Living in Vermont in the 1970's was an adventure in living and a chance of a lifetime. Not many people get to go back in time and I truly believe that my time in Northeastern Vermont was a trip back in time. Having lived in the South with my extended family, some of who had lived through the devastation that the Civil War had brought to the south, made me a little concerned about living in the North. I had heard that Northerners were not as friendly as Southerns. This proved absolutely not to be true. I found that the people in Vermont were as warm and hospitable as anyone in the South. I embraced my new home and my new friends joyfully.
However, I was not prepared to time travel, and that is what I seemed to do. I had come from Charlottesville, VA., where my husband had just completed his masters degree. He had taken a position at Lyndon State College in Lyndonville Vermont. We moved from the city to the country. This was a rural area in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. We were about 30 miles south of the Canadian Border. The first frost there would sometimes come around the first part of September and the last would sometimes be just before the beginning of June.
One of the opportunities I had while in Vermont was to assist as a teacher's aid in a one room school. I had not thought that one room school houses were still around in the 1970's. I had taken a few education classes at the College where my husband worked, and this was the perfect chance to work and get my student teaching credits. I still had a young son, Scott, at home and he could go to school with me and sit with the first graders. So come the first part of September we started school together. Needless to say it was quite an experience. The school basically was two rooms one large room and another for supplies. You would walk though the secondary room to get to the toilets, which were not toilets at all , but rather an elaborate out house. One side for the girls and another for the boys. Each had 3 holes in the cold of the winter they would freeze and build up. In the spring they would thaw out and smell.
My friend Susan Throckmartin was the teacher and together we worked with children from grade one through grade six. I had studied the open classroom while in school there and here I got to see an open classroom in action. Some of the children had learning difficulties. This is where I came in handy as I could give each child some special attention. I remember in particular one little girl who could not get the concept of numbers. I worked with beans laid out on the table showing her how numbers worked. Slowly she began to understand. I also helped with reading giving those that needed more attention special help.
It was not all work Sue with a little help from me made it fun too. She read out loud from "Charlotte's Web" and we helped the children make paper mache animals from the story. We had a special Valentines lunch that we made for the children.
Sue was very good at working with multiply grades at one time. the older children helped with the younger ones and in turn learned while doing so.
To get to the school I had to go through the little town of East Burke up Into the foot hills of Burke Mountain and go miles on a country road. In the fall this was fine, but in the winter the roads were dirt and soon covered with packed snow and some spots were icy. After coming home from an evening meeting with Sue in the car, I hit black ice and veered off the road and into a tree. Fortunately we were not hurt, but my car was damaged. I grew somewhat afraid to drive on the icy roads and now we were down to one vehicle. So my husband drove us to the school and then went on to his College from there.
There were other things that happened that made me feel that I had gone back in time. The town meetings were a novelty for coming from Virginia. I had never been to one before. I also was amazed that the local drugstore lunch counter sold 15 cent cokes by the glass.
I was fortunate to have been able to experience all of these things, and I have fond memories of my time in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Election Results 2016...My Feelings
Never in my 72 years have I had such a fear and a profound sadness for my country. I have always had a such great pride in being an American. I have been aware of the perception of the "Ugly American", but thought that was a minority in this country. I have given other Americans the benefit of the doubt. I was assuming that as a whole we were smart. Unfortunately this election season and the election as a whole has proven me wrong. We have become a country of people who are both uneducated and selfish. I have accepted that everyone in this country is equal and deserves an equal opportunity. I believed that racism and bigotry was a thing of the past. With Trumps raise to power he revealed the ugly under belly of America and exposed the racism hidden within. Unfortunately the resentment of the uneducated white man raised it's head when a black man was elected president. Our Black President has been a man of virtue, who despite obvious back lash from the Tea Party Republicans, has managed to carry off the presidency as gracious gentleman doing an excellent job. He and his family are remarkable and deserve a lot of credit. I personally admire and respect him greatly.
Trump is an embarrassment. He has stirred up so much hatred, and now he is going to have to deal with what he has spawn. I can only hope and pray that he is able to swallow his tremendous pride and deal with the havoc he has wrought. Hopefully he will be able to put country before his own personal gain and do what is right and just. For this I will pray.
Trump is an embarrassment. He has stirred up so much hatred, and now he is going to have to deal with what he has spawn. I can only hope and pray that he is able to swallow his tremendous pride and deal with the havoc he has wrought. Hopefully he will be able to put country before his own personal gain and do what is right and just. For this I will pray.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
The Headless Horseman rides again in White Stone Virginia
I wrote this article for our local paper for a Halloween story. Chris is really excited about his find. He has been a History nut ever since he was a fifth grader living in Williamsburg Va. Living where history actually happened made our history real to him.
