May - The North Star Monthly

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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. Burrington’s Greenhouse Route 15, West Danville, VT (802) 684-2229 OPENING FOR THE SEASON Thursday, May 6 Geraniums Hanging Plants Bedding Plants Vegetable Plants Perennials Cemetery Pots Open 9 a.m. - 7 p.m. Daily See you this summer at the Caledonia Farmers’ Market! Saturdays in St. Johnsbury, Wednesdays on the Green in Danville When you think insurance... 663 Old Center Road, St. Johnsbury, Vermont 05819 (802) 748-8797 Fax (802) 748-8609 Instructor: Damien Ar- YOGAchambeau For Scoliosis and Back Care BARNET TRADEPOST WELLNESS CENTER MONDAYS 5:30 - 7 PM for more info or to sign up 802.633.2700 ext.1 or email: lj@barnettradepost.com 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!
www.northstarmonthly.com MAY 2010 5 A municipal gem in white BY JOHN DOWNS Let me urge you to visit the historic village of Dorset in southwestern Vermont, a few miles from Manchester. I had visited most of the towns in Vermont during an active legal career, but had never seen or visited a more beautiful and quietly picturesque village. Let me urge you to visit the historic village of Dorset in southwestern Vermont, a few miles from Manchester. I had visited most of the towns in Vermont during an active legal career, but had never seen or visited a more beautiful and quietly picturesque village. Route 30, as it meanders through the village, does not diminish its attractiveness because it is bordered by small inns, each painted white with carefully landscaped lawns. Our daughter Margaret, a proud native Vermonter, recently married Henry Zachary, an equally proud New Yorker. They had planned a small wedding, and decided to hold the ceremony in a country inn in southwestern Vermont, not too far from New York City, where they both live and work. After Margaret’s diligent Internet search, they agreed to hold the wedding in Dorset village’s 214-year-old Dorset Inn in front of a fireplace fire. The Inn had been the site of many happy marriages over the years, and its management was most helpful. Margaret’s niece, brother Peter’s seven-yearold daughter Ava, was the flower girl and preceded Margaret and Henry as they walked into the parlor. Ava’s ten-year-old brother Evan was the ring bearer. A local lady Justice of the Peace performed the ceremony with enthusiasm and thoughtfulness in the presence of 16 relatives and guests who stayed at the Inn and enjoyed its hospitality. I did not have to give the bride away; and Henry needed only the services of the ring bearer. Guitarist Jean Paul from Lyndonville entertained us before and after the ceremony when we toasted the lucky couple with champagne. One would have to visit this historic village to fully appreciate its beauty and uniqueness. Because of effective environmental regulations, the village’s forefathers decreed that every building in the district must be painted white. They have been maintained with this color ever since, except for the granite and marble community church built in the 1880s. I was reminded of the gray color with which most of the homes in Nantucket are painted. Dorset has an area referred to as “Marble Mountain” from which marble was quarried years ago. One of the results is that every sidewalk and entrance to a residence was built with chunks of white marble. It was necessary to walk carefully to avoid tripping. Immaculate white houses – probably built no later than 1900 – lined both sides of a 300-yard lane that was divided in the middle by a 20-foot grass median. In addition to the church there was Because of effective environmental regulations, the village’s forefathers decreed that every building in the district must be painted white. They have been maintained with this color ever since, except for the granite and marble community church built in the 1880s. a small bank building and the village’s general store named Dorset Union Store built in1816. Unlike the usual small village stores with their limited offerings, it sold just about everything that one would want to purchase, including an amazing assortment of fine wines. The only towns in Vermont that I have visited that might be compared with Dorset Village are Craftsbury Common and Woodstock village. Craftsbury has a large common area surrounded by a white fence, but it does not create the pleasant feeling that would come if the buildings all around it were similarly painted. Woodstock has a large central green surrounded by an iron fence shaped to resemble a Spanish-American battleship. The Woodstock Inn is a stylish, opulent hotel built by the Rockefeller family that has been the pride of the town for many years. Although the extensive shopping area is first class, in my judgment, it does not add to the scenic attractiveness of the town. Environmentally and scenically attractive features are to be treasured by any town. When I came to St. Johnsbury in 1947, Main Street north of its business district, had a two-lane highway with wide lawns studded with elm trees that extended back to the houses that are still there. Its beauty was admired far and wide. But after the elm tree blight struck the town, the trees were cut down and the highway was widened. Main Street lost much of its attractiveness and appeal. Our visit to the historic village of Dorset reminded us of how important it is for our well being to keep beautifying the towns in which we live. 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May - The North Star Monthly

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