Category: Uncategorized

Natural

February 8th, 2020
I came to the end of Monday and realized that my day felt natural. It didn’t feel forced or coerced or unnecessarily stressful. It just felt like I was doing things that made sense for me…for my mind…for my heart. That feeling continued for the rest of the week…which was cut short by a snow day (that’s what happens when 1-2 inches of snow are predicted to fall every hour for an entire day).

A month into being in Vermont…and three weeks into this job, I’m still learning how it all fits together. But there’s a certain sense of gratitude that comes from feeling so settled. I’m not forcing who I am or what I do…I’m just doing something that comes naturally.

Stories come out of my back pocket and songs are sung as we walk down the street. We explore the woods and find fairy houses, collecting tools to build our own. We hike along trails and use our senses to decide what’s safe or unsafe. We make lists of A-words and then count our words and figure out what “27” looks like because we have 27 A-words. We learn sign language and sing songs that end with us spinning around and sitting down on sit spots. And then we talk about how we treat our friends and our books (what’s the spine of a book??). We stop everything to watch the snow fall and listen to woodpeckers and chase squirrels. And we might talk about math while we make zucchini bread. And one day, when I have a pencil perched behind my ear, a five-year old approaches me with a pencil of her own and says that she wants to wear a pencil behind her ear too…and she needs me to show her how to do it.

So today, when school was cancelled because of snow, I felt a little bit sad because of the missed adventures and stories and songs. Maybe I miss it just because it’s so new and fresh and exciting…but I prefer to think that I’ve found something that feeds my soul (at least for this season).
Balaclava

January 29th, 2020

Vocabulary is such a funny thing. It’s shaped by our experiences. It can be highly specialized based on where we live and the people we encounter. And it varies based on our context.

I grew up as the daughter of two teachers. So I knew about principals and professional development and recess and cafeterias and homework before most kids even thought about starting kindergarten. And because there was a catalpa tree in our backyard, I developed an early understanding of seasons and caterpillar life-cycles. And I learned about land development as I watched my neighborhood change while I grew up.

This was my experience and my context.

But at age 29, I struggle to call a “balaclava” by its proper name…instead of “baklava.”

Every day, I am surrounded by tiny human beings that have a strong command of snow-related language…and even the ability to maneuver on snow (I’ve fallen three times in the past week). I think that’s the thing that has surprised me the most in this new job. They don’t bat an eye at putting on 3 + layers of clothing to go romp around in snow.

And then as they romp, snow covered trees become school buses or space ships or rogue pirate ships preparing to land on a beach. They’ll spend 20 minutes hitting branches against a tree and then comparing their branches to see which one is larger. Empty milk crates become shields for baby bushes or parts of a train or steps to get on top of [insert taller object]. And when you ask them what they want to be when they grow up, someone is bound to say “ski racer.”

Of course – there are all of the typical preschool-aged problems. Initiating play. Not knowing how to express our feelings. Naptime (it might be the death of me). And today, I had to intervene between two toddlers when one of them decided to weaponize a plastic sled.

This is all part of the territory. And I will savor every chaotic, ice-cold moment that’s ahead in this newest adventure.
Putting together pieces

January 21st, 2020
Last night, I finished crocheting a blanket. Prior to now, I’ve made a few blankets…but this is my first to make from “granny squares.”

This blanket started in Maine, when my parents came to explore the northeast and peep at some leaves. Sitting in a quiet, coastal AirBnB…making a blanket seemed like the thing to do. On our next trip into town, I picked up some yarn and a hook.

That weekend, I started a pile of granny squares. Back in New Hampshire, I ran out of gray yarn. During a trip into Conway for some rock climbing, I persuaded my friends to stop at the store so that I could get some more yarn.
From Maine to New Hampshire to Montreal to Tennessee to Arkansas…and back to Vermont. With bouncing dogs and playful cats (not mine). In breweries and cabins. Sitting in noisy kitchens or on quiet couches with friends. This blanket has been with me for three months, slowly coming together. At any point in time, all I had to show for my work was a bag full of crochet squares.

This blanket – the squares – it all reminds me of my life. There are all of these random pieces, completely disconnected. And I just keep trying to find a way to put all of it together.

A passion for kids. A skill for teaching. A love of the outdoors. A constant need to do something different. A refusal to sit at a desk all day. A fear of settling.

All of that (and more) brought me to this new adventure…to Vermont…to teach in an outdoor preschool. It starts tomorrow and I am all sorts of terrified. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of trying something so far beyond what I’ve done in the past. But at the same time, I see how this fits right in with everything I’ve done up to this point.

And that makes me more excited than overwhelmed.
Being still

January 11th, 2020
This was not the plan.

Moving to Vermont and renting a room in a house with a couple of guys and a couple of cats.

Shopping for snowshoes and snowtires.

Going to work at an outdoor preschool.

Ten years ago, I planned to graduate college and teach in Missouri. Four years ago, I planned to move to North Carolina. One year ago, I planned to move to Arizona. Two months ago, I drove into Vermont for the first time in the midst of a minor snowstorm…and I literally booked an AirBnB on the way (while parked in a New Hampshire coffeeshop). Definitely didn’t expect to get a job and move back up here.
But here we are.

