Archive - Staff Blog
October 10th, 2013
The poet: It would be hard to imagine anyone with more artistic and literary credentials than Ann Day. She is a writer, photographer, naturalist, and above all, poet! She publishes an illustrated day-book, using her own photographs. She collaborates with other poets in publishing books of poetry. She is a member of at least two poetry groups. For years she has published a weekly column called “The Nature of Things,” etc. Also, she is a splendid luncheon companion.
When I saw my older daughter walking away from the car after I dropped her off for her first middle school dance recently I felt a little tug of the heartstrings and knew that with every step she took she was going one step farther away from her daddy, one step closer to life on her own as an independent individual.
Our family rarely goes out to eat these days. It’s not so much a matter of expense (although that’s certainly a factor with six mouths to feed); the expense of eating out is counterbalanced by the benefit of having a break from cooking. My economist husband would put it in terms of “opportunity cost:” a few extra dollars may be worth it if it saves you the time, energy and stress of preparing a meal.
I’ve grown accustomed to seeing a lot of different cars, trucks, motorcycles, tractors and even deer chugging out of our dirt road and exiting onto Plank Road in Bristol during the past 20 years.
But what I saw a week ago Friday caused me to do a double take. No, make that a triple take.
Mid-way into my turn I found myself braking for none other than the Three Little Pigs, who had mounted a successful porcine prison break from their fenced-in house of sticks at our neighbors’ place.
The Poet: Deb Chadwick, a retired social worker, began writing poems to deal with an important loss, and then continued because she fell in love with the written word. She is a member of the Poetry Society of Vermont.
The Poem: Poets are not generally calm and peaceful people, protected from pain. Life is painful, and we need to share that pain … not for sympathy alone, but for the recognition of our common humanity. Poets and non-poets alike seek community. Poets are blest, or cursed, with a need to share, and to share dramatically … in words!
One of my favorite things about living in Vermont is that my daughters have become lake swimmers.
Right now, a workhorse of a machine is sitting in my husband’s woodshop. If it works properly it’s going to make our lives a lot easier over the next couple weeks.
I found it last Saturday through sheer luck and good timing. At the time I was out running errands and whining loudly, as I tend to do, about how we needed an electric apple grinder to go with our cider press. (A grinder, or “scratter,” reduces apples to a pulp to allow for maximum juice extraction.)
More stories published this issue