The last Vermont winter

A reflection on 22 years and a changing season

Before Instagram husbands there were Instagram dependent children and when I tell you there is absolutely no Photoshop involved in the making of this image and yes I dressed like this on purpose and jumped over and over and over again to get this photo and guess what? ZERO FUCKING REGRETS. Children should know who their mothers really are.

Well, well, well, what do we have here. Looks like someone is procrastinating on whatever holiday nonsense they should be doing instead. Welcome. Given the inevitable blur of the holidays, you might’ve missed these recent posts:
• It's beginning to look a lot like *argh*: A holiday survival-ish guide including a proven hangover cure, solo mid- and post-divorce holidays, looking back at what went right in a year, and fitting pieces for this time of year by

Virginia Sole-Smith

Saeed Jones

and

Emily McDowell

• Rebranding the empty nest: A modest proposal for rejecting the framing of every phase of life past the age of 35 through the lens of loss.
• Saying goodbye to a real motherf*cker: Reflection on a memorial that was definitely not your typical memorial, for a creative and complicated legend who was foundational in making Nike what it became.
• And related, on the brand front, I worked on Pinterest’s Holiday Gift Guides campaign collaboratively scripting videos with and for Thor Bradley, Grandma Droniak, and Zarna Garg. You can watch those here. I also did some social media commenting for Pinterest Predicts and let me tell you something, spending just a few weeks deep in trends and down influencer rabbit holes on TikTok has made me realize—even as a very online human being—how much about the world and Gen Z a) I didn’t understand and b) exists only on TikTok. Welp.

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The Last Vermont Winter

Vermont's independent weekly Seven Days invited me to contribute to their Winter Reading Issue which just came out on Thursday. It was deeply bittersweet to reflect on 22 winters in Vermont, this being my last one here.

Somewhat fittingly I wrote most of my essay while in Portland, Oregon and I was buttoning up the last edits as I waited at PDX for my red-eye back home. Strange how at some point this year this will no longer be the place I call home. But my move isn’t imminent, so there’s plenty of time for melancholy newsletters later.

In the meantime, you can read the full essay here. I hope you will.

It was (unsurprisingly) emotional to look back on everyone and everything that’s been a part of my time here in Vermont. But it also felt like I’d been given this public opportunity to put a bow on it. What a gift.

I had a dream just last night that I was emptying out every room in a house that wasn’t mine in real life, but clearly belonged to me in some way. It was an absolutely enormous old house full of beautiful hardwood floors, three stories big, and with every room I cleared of every last little piece of paper or random paper clip or forgotten book, every floor I mopped and every light I turned off as I went, my stomach flooded with excited butterflies. It’s the first good house-related dream I’ve had in more than two years. I’ll take it.

My time in Vermont encompassed the entire chapter of having a family, from getting pregnant after a miscarriage all the way to raising kids to young adulthood. In just those two decades, winter itself has changed too. It’s strange and unsettling to witness climate change in real time, but anyone who’s lived in Vermont for even just one generation can tell you the changes are obvious.

When I first saw the illustration that accompanied my essay (by illustrator Sarah Cronin), I welled up. It reminded me of the many freezing sunsets I dragged my kids to over the years, hot chocolates in hand. That view across the lake? Unmistakable. Thanks to Chelsea Edgar for the invitation to write this piece and the sharp editing. I love editors. You should too. I wish I had one all the time. You probably wish I had one too.

Illustration for Seven Days by Sarah Cronin

I thought I’d share some photos related to the memories I touched on in my essay and other moments I wasn’t able to fit in. I hope you enjoy these little glimpses.

As overwhelming as the holidays can sometimes be, I’m finding that now that my kids are grown and I’m on my own (and finally past the very big feelings of my first solo holidays), I’m appreciating how quiet and calm this time of year can feel when I choose to intentionally make it that way.

Thank you for being a reader. I appreciate the time you spend here. Happy, merry, and at the very least [fill in the blank] end-of-the-year to you.

Back when storms were two dogs deep and all photos were FRUSTRATINGLY lo-res.