Vermont College

My first few days home from Vermont were catch-up days. Lots of sleeping, letting things I learned percolate, walks in the hills with my beloved husband and dog, and long, leisurely meals with family and friends. Finally unpacked my suitcase, washed my clothes, and put everything away. Now I'm back to work on my own projects, feeling the press of deadlines, the excitement of using what I learned from other faculty.

We had a terrific ten days at Vermont College. Nonstop learning and laughing. Very little sleep. Somehow Coe Booth talked us into doing a flash mob rendition of Michael Jackson's thriller at the 80's party. I kept my sanity with walks every evening through the neighborhoods. Here's a photo of the old brick armory at dusk. I think someone lives there now.

And a few of my favorite remarks (somewhat paraphrased) from various speakers.

Walter Dean Myers: "We're building America, one child at a time."

Martine Leavitt: "I hope we'll be able to read in heaven, but just in case, make sure you read Cormac McCarthy's The Road before you die." And: "Take your main character's emotional desire and make it plotty."

Marc Aronson: "Illustration is its own story."

Franny Billingsley: "Abstract things are telling. Concrete things are showing."

Until next time, Montpelier, when the snow falls and the trudging outdoors is treacherous and beautiful.

Why people moved to the city

I'm a city dweller, with all the amenities of modern life. We also have a cabin deep in the California redwoods, a mile up a dirt road. Quiet. Peaceful. No city services. So on several of the hottest days of July, we were out gathering firewood for next winter, loading up for the wood burning stove. Even with Tom on a modern, gas powered splitter (and Felix with a sledgehammer and a maul), it took all three generations of us. Sasha and my 93 year old dad pitched wood from the loose pile to the stack, Felix and I made a tidy, geometric pile to over-winter. Penny supervised. Think that looks hard? Here's my father's father, 90 years old, on the woodpile he just split and stacked on his farm in Graton, about 50 miles from our cabin.