As I settle in, I’m trying to figure out what I “want” from this newest adventure.

The past six or so months have been spent wandering. And while I think I’m ready to be still for a minute, I’m a little worried that I’ll get antsy.

I’m living in a town where I can walk from one end to the other in about 20 minutes. Last week, I got a library card and did some work in the upstairs space that overlooked a snow-covered field. And I got breakfast in one of the small bakery/coffeeshops in town (not the best breakfast sandwich…but a solid effort).

I’ve wandered around the tiny town and found a near-by trail…frequented by cross-country skiers this time of year. I’ve done research into skis, snow shoes, and everything in between.

And now I’m itching for something new.

Between yoga this morning in the nearby “city” and the sourdough starter I’m trying to charm into existence, I’m sure I can keep myself busy.

But what if I can’t scratch the itch to wander?

This is an adventure in being still.

(Well…a little still. I have the Adirondacks to the west, the Whites to the east and the Green Mountains to the south. This might be okay.)
A year on trails

January 1st, 2020

On January 1, 2019, I went hiking. My first hike of the year (obviously). That weird “in between” time between Christmas and New Year’s had gotten to me, so I was going just a little bit stir crazy. And hiking was the reprieve. It wasn’t an incredibly long or arduous hike…but it was a chance for my brain slow down and prepare for the year ahead (and what a year it was).

Throughout the year, hiking has continued to serve as a reprieve. Anytime that life has felt to overwhelming, hiking has been a way to reset. No matter how complicated “everything” seemed, I knew that the woods would be there and they would be safe.

Sometimes they were bright and sunny. Sometimes they were dark. Some hikes were hot and muggy…others were rainy or snowy…and many times they were foggy. But one thing was certain – I would always come off a trail with a better sense of direction and greater confidence in whatever came next.

Sometimes the hikes were easy, a gentle mosey through the woods. And sometimes they were hard. In New Hampshire, I got my butt handed to me with some serious elevation gain. In Vermont, I plowed my way through fresh snow. And in Maryland I almost got eaten alive by mosquitoes the size of cows. But each trail, filled with its own, unique set of challenges, left me with a unique sense of accomplishment.

Sometimes I made it through an entire trail without seeing another soul. One time everyone I saw commented on the coffee I made on rocks and stumps alongside the trail. A few times people commented on the size of my pack. And very occasionally, I intentionally hiked with other people. Oh – and one time I discussed my philosophy of education with a couple of elementary school principals! Going along or meeting people along the way…I certainly have a preference, but I’ve seen the advantage to both approaches (I’m looking at you, Mount Mansfield). There are moments when community can push you along on a journey.

Sometimes there were creatures. Maybe a dog came along…but it’s more likely that I just found them along the way. Lots of caterpillars and slugs and snails. Occasionally a snake or frog or salamander. And then there were those wild baby hogs (if I didn’t tell you that story…it’s better “in person”). They always instilled with me a sense of wonder – their movement, their adaptation, the way they’re just doing life in this place of pure beauty!

On January 1, I didn’t really have a “hiking plan.” I wanted to cover 300 miles (50 more than last year), but there wasn’t a specific method to that madness. Just go.

So I went 352 miles in 12 different states (full disclosure – my last hike was chosen solely to even up some of those numbers).

The woods never failed to be my safe space…a place that gave me clarity…that reminded me what I value and why…that made me slow down and appreciate beauty.

The new year is sure to be more of the same.
Old rhythms

December 18th, 2019

I’ve been in Nashville for 16 days.

Sixteen days of visiting my favorite places. Drinking my favorite beer. Seeing my favorite people. Talking about my favorite things. Experiencing southern hospitality at its’ finest. Checking out new things that I’ve wanted to see.

Sixteen days of falling into familiar rhythms.

Last week, I went to the baking class at my old community center. The class that I started three and a half years ago because I had a crazy idea of baking with kids. I was just there to connect with some of my favorite kiddos and catch up on their lives and help out with baking if needed.

While we were cleaning up, a kid walked into the kitchen and – without even knowing what we had made that day – asked, “Can I have some?!?”

And, because this is a familiar place and time and person to me, I responded:. “Is that how you enter a room? No ‘Hi! Good to see you’?”

He turned and walked out of the room. Then he came back in and greeted each of us. He asked how our day was going, what we made, and if he could have some.

Then someone shared some bread and butter (because that’s what they made!!).

And that reminded me of rhythms. He & I both have a rhythm for the kitchen at the community center. Despite my absence from that time and space and person, we both fell straight into that rhythm.

There are rhythms in my driving and my work. In my relationships and in my need to be alone. In my frustrating with traffic and my desire to live amongst trees.

Over the past 5+ months of traveling, I’ve missed having rhythms. I’ve tried to establish a few here and there, but everything has felt so topsy turvy and unstable (not in a bad way) that it’s seemed like a daunting task.