Beware the Headless Horseman in White Stone
Chris Trimble, who owns Trimble Tavern Antiques in White Stone, was at the Brimfield Antique Show , Brimfield Mass, this September, where he purchased an old cannon ball. After talking to the person, from whom he purchased it , Chris discovered that it was found near white Plains New York close to Merrit Hill. It had been in the family as long as the man could remember. I didn't think anything about it till a friend came by the shop, who is a Revolutionary War expert. He confirmed that the cannonball was indeed Revolutionary War and Hessian.
This really changed everything concerning the history of this cannonball. Chris looked up the Hessian involvement during the Revolutionary War in Merrit Hill. The Hessian artillery were there along with the British at the Battle of Merritt Hill outside of White Plains, New York. The Battle raged from the 28th to the 31st of October 1776. General William Heath, fighting for the colonies, stated in his reports, that Lt. Fenno shot into a grouping of British Dragoons and dispersed the attackers. Then Lt. Fenno shot his cannon at the Hessian artillery battery, who were taking aiming at his position. He killed a Hessian officer on horseback. The Hessian officer was decapitated with the cannon ball on the 31st of Oct 1776. He fell onto a pile of cannon balls. They searched for his head among the pile of bloody cannon balls. His head was never found and he was buried without his head.
After the Battle was over, the dead from both sides were laid to rest at the closest church that would take them. The Hessians were buried at a Dutch church cemetery some 9 miles from the Battle in a little town called Sleepy Hollow , New York. The Hessian Officer has been cited as searching upon his horse for his head ever since, especially on All Hallows Eve.
It turns out that that Hessian officer is the legendary, Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Trimble plans on keeping the cannon ball on display at his shop in White Stone. We will see if the ghost of the Headless Horseman comes to haunt the streets of White Stone this Halloween. You are welcome to visit if you dare.
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| Hessian Cannon Ball from Merrit Hill |
Beware the Headless Horseman in White Stone
Chris Trimble, who owns Trimble Tavern Antiques in White Stone, was at the Brimfield Antique Show , Brimfield Mass, this September, where he purchased an old cannon ball. After talking to the person, from whom he purchased it , Chris discovered that it was found near white Plains New York close to Merrit Hill. It had been in the family as long as the man could remember. I didn't think anything about it till a friend came by the shop, who is a Revolutionary War expert. He confirmed that the cannonball was indeed Revolutionary War and Hessian.
This really changed everything concerning the history of this cannonball. Chris looked up the Hessian involvement during the Revolutionary War in Merrit Hill. The Hessian artillery were there along with the British at the Battle of Merritt Hill outside of White Plains, New York. The Battle raged from the 28th to the 31st of October 1776. General William Heath, fighting for the colonies, stated in his reports, that Lt. Fenno shot into a grouping of British Dragoons and dispersed the attackers. Then Lt. Fenno shot his cannon at the Hessian artillery battery, who were taking aiming at his position. He killed a Hessian officer on horseback. The Hessian officer was decapitated with the cannon ball on the 31st of Oct 1776. He fell onto a pile of cannon balls. They searched for his head among the pile of bloody cannon balls. His head was never found and he was buried without his head.
After the Battle was over, the dead from both sides were laid to rest at the closest church that would take them. The Hessians were buried at a Dutch church cemetery some 9 miles from the Battle in a little town called Sleepy Hollow , New York. The Hessian Officer has been cited as searching upon his horse for his head ever since, especially on All Hallows Eve.
It turns out that that Hessian officer is the legendary, Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Trimble plans on keeping the cannon ball on display at his shop in White Stone. We will see if the ghost of the Headless Horseman comes to haunt the streets of White Stone this Halloween. You are welcome to visit if you dare.
Friday, September 16, 2016
Being an Artist
I recently joined the Rappahanock Art League after many years of avoiding doing so. The art league is not selective in whom they allow to show there. It is one thing to let the public in general become members, but to artist who are serious about their work having your more professional work hang next to work that is lacking in style and artistic ability is very distasteful. Okay, I am an art snob. So I realized that there were in deed a few artist showing there who were accomplished artist and I decided that I did need a place to display my art.
