Tag Archives: spring

Not-So-Secret Crush

Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, 11 a.m., like clockwork, I turn on Vermont Public Radio for the governor’s address. Sometimes my daughter takes a break from whatever high school endeavor she’s engaged in, and stops in the kitchen. Are you actually listening? … Continue reading

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Sun and Sunday

A Sunday of skipping the news, opening the house windows, hanging out the laundry. A brilliantly sunny day — when I put my shovel into the garden, pull weeds, and empty buckets of manure. All afternoon, we’re in the sunlight, … Continue reading

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Marvelous May

Vermont May is a fairytale world — brilliant spring flowers, black manure, green grass — and, this year, the strange lurking demon of coronavirus. I’ve lived in New England for most of my life, and yet every year, spring never … Continue reading

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Closing February

We wake to rain, the sound more reminiscent of March than April in Vermont, but not unheard of. So it begins: this back and forth marching to spring, freeze, thaw: put that on repeat. My little cat sits at the … Continue reading

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Dribbles of Spring

Light returns in a rush in these clear sunny days, where the sun has warmth but the shadows are frigid. My daughter abandons her coat. The days, once so slow with toddlers, spin along, dawn to evening to the night’s … Continue reading

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February: Light

Entirely out of keeping with the season, I’m thinking of spring. Save for houseplants, the Vermont world is entirely without a single leaf of tender green leaf — in utter hibernation — but the days are lengthening. Groundhog’s Day holds … Continue reading

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Community Bonding

Written with a finger on a muddy car door in Montpelier: Spring is here! Hooray! I mention this to my daughter at dinner, saying, I think a kid wrote this…. Why a kid? she asks. Why not a little old lady? … Continue reading

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Way Past the Ides of March

I read The Long Winter to my six-year-old when I was pregnant with my second daughter, lying down at 4 in the afternoon, too tired for anything else but reading. She was entranced — although not enamored. Twist hay into fuel? … Continue reading

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Robert Pirsig

Robert Pirsig, dead at 88, I hear this morning, driving along a rutted back road. I pilfered Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance from my dad’s bookshelf when I was a teenager, intrigued by its title, lured by the lush … Continue reading

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And Grace….

When I attended Sunday School briefly as a child, I remember reading about the Resurrection in a paper booklet and studying an illustration of Christ standing in a white robe beside a boulder, his clean hands outstretched to a gape-mouthed … Continue reading

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