Late Summer-Early Autumn may be a season of it’s own. Lacking definitive start and end-dates, it’s a season that confuses itself. One day may mandate shorts and sleeveless tees and the next day it’s on with the fleece and maybe even gloves. As the daylight shortens, a sense of loss teases sadness, but just as quickly turns to anticipation of some of the best outdoors adventures of the year.
As past field editor of the Rutland Herald and Times Argus “Active Vermont” Sunday page, I often dedicated a Labor Day issue to the changes brought by return to school, K-post graduate. (Now THAT has traditionally triggered unique emotions as parents hand-hold little ones to their first day of school or reluctantly drive away from having deposited their big kids in their college dorms. Ouch. I for one hated those and often shed tears. Yeah, I know ….)
Needless to say, 2020 is different. Here in Vermont, not only is the season confused, so are we all and questions hang thickly around us as to what the school year will look like: in school or online or a hybrid? School sports are a go? What? How in the heck are kids supposed to qualify their mile run or fight for possession of a soccer ball all the time wearing a tightly fitted face mask? And why are they even having fall sports if we all agree that face masks are helpful? (well, most of us anyway) And oh lordy, please don’t anyone test positive. Dorms are occupied? But I digress.
As I reread some of my previous Active Vermont pieces, a common thread also connected with today. Whatever our age or association with the scholastic life, it’s quite possible that we continue to be influenced by an academic calendar. September means saying goodbye to a relaxed summer attitude and hello to the take-a-deep-breath and get-yourself-organized sass of a new school year a/k/a that which we must begin, complete, or otherwise dedicate our talents and energies.
In the good ole days, last year for example, athletes might be seriously training for, and anticipating, snow sports. Again, the mountains here are confused as to exactly how the snow will be utilized this season. Perhaps it is safe to say that since last March, every recreational or competitive sport or activity has been reimagined. And as I write this and you read it, it’s quite likely that some serious adaptation will continue past this confused and confusing season all the way to what – the end of the year?
But it’s not all bad. Just as those of us who have been blessedly unscathed by illness during the time of Covid have found unexpected pleasure in newfound gentler ways of living; and just as those of us who have been unfortunately impacted by the financial blows of Covid but are still afloat have found unexpected pleasure in simplicity, so, too, it is perfectly possible that we are finding new forms of connection, exercise, and pathways to fitness and well-being. (Phew, that was a long sentence but you do understand, don’t you?)
So, perhaps, at this time of year that doesn’t quite know if it’s still summer or if hints of cold are real or imagined, perhaps we, as passengers on this rerouted train might find novel ways to reimagine the sights and reconfigure our response to what is happening all around us. (Note, more than the Coronavirus can be novel!) As we turn the corner into mid-late autumn, stick season lies ahead. Until then we can carry on with a restructured lifestyle, reaching out safely to those in our network and embracing our personal and professional communities as we become more and more adept at distancing, masking, Zooming and loving. Living creatively has never been more in vogue.


There is no question that this business is forever changed. Numbers tell the story. First there was the initial reluctance assuming that things would return to normal in a few days or weeks. Then there was surprised enthusiasm for streamed classes in which participants could actually visit with each other prior to and after the class. Noting the value of this, many who started on Facebook made the move to Zoom. For awhile, it took off. And then the numbers began to decline. Students no longer prioritized their class times and somehow just didn’t get around to opening the link to the recorded session. The HABIT, and yes, jumping on a Zoom call for a Yoga class became a new habit, was weakened if not broken and Zoom Fatigue became a reality.
Thich Nhat Hanh said: “If you want a garden, you have to bend down and touch the soil. Gardening is a practice, not an idea.” Well, there you have it.


Community has been redefined. Even the tiniest connection – a phone call or text, photo or face time, card or package – is duly appreciated forging bonds replacing tenuous strands. And in my own small (there’s that word again) world of Zoom, those minutes of unmuted video before and after a teacher-led practice are golden; they are fun and sensitive and compelling moments of genuine community.

As I write this, the strands of the tightly laced corset of a National response to the pandemic Coronavirus of 2020 are being loosened. Unprecedented. Social distancing. Refrigerated trucks. Protest. Connection. Zoom. Essential. Quarantine. Hoarding. Generosity. Curbside. Antibodies. And my personal favorite: “Anthony Fauci has been nominated as sexiest man of the year.” Not only is the Coronavirus “novel,” daily life is about as novel as it gets.






Here in the mountains of the NorthEast, celebration seems to succumb to the magnetic pull of nature. Over a decade ago I was invited to join good friends for a full moon snowshoe. That hike, as well as the brilliantly lit drive back home on a normally dark country road, was so remarkable that to this day I continue to find some way to celebrate as many full moons as possible. Today I plan a hike with my dog and 2 family members to a summit that will give me a 360 view from the lake to the mountains. The moon rises early so I’ll probably hike up in the alpenglow of the sunset and bathe in the light of the moon at the top. At other times I have paddled off the coast of Maine, picnicked in the dark, led a full moon Yin Yoga class or walked along the river. Always I marvel at the speed with which the moon rises. Always I value the opportunity to experience the moon – alone with my pup or with friends or family – with those in my life.
The concept of THAW is pretty simple: what is hard or frozen softens or liquifies in the presence of warmth. When THAW = MELT one can explore myriad possibilities and implications – physically, mentally and emotionally.
When the thermometer rises, the winds blow and the rain pounds down in Northern New England, plans change abruptly to include flood warnings, power outages and just plain disappointment. As I write this, it is January 11 and there is, of course, the notion that this is simply our “January thaw” for this year. On the other hand, with all the horrific weather events that we’re (almost) getting used to, and the fact that this is, what, our 6th thaw this winter (?), is this alarming? At best, though it gives us pause. In spite of the ever-present threat of the possibility of damage or danger caused by irresistible forces of nature, there is relief from biting cold and an almost playful tease in the air. (60 degrees? Really?!)
Today, while Sophie, my Chocolate Lab, and I took an unusually long time to travel an unusually short distance trudging our usual trails, I had plenty of time to laugh at her as she found opportunity to make a game out of just about everything. I also pondered the word THAW. Playing with shades of significance is an organic game. Toss a pebble (word) into a pond (mind) and watch the ripples (ideas) flow and expand.



“Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.” (Gratefullness.org)