I have my paintings hanging in the gallery, which is next door to our shop. I was asked as a new member to display my work in one of the two windows of the gallery. One of the members wrote up a press release about the windows. She decided to incorporate the current show which featured five male artist in the gallery with the article about the two female artist displaying in the front windows. Doing this she completely got off track and proceeded to tie the two together giving the men in both our families credit for the art work we created. Needless to say I was upset by this. I have written a rebut to the previous article which I fully intend to deliver to the paper. When one has worked since their childhood on their art one does not want the credit given to anyone else, even to family.
So this is what I wrote:
The previous article printed concerning the current artist represented in the window at the Rappahanock Art League was in accurate and anti feminine. The reporter took artistic license when writing the article in order to write what she thought was a cohesive write up. She made it sound as if women could not accomplish anything without help from men.
As one of the artist represented in the window display, I wish to set the record straight. I have been encouraged by my parents to use my artistic abilities. It was my mother who fostered my love of art. I had polio as a child and I could not run and play as a small child. My mother diverted me with playing with art. Art supplies were always available. Both my parents were artist, although neither were professional at that time. As I grew older, I continued to love drawing. I was not allowed to take lessons as they wanted me to develop my own style, rather than being influenced by a teacher.
In college I studied Art History and later I worked with my father in my parents art gallery restoring art. I never stopped painting. Even when I had small children I would take every opportunity to practice my art. I distinctly remember looking at things in nature and mentally figuring out how to go about painting them.
I have been both painting and selling my art works for over thirty years. I now have post polio and I have to use a power wheelchair, and I continue to paint. It is wrong to say that males are responsible for my talent and my accomplishments. No one else is responsible. If you have an ability and manage to become an artist you do that on your own.
This was published in the letters to the editor.
I also sold a painting to a customer at our shop and he wrote me a beautiful letter concerning my work. It is always nice to have you ego boosted every now and then.
I have my paintings hanging in the gallery, which is next door to our shop. I was asked as a new member to display my work in one of the two windows of the gallery. One of the members wrote up a press release about the windows. She decided to incorporate the current show which featured five male artist in the gallery with the article about the two female artist displaying in the front windows. Doing this she completely got off track and proceeded to tie the two together giving the men in both our families credit for the art work we created. Needless to say I was upset by this. I have written a rebut to the previous article which I fully intend to deliver to the paper. When one has worked since their childhood on their art one does not want the credit given to anyone else, even to family.
So this is what I wrote:
The previous article printed concerning the current artist represented in the window at the Rappahanock Art League was in accurate and anti feminine. The reporter took artistic license when writing the article in order to write what she thought was a cohesive write up. She made it sound as if women could not accomplish anything without help from men.
As one of the artist represented in the window display, I wish to set the record straight. I have been encouraged by my parents to use my artistic abilities. It was my mother who fostered my love of art. I had polio as a child and I could not run and play as a small child. My mother diverted me with playing with art. Art supplies were always available. Both my parents were artist, although neither were professional at that time. As I grew older, I continued to love drawing. I was not allowed to take lessons as they wanted me to develop my own style, rather than being influenced by a teacher.
In college I studied Art History and later I worked with my father in my parents art gallery restoring art. I never stopped painting. Even when I had small children I would take every opportunity to practice my art. I distinctly remember looking at things in nature and mentally figuring out how to go about painting them.
I have been both painting and selling my art works for over thirty years. I now have post polio and I have to use a power wheelchair, and I continue to paint. It is wrong to say that males are responsible for my talent and my accomplishments. No one else is responsible. If you have an ability and manage to become an artist you do that on your own.
This was published in the letters to the editor.
I also sold a painting to a customer at our shop and he wrote me a beautiful letter concerning my work. It is always nice to have you ego boosted every now and then.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
My Brother
One of my first real memories was riding in the car with my parents. I was 3 years old. My parents had told me that I was going to have either a bay sister or brother. They were talking about what they would name the new baby. I looked out the window and saw a garden marked off with large rounded stones. Somehow this location made an impression on me, and for years I knew exactly where this spot was in Norfolk.
Getting a baby in the family was a big deal to me as a little girl. Mother said that she would like to name the baby after my father, Donald Sykes Lewis, if it was a boy and Donna if the baby turned out to be a girl.
Later I remember mother going into labor and my dad taking her out to the hospital. The next day my grandmother, my Nana, was talking to Dad on the telephone. She turned to me and told me that I had a baby brother. She said that he was a fat baby and red all over. " Just like an Indian," I asked, "Does he have a feather behind his ear?" I was very excited and I could barely wait to see my new brother. Mother and My brother stayed in the hospital back then for almost 2 weeks. Donnie was born December 13 1947 and they made it home for Christmas day with our extended family, my grandparents and my great grandmother.
