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Today I am thinking about transformation as all around me the Vermont landscape moves from brown to green-gold to emerald. The goldfinches at my feeder are now bright yellow. (Can one use the adjective “canary” to describe the color of a goldfinch?) Just a week ago they were dun colored. Transformation suggests complete alteration, rather…

Below my house is a stream. On this stream once stood a mill. What remains, some 100 years later, are the fieldstone walls, lichen-covered and serving as lairs for squirrels and chipmunks. The magnititude of this project inspires me, as I think about the individuals who collected each of these stones from the adjacent field,…

Buyer’s remorse, according to the website, definitions.uslegal.com, is “an emotional response on the part of a buyer in a sales transaction, which may involve feelings of regret, fear, depression or anxiety. The word “remorse” derives from the word “mordere,” to bite, sting, or attack, and suggests deep regret or repentence for a sin committed. Last…

The occasional patch of snow still litters our April landscape, reminders, like the crumpled cocktail napkins beneath the couch from last night’s party, of a time past.  I’m not a winter person. I list among my favorite activities, walking on the beach and gardening. But winter has one great attribute: it’s a time of anticipation.…

Below my feeder today are two mourning doves and one robin. On the feeder is one persistent red squirrel. Ours is a “squirrel-proof feeder,” information that, apparently, no one gave to the squirrel. The slender metal perches are designed to give way when anything heavier than a sparrow lands there. It works, but not well.…

My terrier Maggie is almost fourteen, quite deaf, and becoming incontinent. My rugs bear witness.  Maggie arrived when she was just nine weeks old, all needle-teeth and skunk-breath, and I dutifully crate-trained her. She took to it well. As she got older, I weaned her from the crate, so she could snooze unrestrained. The time…

Most of our snow has finally melted. The lawn looks rumpled and unkempt, like someone just awakened, hair in disarray. A doe is nibbling my barberry bush. I sit and watch her prune, partly because it’s a job I hate and partly because I know she must be very hungry; she has just survived a…