I like … Continue reading

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Putting It All Together…

No earthshaking moment, but satisfying nonetheless, last night I cast off the second sleeve on the sweater I’m knitting for my daughter, and she slipped the blue sweater over her head. Verdict? Unravel the hem and lengthen. But this will … Continue reading

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Breakfast with a Stranger

On this Thanksgiving morning, a dream of our house burning wakes me. In the haze of my dream, I’m first insistent my daughters leave, their two cats found and taken to the neighbors. My laptop. Then there’s an odd pause, … Continue reading

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A Random Guest & A Snippet of Her Story

Yesterday, a woman came into my library with old photos and book donations. She arrived at a quiet time, and we sat and talked, our conversation winding around to her grandmother — a midwife who studied via a correspondence course … Continue reading

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When In Doubt, Do Handwork

My 19-year-old, pondering what to do with her life, buys fat skeins of yarn and begins knitting a blanket. The metaphor of comfort consoles me, too. I just read David Grann’s The White Darkness, about Henry Worsley, descendant of Frank Worsley, … Continue reading

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