I loved my brother immediately. I watched mother change him, bath him and dress him. I only remember being a little jealous once and that was when they were taking photos of "the baby." I remember hiding behind a porch chair and peaking around the corner feeling a little left out. My mother must have realized this because they then took a picture of me holding my baby brother in my arms.
Later that summer I came down with polio. It was fortunate that my brother's crib was in my parents room and my little bed was in the room with my grandparents. I had measles and strep throat and then polio. All these were contagious. Often more than one sibling contracted polio at a time. My own polio Doctor and his brother both had polio. My parents rushed me off to the emergency room and my battle with polio began then. My little baby brother was loved, but by necessity was taken care of by my grandmother and sometimes even passed off to friends to watch while mother made the trip to the hospital to visit me. I missed my brother and the only way I was allowed to see him was from my hospital window.
Eventually I was allowed to go home first for visits and then finally to stay with visits to the hospital for physical therapy. When I first came home from the hospital my parents had a photographer come and take photos of my brother and myself. They sat us both on a bench in front of some pulled drapes of my grandparents home. My baby brother was no longer an infant but a fat cherub of a baby with golden curls.
Once I was able to start walking I wore a brace on both my legs that came up to my waist and a heavy corset brace on my back. I used under arm wooden crutches to begin with and was thrilled that I could swing myself with these. Of course they instructed me in the correct manner by which I should used my crutches to walk. I was to use one and then the other just like when we walk we use one foot first and then the other. I am sorry. I just loved swinging my way around. Good thing that I enjoyed that because otherwise it would have just been awkward and uncomfortable going. Leave it to children to find some joy in little things.
I was to go up and down the stairs by myself, holding onto the railing with one hand while someone carried one of my crutches down or up the stairs for me. Sometimes I would fail trying to walk and my precious little brother would come next tome and let me pull up on him.
Don was a baby that was full of energy. I remember mother having to hold onto one arm while she tried to dress him as he was ready to run off in all directions on a new adventure.
I remember seeing him run down my grandparents driveway with our cat in hot pursuit. Some how that black and white cat, "Tippy" loved to chase Don and grab hold of the back of his diapers. This terrorized Don as a baby, and with good reason. The cat grew to be almost as big as he was before we broke the cat of that habit.
As we grew bigger I took the job of big sister seriously. Sometimes much to Don's distress. I watched his manners and made a general pain of myself. I tried to make sure he behaved and I also got him into some trouble. I remember wanting badly to join our friend, Dumpy, in climbing up onto the roof of some garages behind the apartment house that we had moved into. I could not climb up there myself, but Don could, if I told him how. So I gave my baby brother step by step instructions on how to climb a tree to get up onto the roof of the garage with Dumpy. He climbed up unto the garage, but got scared once he was up there, and mother had to climb up to rescue him.
We had lots of fun playing with our friend Dumpy. We explored his basement and the inside of some storage garages in the neighborhood. We were a little like the kids in the "Our Gang Comedies."
I was in the Brownie Scouts and mother went along on our excursions to make sure that I was alright. I should have said Mother and Donnie as he got to go with us. We kidded and called him a grilled sprout.
One day Don came home from school upset another boy had been bullying him, I got so mad I was ready to go after that kid. Nobody had better bother my little brother.
When Don was ready for High School he wanted to go away. My parents and Don discovered Randolph Macon Academy in Front Royal Virginia. One of my Dad's cousins had gone there. That fall we got his thing together that he needed and took him up to the school. They took him in and issued him uniforms as it was a military prep school and shaved his head in a buzz cut. He would not need the clothes that he had worn up there. Dad brought the clothes back to the motel where we were staying in town and hung them up. Mother found the clothes handing and burst into tears. "My baby boy is all grown up," she wailed. It had finally struck her that her baby was not going to be home for awhile. We all missed him, but we were very proud of how he had grown and matured. Needless to say she tried to spoil him as did I when he came home. I was in College then, but because of walking with crutches I went to Old Dominion College in town.
I enjoyed my brother and his friends when he came by home. He looked so handsome in his uniform.
Getting a baby in the family was a big deal to me as a little girl. Mother said that she would like to name the baby after my father, Donald Sykes Lewis, if it was a boy and Donna if the baby turned out to be a girl.