So I think I’m ready to find some rhythms (besides making pie in every state I visit and hiking every trail possible).
Being back

December 9th, 2019
Things I missed in Nashville
- Winter farmer’s markets
- Strangers making conversation in the library
- Neighborhood coffee shops
- Strangers making conversation in yoga classes
- Hanging out with goofy kids that I’ve watched grow up
- Being asked, “Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster?” by a nine year old
- Talking about my favorite places to eat, drink and hike
- Strangers making conversation in the Kroger check-out line
- Kroger
- Catching up with friends
Things I didn’t miss in Nashville
- Seeing someone I briefly dated five years ago in a yoga class and avoiding eye contact
- Running into people I know at coffee shops, Kroger, and everywhere in between
- Traffic
- Weather that can’t decide what it wants to do
- Mass panic over a chance of snow
- Constructions
- People who drive slowly and gawk at…houses? Trees? I’m not really sure.
- Light pollution
- Bachelorette parties
The side of love

November 30th, 2019

Back in August, someone asked me what I was doing for the holidays.

And I got angry.

The idea of planning that far in advance seemed a little crazy, given that I didn’t even know where I would be a week later.

But also…I didn’t want to think about the holidays.

The holidays were/are a looming symbol of how my family has changed over the past year. And not for the better. Since my grandmother died in February (and well before that), everyone seems to have been accumulating hurts. And holding on to them. Saying “everyone” might be a bit extreme. But the dynamic has shifted and we are no longer a family of which my grandmother would be proud.

At the service celebrating her life, someone said of her, “She always chose to be on the side of love.” I’ve thought of that often…trying to figure out what it means. It’s more complicated than it sounds. Because love is more complicated…maybe it’s a spectrum rather than two distinct sides. If love is a spectrum, how do I – despite the messiness and weightiness of the holidays – move towards the side of love?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that I am an imperfect, messy human being trying to do life in the midst of other imperfect, messy human beings. I cannot promise myself or anyone else to get it right all of the time, but I can promise to try to work on it.
People pt 2

November 22nd, 2019

After traveling with another human being, I’m ready to go back to being a hermit.

I’ve grown so accustomed to moving at my own rhythm and pace…waking up at the crack of dawn to find the best coffee in a town and working my way down roads at leisurely a pace…waking up the next morning to find the nearest trail and taste the mountains and trees…then doing it all over again. Drinking a beer or two in between and going to bed early.

I figured that visiting Montreal with another human being would be fine. We’d wander around the city…drink things…see things…wander home…sleep and repeat.

We did all of that. And we crashed on the living room floor of friends of my friend. And we played Cards Against Humanity and we went to a trivia night and we saw a light show at Notre Dame (yeah??) and we went to Musee des Beaux-Arts and visited a speakeasy and we hiked to the top of Mont-Royal and we popped into used book stores where I read children’s books and we ate lots of bagels and our host made us fun cocktails and we hopped on and off the metro and I made a couple of batches of gluten-free mini pies and we bought extra bagels and I made breakfast sandwiches for dinner and I washed the dishes and and we stayed up late pairing wine with cheese and…

It was all wonderful. Every morning, I still woke up at the crack of dawn and worked for a couple of hours. I wandered around the neighborhood and found coffeeshops with Wifi. And those few hours of peace…quiet…when we weren’t trying to balance differing ideas and opinions and preferences…

That’s how I survived Montreal.

People can enhance an experience. They enrich it with their own perspectives and personalities. They challenge you to step outside of yourself and the way you see the world.

But it’s okay to be alone, too.

So I’m going to be a hermit in Vermont for a few days. There are worse places to do that.
People

November 15th, 2019

Wait where r u

That’s all he said. This random text from a Maine-friend …just after I’ve made it to Vermont and posted a picture of a snowstorm on Instagram.

Vermont. Where are you?

What else was I suppose to say?

Vermont…

Since leaving Nashville in July, I’ve met a lot of people. I’ve met them while hiking…or on dating apps…or couchsurfing…or sitting in coffee shops…or at conferences all about bread…or through work. And each of these people has enhanced my experience in one way or another.

But only because I’ve allowed it to happen.

Once upon a time, I wanted to become a hermit. With each new person that weaves into my story of this life season, though, I am more convinced that hermit-ness isn’t the best option (sorry, dad).

Throw pie into a wood fired oven? Sure!

Check out a climbing gym in Burlington? Sure!

Wander through GoodWill helping someone put together a Halloween costume? Sure!

Break a trail in snowshoes? Sure!

Wander through a state park and find things to climb? Sure!

Try every bakery in a small city? Sure!

I’ve learned that letting go of my need to control everything is essential for this process (I’m working on this…not there yet). I make vague plans, but remain open to pursuing new adventures and opportunities as they present themselves. People have been gracious enough to invite me into their lives and I’ve let go of my plans in order to dive in with them. It has been an honor and a joy to experience such hospitality and warmth (even though it’s 27 degrees outside…warmest day I’ve experienced in Vermont!).

And the beauty of this is that there are always more adventures to come…as long as I remain open to the possibilities.