A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

Dedicated to Kenneth Ronald Brown, my husband of 31 years. He crossed over on April 26, 2026. My husband was a Marine. In death, he is still a Marine. I used to say, “ex-Marine,” but there is no such thing. Once the legendary end of boot camp “Crucible” is conquered and the Eagle, Globe and Anchor is pinned to your lapel, you are a Marine until the end of time. In September of 1998, Parris Island arrived in Ridgewood NJ when Ken took a part-time job as a crossing guard at a c

It scared the shit out of me, the thought of running my fingers across the crass abs of those Greek gods straight out of 1970, with their pornstaches and tight pants, so much that I backed away, Not me I thought, let someone else be the guinea pig. Oh, come on, the jackass called, the one with the tattoo, come on, dive in, the water’s fine. Indeed, if you looked past all that simmering man flesh, the sea was cobalt, blue as barren balls. The other jackass, the quiet on

July 4, 2026 Dear KC, Gosh it’s been a long time. Rich and I have been wanting to write for a while now, but as you might imagine, we’ve been busy. However, we heard that you have been experiencing some challenges lately and wanted to let you know you are in our thoughts. Hearing about your recent troubles has resulted in our reminiscing about how the three of us met and how our relationship grew to be as strong as it is now. Goodness, it was so long ago. I was an 18-year-old

I am grateful for home, sweet solitude, memories, pets, food three times a day (a bit more during the holidays AND my birthday) my town, a car that starts, clothes on my back, hair on my head, what is left of my family and friends in various stages of coming and going. Exercise, what I still have of my health, laughter, books, insight, notebooks, shoes, shampoo, kindness, dark chocolate, just enough money, watches, soft socks, smooth-writing pens, brakes, air conditioning in

On the early morning of September 11, 2001, I had arrived at school at about 6:30 as usual and had no reason to believe it would be other than a typical day. After greeting students as they arrived on their buses and chatting with parents dropping off their kids, I was working with a small group of students in the library for about half an hour. When I returned to our office, Donna, the school secretary, informed me that she heard on the news that a plane had hit the World Tr

Two lads holding onto a double sized tarp, pulling it up over the top of two fully loaded hay wagons when the wind picks up. Those boys fight hard and win, until the wind grabs the tarp as if to yank it and billow it up and off the wagon. The boys do not give up. Meanwhile, a tractor is out in the field chasing windrows that are running faster than the tractor hauling the baler can keep up with. Fully powering the tractor, means the baler is going top speed. The driver looks

I dread hay season. Every part of my being shutters at the thought of beginning another summer of haying. But on the flip side of that statement, I have some great friends down there that join me. I have a red-tailed hawk that has joined me every year for many years now. His name is Falcone and he glides by and comes in for lunch that I prepare for him as I rake the hay up and expose his feast. He is my best friend in the hay field. I also have my barn swallow friends that ci

A storm of rain but no thunder. Cloudbursts but no lightening. Sudden winds and unexpected magic. I was doing the dishes when something called It was just a small voice Nothing special The voice easy to ignore as frivolous or silly or stupid It said go out in the rain like your mother said you could when you were a child There is no thunder, no lightening, it is okay to be in the rain Have fun with it And so I left the dishes behind pulled my eyeglasses off my head my shoes f

His beloved Vespa motor scooter had been stolen. I noticed it missing, early morning. I went back to the bedroom. "Gil, are you awake? Your bike isn't out back." "I know." "Where is it?" "Stolen." He went back to sleep. When he got up he asked me to drive him to the bus station. "You have to report the theft to the police or your insurance won't —" "I've got everything under control, don't worry about it. Could you drive me to the bus station?" He was still half asleep withou

After our trip to Venice Karl became obsessed with Venetian boats, not the gondolas that tourists hired for excursions and we did too, but one of the smaller wooden boats, working one-man oared boats like the sandolo, pared-down gritty versions of the garish passenger vessels. He wanted to stand tall and row this boat in Lake Champlain. We happen to live right on Lake Champlain which while not the Venetian lagoon is more convenient. In Venice, Karl resisted taking official to