Later I remember mother going into labor and my dad taking her out to the hospital. The next day my grandmother, my Nana, was talking to Dad on the telephone. She turned to me and told me that I had a baby brother. She said that he was a fat baby and red all over. " Just like an Indian," I asked, "Does he have a feather behind his ear?" I was very excited and I could barely wait to see my new brother. Mother and My brother stayed in the hospital back then for almost 2 weeks. Donnie was born December 13 1947 and they made it home for Christmas day with our extended family, my grandparents and my great grandmother.
I loved my brother immediately. I watched mother change him, bath him and dress him. I only remember being a little jealous once and that was when they were taking photos of "the baby." I remember hiding behind a porch chair and peaking around the corner feeling a little left out. My mother must have realized this because they then took a picture of me holding my baby brother in my arms.
Later that summer I came down with polio. It was fortunate that my brother's crib was in my parents room and my little bed was in the room with my grandparents. I had measles and strep throat and then polio. All these were contagious. Often more than one sibling contracted polio at a time. My own polio Doctor and his brother both had polio. My parents rushed me off to the emergency room and my battle with polio began then. My little baby brother was loved, but by necessity was taken care of by my grandmother and sometimes even passed off to friends to watch while mother made the trip to the hospital to visit me. I missed my brother and the only way I was allowed to see him was from my hospital window.
Eventually I was allowed to go home first for visits and then finally to stay with visits to the hospital for physical therapy. When I first came home from the hospital my parents had a photographer come and take photos of my brother and myself. They sat us both on a bench in front of some pulled drapes of my grandparents home. My baby brother was no longer an infant but a fat cherub of a baby with golden curls.
Once I was able to start walking I wore a brace on both my legs that came up to my waist and a heavy corset brace on my back. I used under arm wooden crutches to begin with and was thrilled that I could swing myself with these. Of course they instructed me in the correct manner by which I should used my crutches to walk. I was to use one and then the other just like when we walk we use one foot first and then the other. I am sorry. I just loved swinging my way around. Good thing that I enjoyed that because otherwise it would have just been awkward and uncomfortable going. Leave it to children to find some joy in little things.
I was to go up and down the stairs by myself, holding onto the railing with one hand while someone carried one of my crutches down or up the stairs for me. Sometimes I would fail trying to walk and my precious little brother would come next tome and let me pull up on him.
Don was a baby that was full of energy. I remember mother having to hold onto one arm while she tried to dress him as he was ready to run off in all directions on a new adventure.
I remember seeing him run down my grandparents driveway with our cat in hot pursuit. Some how that black and white cat, "Tippy" loved to chase Don and grab hold of the back of his diapers. This terrorized Don as a baby, and with good reason. The cat grew to be almost as big as he was before we broke the cat of that habit.
As we grew bigger I took the job of big sister seriously. Sometimes much to Don's distress. I watched his manners and made a general pain of myself. I tried to make sure he behaved and I also got him into some trouble. I remember wanting badly to join our friend, Dumpy, in climbing up onto the roof of some garages behind the apartment house that we had moved into. I could not climb up there myself, but Don could, if I told him how. So I gave my baby brother step by step instructions on how to climb a tree to get up onto the roof of the garage with Dumpy. He climbed up unto the garage, but got scared once he was up there, and mother had to climb up to rescue him.
We had lots of fun playing with our friend Dumpy. We explored his basement and the inside of some storage garages in the neighborhood. We were a little like the kids in the "Our Gang Comedies."
I was in the Brownie Scouts and mother went along on our excursions to make sure that I was alright. I should have said Mother and Donnie as he got to go with us. We kidded and called him a grilled sprout.
One day Don came home from school upset another boy had been bullying him, I got so mad I was ready to go after that kid. Nobody had better bother my little brother.
When Don was ready for High School he wanted to go away. My parents and Don discovered Randolph Macon Academy in Front Royal Virginia. One of my Dad's cousins had gone there. That fall we got his thing together that he needed and took him up to the school. They took him in and issued him uniforms as it was a military prep school and shaved his head in a buzz cut. He would not need the clothes that he had worn up there. Dad brought the clothes back to the motel where we were staying in town and hung them up. Mother found the clothes handing and burst into tears. "My baby boy is all grown up," she wailed. It had finally struck her that her baby was not going to be home for awhile. We all missed him, but we were very proud of how he had grown and matured. Needless to say she tried to spoil him as did I when he came home. I was in College then, but because of walking with crutches I went to Old Dominion College in town.
I enjoyed my brother and his friends when he came by home. He looked so handsome in his uniform.
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