May - The North Star Monthly

4 MAY 2010 THE NORTH STAR MONTHLY
A thirst for green
BY ISOBEL P. SWARTZ
No, I don’t mean green beer, money, environmental innovation or any other
material forms of green of that type! I mean that unquenchable thirst for the
green of springtime after a drab, gray winter.
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I wonder whether this passion is just a Northern
phenomenon, or whether perhaps it also belongs
to desert dwellers, but as soon as there is any
bare earth exposed after the winter, my eyes are
vigilant, searching for the first blades of new grass.
When my husband and I used to take groups
of Academy students on trips to foreign places
during the spring vacation the delighted remarks
came thick and fast after the plane landed in England,
France, Italy or Spain, “Oh look how green it
is!” No matter that the weather might be only marginally
warmer than Vermont, it was the color that
mattered. The same thing would happen on our
infrequent trips south in March. By south I mean
to Poughkeepsie, New York, where we had family
in the balmy Hudson River Valley! On day trips
from there to the City we would remark on greening
grass, the yellow glow of the willow twigs and
the almost imperceptible, except to us, swelling of
buds on the trees.
All this goes to show that you see what you
want to see, but when it comes to spring in the
north-country nowhere does “green” better, except
perhaps the Yorkshire Dales. After the early
struggles of the new blades of grass to overcome
the dingy brown of the old, there is that glorious
time when the earth is an iridescent blue-green,
never to be seen again until next year. Is that color
a trick of the light, or is this green, in fact, different
from that which follows? All I know is that it
is food for the human soul.
Spring flowers soon distract us from the total
pleasure of green. Maybe this is why the intensity
of the green itself seems to change, taking on a
slightly yellowish hue. Meanwhile trees get into the
act, sprouting forth in an array of greens and notso-
greens as the new leaves throw off their scales
of gold, red and brown.
My mother always said that green is restful to
the eye. And in fact studies do show that an environment
containing a lot of green can reduce
tiredness. This is supposedly why the interiors of
British hospitals and schools used to be painted
abundantly in green. This was not the green about
which I feel so excited, but a nasty shade of pea
soup green.
This was also frequently the shade of green of
a dessert called blancmange that I loathed as a
child. It was a kind of milky, starchy gelatin tasting
of very little, with a nasty texture and a disgusting
thick skin on the top (later the base after
un-molding). Its only redeeming feature as far as
I could see was that it could be molded into fantastic
shapes that no mere Jello could ever assume
and firmly hold. It was a feature of many a birthday
party that I attended as a small child. As I was
a picky eater but a shy child, I was always afraid to
say I didn’t want any, and so I suffered the torture
of what was supposed to be a fun-filled party meal.
After one battle with blancmange where the blancmange
won and I was very sick, the hostess made
such a fuss that I made some impolite remark that
led me to have my mouth washed out with soap
when I got home. I have never since seen that
shade of green without tasting soap in my mouth!
Two time-worn idioms come to mind regarding
the joys of spring green. “Absence makes the
heart grow fonder” is exemplified by that great delight
in seeing the first blades of grass and the glow
of the earliest dandelions near a warm stone wall.
Then we all, like jaded lovers, move on to “familiarity
breeds contempt”, as we tune up the lawnmower,
pull up weeds in the garden plot and try
vainly to eradicate the dandelions in the lawn. No
matter how hard Nature tries to please us, we humans
are never content! Despite my own fickleness
I hope that I shall always have a springtime
thirst for green. And have it satisfied!
A glimpse of the stage
BY BETS PARKER ALBRIGHT
When I was about nine years old, my
mother decided that I would benefit
from joining a small dramatics class being
held for children from five to thirteen years
of age. She had met the two English women
who had organized the group when they
came to an art show she assembled to display
her paintings. She told them I was interested
in acting, and they said they were
happy to have me join their class.
This was the start of an exciting time for me. I
looked forward to the two afternoons a week when
I would attend the King-Coit School. It was held in
a delightful Victorian house full of tricky old staircases
and intriguing rooms in which stage sets
could be set up and rearranged as needed.
The two women had an interesting approach to
teaching. They would tell us stories and then allow
us to decide how to bring them to life. We used our
own words at first, then our teachers would suggest
what they felt were more appropriate ones.
Later, when we acquired more experience, we were
read scenes from Shakespeare or from traditional
fairy tales. We were encouraged to use our imagination,
and to use words we encountered in stories
in place of everyday words. We were taught to
speak well, as though we were addressing an audience
from the stage.
I was an enthusiastic reader of stories, especially
fairy stories. I worked my way through the
Blue Fairy Book, the Red Fairy Book, etc., many
Grimm’s fairy tales, and others. It was fun to re-do
stories to my liking, avoiding “once upon a time”
and “they lived happily ever after,” etc. It was fun
to combine book stories with our own inventions.
When a good plot worked out, we all got together
to create a real play. This gave us a chance to act,
create sets, and sometimes to sing and dance.
As our unusual little school grew and attracted
more children, our performances became of interest
to people who liked to see children perform. A
young man who specialized in doing stage sets became
intrigued with what we were doing. He began
to design sets that could be taken down and set up
in regular theaters. This led to exciting adventures
for us!
I easily developed crushes on my favorite actors,
who included Leslie Howard and Katharine
Hepburn. I bore some physical resemblance to
Hepburn, and I learned to imitate her manner of
speaking. The resemblance faded with the years,
but it was great fun while it lasted!
My most challenging dramatic experience was
when I was chosen to play the magician Prospero
in “The Tempest.” At that time I was one of the
older students and big enough to manage the role.
I was thrilled at the chance, and I’m sure I drove my
family crazy rehearsing Prospero’s stirring words,
such as “I’ll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms
in the earth” and “Deeper than did ever plummet
sound, I’ll drown my book!”
In time, of course, I outgrew the special school.
This was sad for me, but the experience had taught
me useful things, and instilled in me a lifelong love
and attraction for the dramatic arts. It gave me the
opportunity and confidence later on to act in plays
with several of my children who were similarly inclined.
That was deeply satisfying, even though I
never achieved my desire to become a “real” actress
and follow in the tracks of my girlhood idol
Katharine Hepburn!