Teen Dreaming

July 20, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 4 Comments

What’s up with the lilies in Vermont this summer? Even my kids noticed they’re crazy tall — like an advancing army of flowers, about the coolest thing imaginable, in a summer that’s turning not so temperate.

Now fully a teenager, my 14-year-old is not a street-legal driver, which in rural Vermont makes a real difference. She and her friends have their eyes on the road, anxious to spread beyond this small town.

Summer to her now seems interminable; I remember that sense as a small town girl myself, as though the hot days would just keep appearing, one after another. While I’m at work, I leave her alone for long periods of time, with two cats and a list of chores and the freedom to do what she wants, within these physical confines. I don’t know if that’s wise or not — but at the very least it gives her the space to imagine….

Day Travels with Kids

July 18, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / Leave a comment

We stopped at the top of Lincoln Gap, still cold from swimming in the rain in the Otter Creek.

This photo perhaps best sums up our summer. Girls, growing, nature, and, all around, words.

Summer, Vermont. 2019.

A Creamy Moon…

July 16, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 6 Comments

… rose over the hillside. Like a surprise, the moon simply appeared.

All day long it often seems, I go about moving things — words, dishes, weeds. Laundry from the line to the basket. My own sometimes tired bones. Then the moon, rising infinitely serene and wise.

After a late soccer game, the girls sat at table outside, the air abruptly cooling as the sun began to sink. The girls kept eating strawberries, shortcake, whipped cream. A forkful dropped on the table.

There you are, my daughter said to the moon, laughing. A hello from her to this heavenly sphere. July.

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White Mountains. Hiking with my brother. Photo by Jess.

Same, Same

July 12, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 2 Comments

The weeds lining the pathway beginning my evening walk are shoulder-high now, wet last night after the afternoon and evening downpour. We chatter this year about ticks, ticks, and Lyme disease, and at soccer games, the parents wonder when did we become afraid to sit on the grass?

Nonetheless, I push through the wet grass while the kids are home, playing Yahtzee or laughing about something or someone, possibly me. Midsummer, gloriously hot, weedy, chaotic. When I dig out the Japanese beetles burrowed into the pink roses, the flowers yield their heavenly fragrance. That’s summer in Vermont — both hungry pest and the ineffable delicacy of roses.

There are other birds too, visitors we hear only
in the summertime, but it’s the screened door slamming
that is the definition of summer for me.

— David Budbill, “The Sound of Summer”

Photo by Molly S.

Under the Hood

July 8, 2019July 8, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 2 Comments

At dinner, my daughter mimics the whine of her car engine. Entranced, the cats stare at her.

After dinner, my youngest, at 14, carries out the Harry Potter she’s reading and the car keys and starts the car. What’s the sound? my oldest asks.

Power steering fluid is low, I answer.

The oldest tells her sister to turn off the car, and I tell my oldest to put away her phone and look for a dipstick and a reservoir. The youngest pulls out the manual, because it’s always a good idea to read the manual, too. We have a little conversation about the index.

The fluid’s low.

Neither girl asks me how I knew that sound corresponded to which fluid. Who taught me that? In an odd kind of way, I silently take this as a parenting compliment. We drive my car downtown to get more fluid. My oldest is annoyed, and I mention what’s doubtlessly irritating: It’s basic maintenance. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to learn a few simple car skills.

What-ever, she says, and flings open the door of the store.

The distant mountains
are reflected in the eye
of the Dragonfly

— Issa

Kitchen Floor Grit

July 6, 2019 / Brett Ann Stanciu / 5 Comments

Saturday morning before work finds me with a rag and the vinegar bottle, hands and knees on my kitchen floor, working.

The 10,000 things? The mysteries of the universe? The uncountable varieties of growing things in a Vermont July? Scrubbing the kitchen floor is one of these — as much as exploring waterfalls.

There is
a time to live
and a time to die
but never to reject the moment.

— Lao Tzu

Morrisville, VT

Stony Soil Vermont

Vermont Writing

#Vermontsummer