Why do writers write? It’s an intriguing question with as many different responses as there are writers. Some writers seek a private revelation, a detailed examination of their experiences and internal responses. Such memoirs may be shared with the world or with a limited audience or not shared at all. Other writers may have urgent information, feeling a compulsion to make that information known. This motivation frequently takes the form of an essay. Essays aim to deliver fac

Every Week We Laugh On April 26th, 2026, my husband died, and I returned to my seat on the roller coaster of grief. From here, I can slip through the days while gazing out at the world without anyone looking in, especially during moments when tears blur my vision. I am self protective and quiet, watchful and aware. Grief carries contradictions. I hold emotional opposites: I am hungry/I don’t want anything to eat; I want companionship/I want people to stay away; I want to go f

My path into American Sign language and the world of deafness was neither direct nor typical of the time. Although my father experienced hearing loss as he aged, deafness was off my radar throughout my childhood. Signing was not an overnight passion. In fact, it took several discreet experiences before I started the journey. My very first “real” summer job was as a driver’s education aide. During the 1960’s and 70’s, Maryland public high schools provided driver’s education tr

I was married for over fifty years and I have to admit we had some rough times, especially when one of us was unfaithful, oh the tears and screams and threats and groveling, you’d think it would be impossible to ever come back from such melodrama but no, we clung to one another in spite of betrayals and misspent hours, and the thing was, my husband adored me, even when he was angry and frustrated, always thought I was the most beautiful, the sexiest, smartest, most joyful per

The minute I wake up I know it's a hungry day. A day when I am so hungry that I try to eat myself and when that doesn't help I try to eat a stranger on the street corner. Sometimes I'll just walk into people's houses and take a bite out of their ankle. It's not enough. Still hungry — in this case — for pretty things that I can take home and tuck inside my drawers and closets. Things that belong to me and no one can take away from me, ever. Luckily, I live in America, where ta

I swim out into the middle of the lake, and treading water with a slow scissors kick stop to have a look around. From here both shores are equally indistinct, smudged in the shadows of the late afternoon. I am the most myself in water, out here where I do not belong and cannot stay forever, where it is my head alone that shows above the surface as if that is all there is to me: my thoughts, my hopes and dreams, the many complicated ways in which I imagine things matter. The m

On Sunday, October 1, 2017, 867 people were shot by over 1,000 rounds of gunfire while attending a music festival in Las Vegas. Sixty of them died. Emergency support services were overwhelmed. All available medical personnel were called in but there were not enough to care for the shocked and bleeding victims who witnessed the murder of friends, spouses and strangers while holding their own deaths at bay. It was the deadliest mass shooting in United States history. All this w

out the garden by spiders and crawling folksies squatting cross-legged by the bee balm wearing catscratch outfit sunhat deadheading flowers digging clover brilliant overhead birds talking geese on another side of the lake dozed off by hypnotic insects humble bumbling around me tumbling into blossoms other flying things meandering all ways or none rosemary hollyhocks thyme all that sage hiding in the rows of elephant ears crouching with all the wild the mild pret

May, 2010 My husband, Rich and I were riding our bikes along the Inner Mongolia, Hohhot Ring Road, when he noticed his front tire was flat. We had travelled a number of miles from Rich’s University apartment. Though he knew where we were, I was lost and somewhat unnerved. How would we get back? I had been visiting Rich for the first time since he started teaching at the Inner Mongolia Normal University (IMNU) 5 years before. Each of these years, for one semester, he taught wr

By Janet Smith - the inexperienced grandmother It was an innocent purchase at a neighborhood garage sale. Just $5 for a faded and somewhat battered toy lawnmower that captivated a 20 month-old little boy. The other grandmother said “no, it’s broken, see?” But the boy would not be deterred. The offer of “Creemees” was insufficient to distract him from this purchase. He would have it or nothing. The less experienced grandmother caved and bought it and the little boy triumphan